Slowly, deliberately, Cynthia stalked through the jungle, searching for her quarry. The gorgeous 29-year old huntress was dressed for the jungle, khaki blouse and shorts, festooned with pouches, high socks and leather boots. Around her waist was a bandoleer with darts for the gun she held, cradled in her hands. She wore a white pith helm from which her long blonde locks tumbled across her back.
She’d been drawn to this remote highland region by reports of a monster in the deep jungles. A creature, sometimes described as a woman, savage and beautiful, sometimes as a terrifying jungle cat, intelligent and deadly, had been creeping around the villages of late, taking isolated livestock here and there, growing ever closer. Thus far, it hadn’t killed a person, so far as Cynthia knew but… she held her gun tighter, ready to use it at a moment’s notice, there was always a first time… Before that happened, she would subdue the beast.
As silently as she could manage, Cynthia pushed her way through the underbrush. About half a mile back, she’d left her party of guides and porters behind her, after the dogs had caught the scent. There was no way the party could make enough headway against the thick jungle to catch the beast if it chose to flee deeper into the jungle and no way so many people could sneak up on it undetected. A lone woman, however, well used to the jungle and the art of stalking, just might manage it. Or she might just end up as the beasts breakfast. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained…” She thought, breezily, to reassure herself and still her tense nerves.
Not far up ahead, Cynthia found tracks, on a muddy patch near a stream. The beast must have come down for a drink. Cynthia studied the pawprint. It was a curious thing, in shape almost like a normal person’s footprint, but the toes were odd, like the claws of a beast. She looked ahead and saw more, leading back up into the jungle, spaced at an odd lope, now walking on two feet, now back on all fours, moving quicker. A curious beast this one. But one thing Cynthia was certain of: the tracks were fairly fresh. The beast was close by.
The next hour seemed to stretch into eternity for the huntress, every second seemed a full minute, her nerves on edge as she crept silently through the brush, eyes, ears, every sense keen for the first hint of her quarry. She knew that first hint would be all she’d get. The whole time, she had the awful feeling that, as she stalked the beast, it was stalking her to, waiting for her to lower her guard and then strike.
Then, when the moment finally came, it all happened in a flash. There was no time to think. Cynthia saw a telltale rustling in the brush, then the beast was coming at her, a yellow-orange blur, moving quickly. Only her experience as a huntress saved her. Without stopping to think, her body reacted on instinct, automatically bringing the gun to her shoulder, raising the barrel of it to track the rustling of the brush as the creature shot out of the green branches, then at the right moment pulling the trigger.
There was a loud hiss of compressed air as the dart shot from the barrel. Cynthia didn’t see where it went. The instant she’d fired, she stumbled backwards, falling ont her back as a paw swiped at her, but from the yowl, more of startlement then pain, the needle’s point had found its mark. That, and the fact that instead of continuing its attack by pouncing onto the prone huntress the beast had instead turned and fled back into the jungle, not bothering to hide is crashing progress through the foliage.
Cynthia picked herself up to her feet, fighting shaky nerves at her close scrape, but she knew now she’d gotten the upper hand. It was time to finish the hunt. The first thing she did was work the action of her gun, opening the chamber so she could pluck another dark from her bandoleer and load it. She worked the bolt, sliding the dart into the chamber with a satisfying ‘cha-chunk!’
With her gun once more primed and ready to fire, paused, just long enough to pull a brass whistle from one of her pockets and give a loud blast. The signal to the rest of her hunting party to hurry to her position. A far cry from the cheerful notes of the huntsman's horn, true, but it would do the trick. Without waiting for them, however, Cynthia sprang to her feet and hurried off in the direction her quarry had fled in.
It was easily apparent she’d given the beast a start. It hadn’t bothered to hide its progress through the brush as it fled and she had little trouble following it through the path of broken branches, disturbed leaves and more of the odd pawprints in the soft earth. It was also soon apparent that she had, as she thought, gotten it with the dart. Fifteen yards on, its movement slowed, growing awkward and sluggish. Several times it had stumbled about for a bit, leaving an odd tangle of footprints before heading off in another direction.
Though darted it may have been, it remained a deadly quarry, Cynthia knew, and an intelligent one as well, as she got more evidence for a little further on. The beast had evidently realized the dart stuck into it was the source of its debilitation. Cynthia found the dart, about half its load remaining, dropped onto the ground, after being pulled out by the beast. The huntress quickly estimated that the amount it had gotten before removing the dart would still be enough to slow it, but not enough to drop it.
Another dozen or so yards on, Cynthia finally caught sight of the beast, or at least more then the quick blur she’d gotten before and it was so striking the huntress almost forgot her gun entirely. The beast had the shape of a woman, a tall striking woman with long, strong arms and legs, curvy hips and an ample bust, maybe six feet or more standing straight, though at the moment it was crouched, atop of sturdy branch, looking down at the huntress. But Cynthia had never seen a woman like this before.
The ‘beast’ had a long head of reddish-orange hair on her head and, Cynthia blushed, between her otherwise bare legs, but in addition to that, she had a thin layer of very fine hair across the rest of her body, colored yellowish-orange and spotted like that of any other jungle cat. The woman had a pair of cat’s ears on top of her head and behind her, a cat’s tail waved, sluggish. All her movements were sluggish, her yellow eyes regarding Cynthia sleepily, as she fought through the haze of the half dose of tranquilizer Cynthia had darted her with.
Seeing Cynthia looking back up at her, the beast realized she’d been spotted and started to turn to flee. This started Cynthia out of her amazement and reminded her of her mission. She raised her gun to her shoulder. Had the beast not already been slowed by the first dart, Cynthia might not have hit it, but as it was the cat-woman was slow enough Cynthia had time to draw a bead and fire before it could scamper around the otherside of the tree trunk. Another pained yowl, very much like that of any other cat told the huntress her second shot had hit true.
This time, there would be no escape, temporary or otherwise, for the beast. Nimble as ever, it scampered across the branches, trying to escape the pursuing huntress, but a dozen yards on, the second dose of drugs proved too much for it and the cat-woman swooned, keeling over and falling out of the branches.
Fortunately, a thick layer of shrubbery underneath the tree broke the cat-woman’s fall and as Cynthia got closer, she could tell it had suffered no serious injury. Once the drugs had worn off, it would be good as new in an hour or so. Before that happened, the huntress would have to take steps to subdue it.
She gave another blast of her whistle, letting the hunting party know where she was and urging them to speed along. No telling how long the drugs would last and she didn’t want to risk a third dart on top of the one and a half she’d already given it. While waiting for their arrival, the huntress examined the beast more closely.
Besides what she’d seen earlier, Cynthia was once more amazed at the strange blend of human and animal the creature exhibited. The thin layer of fur covered every part of its body, except the face, which had a youngish and, Cynthia dared to say, pretty look to it. Her hands and feet were humanoid except, as she’d already noted from its track, ending in claws. The teeth, after Cynthia had worked up the courage to reaching down and pry open its mouth, were mostly human in shape but somewhat more pointed and sharp, especially the incisors which were practically fangs.
At that moment, the rest of the hunting party appeared. They gaped, talking excitedly among each other in their native tongue as they saw the beast. Even after Cynthia explained it had drugged unconscious and posed no risk, they refused to go near it, so she took it upon herself to secure and subdue it fully, ordering stout rope to be brought up from the porter’s bundles. With this, she quickly lashed the cat-girl’s hands and feet together. One of the study poles used for large bundles was brought up and slid beneath the bonds, so when picked up, the cat-girl would hang down, a bundle of her own.
Muzzling the beast proved a bit trickier as the one Cynthia had brought with her had been designed for a creature altogether more beastial in form, but some hurried disassembly with her knife and rearranging of the straps created something which fit the cat-girl’s head, holding something not unlike a horses bridle between its teeth and keep it from biting at anyone once it came to, which not long after the final straps were adjusted and tightened, it started to do.
As it gave the first, muffled, yowls of shock and rage at finding itself a bound prisoner, the porters yelped and fled back. Even Cynthia took a few steps back, readying her gun should her knotwork prove not up to the task. For a few minutes, the cat-girl struggled mightily against the ropes, thrashing about on the ground trying to squirm loose of the coils, hissing and yowling angrily into its makeshift muzzle. But it made no progress during those minutes and eventually everyone was assured it was now completely subdued and posed no further harm. Cynthia was even able to persuade two of the porters to carry the cat-girl, the pole over their shoulders with her slung beneath, after promising to double their pay for the journey back to the village.
The journey passed in grand style, Cynthia at the rear, followed by the two porters with her prize, followed by the rest of the party. After a while of shaking and struggling, the cat-girl seemed to realize it would not be able to escape and the rest of the way hung limply in its bonds, giving a curious, growling moan from time to time.
Cynthia, meanwhile, made plans for what to do with her new prize. For starters, better restraints: a cage large enough to hold it in some comfort, if she could manage it, otherwise iron shackles and a collar. She’d have to get a better muzzle as well. This one was makeshift as if and already the cat-girl’s fangs, gnawing angrily had done incredible damage to the leather bit. Then she’d secure passage on the next ship back home.
“I can’t wait to exhibit this find before the ol’ blokes at the explorer’s club.” Cynthia said to herself with a gleeful grin. Some of the old fogeys would have a heart attack! And after that, who knew? Maybe she’d find a zoo to display the creature in. Or maybe she’d just keep her as a pet...