I was just beginning to fall asleep when I was startled by a loud noise near our campsite. I had never heard this sound in nature - but anyone who has watched TV commercials for the eponymous motor vehicle would recognize it - it was the roar of a cougar. I heard another roar, this time in a different direction from the first one. I poked my head out of my sleeping bag and looked around. The moon had begun to rise and was illuminating our surroundings with a dim silvery light.

Ehmet was already out of his bag, squatting on his haunches, scanning the perimeter. He tilted his head back and appeared to be sniffing the air. I sat up and started to get out of my bag, but Ehmet motioned to me to stay where I was - I didn't require much convincing. The big Indian bolted off in the direction of the bluffs behind us, and the last I could make out of his form, he was skirting the bluffs, heading uphill towards Thumb Rock. He moved like an animal, quick and graceful.

I felt chills up and down my back, and I began to shiver. Wiggling back down into my sleeping bag, I zipped the top flaps over my head. I knew that the bag would provide me no protection - I was lying there like a burrito - but I had reverted to a child-like mentality, hiding under the covers from scary monsters. I tried to master my fears and think the situation through. What did I know about cougars?

I knew that bears - the black bears that inhabit the Southwest -- could usually be scared off with loud noise, shouting, and hand waving. Black bears rarely attack, and when they do, it's because of only a few reasons. They might be protecting their young - so don't get between a mama bear and her young. Or more commonly, some bears developed a taste for human food and lose their fear of people. Basically, bears will become territorial over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I thought of my pack lying next to me.

But what about cougars? I rehearsed in my mind the stories I had heard as a Boy Scout camping in this area. We rarely see cougars because a) they are mostly nocturnal, b) they shy from human contact, and c) their movements are silent. Very rarely, though, cougars will attack humans. Usually the culprit is a young male trying to establish his territory. If the young male can't find his natural prey, he might become hungry enough to prowl the outskirts of human habitation, developing a taste for poodles, dachshunds, and the occasional small child. Only the most desperate cougars will attack a full-grown human - and then it seems to be more of an issue of defending territory rather than feeding.

So what should you do if confronted by a cougar? First, don't run. Second, don't play dead.

A bear will usually leave you alone if you adopt a fetal position. He might bite you a bit (and thus, it's a good idea to clasp your hands behind your neck, protecting this vital part), but eventually the bear will lose interest and amble away. A cougar, on the other hand, will continue to harass you. Cougars have that feline habit of playing with their prey -- for simple entertainment, apparently. There must be an evolutionary explanation for this behavior, but to your basic anthropomorphizing human, cats are just sadistic.

Your only chance to survive a cougar attack is to stand firm. Face the cat, backing off slowly if necessary, but never turn your back. Hold something between you and the cougar, a walking stick or a dead branch. A guy who was hiking in Santa Rita Mountains south of Tucson faced a cougar in this way and slowly backed down the trail nearly a quarter of a mile before the cougar finally lost interest.

These were the thoughts that filled my head as I lay in my sleeping bag, my ears straining to hear the slightest sound. The knowledge I dredged up didn't occur to me in nearly so organized a manner as I have presented it -- and I wasn't sure I could actually put any of it into practice -- but I was comforted somewhat by the knowledge itself.

I lay still for what seemed a very long time, long enough for the moon to rise higher in the sky and for my surroundings to grow brighter. I wondered where Ehmet had gone so abruptly -- and I wondered which I preferred more: absolute darkness with ignorance of everything around me or the light of a full moon (maybe gibbous, I wasn't sure) creating shadows everywhere, any one of which could be something to fear. But I was startled out of this consideration by a sudden racket neaby.

It sounded like a cat fight - only bigger, louder. I heard the snapping of branches -- then growling and roaring. I peeped out of my sleeping bag and saw shadowy forms tumbling through the underbrush maybe twenty yards away and upslope from the campsite -- the direction Ehmet had gone. As the fight continued, I saw that there were three forms, two smaller and one larger, all big cats. I prayed to whatever God I had never believed in before that these forms would come no closer, and that in their struggle with each other would ignore the shivering rectangular bundle nearby. At last it appeared that my prayer was answered. The unholy ruckus ceased.

I spent the rest of the night waiting for Ehmet to return. I called out his name several times before remembering he couldn't answer. After hearing no more noises for half an hour or so, I emerged cautiously from my sleeping bag and found enough coals still aglow to get a new campfire going. Back in my bag, I meted out the sticks and branches I had collected earlier and managed to keep a small fire burning till dawn. Exhaustion overcame fear a few times that night, but I always woke up to find the fire burning low and remedied the situation.

Not long before sunrise, when I could make out the lower country spread out to the east of us, I started to think about searching for Ehmet. I felt like a coward for not searching immediately after the cat fight - but realistically, what could I have done? And why had Ehmet left? Did he abandon me? I couldn't believe that he would do that. I dreaded telling the whole story to Don Pedro when I got back.

But all these considerations became pointless when Ehmet limped into camp. His clothes were ripped in several places, and he was bleeding from a wound on his shoulder - the claw marks of a cougar. I started to walk to him but he waved me off. He motioned to his camp gear and I packed it up for him -- then got my own gear together. He slung his knapsack on his good shoulder, and I followed him as we slowly made our way back to the lodge.