by Jon Sharpe
Cecelia fell silent and returned to her chair.
“That was a good talk,” Moose said, and awkwardly patted her shoulder.
Rooster frowned and fidgeted and coughed and then said gruffly, “I take it back. But I still say you’re taking a big chance.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Cecelia said quietly. “It’s why we came to you and your friend.”
Fargo understood. “The more of us there are, the better we can protect your kids.”
Cecelia nodded. “Four might be enough but five would be better. Besides, any more than that and the shares wouldn’t be worth the risk.”
“I’ll be damned,” Rooster said.
“I was against it at first too,” Moose said. “I told her no and that was final but she wouldn’t take final for an answer. So here we are.”
“We can head out at first light if you agree,” Cecelia said. “Me and mine travel light. And we wouldn’t need much in the way of grub and stuff.”
“There’s still the matter of the fifth hunter,” Rooster said. “Who did you have in mind?”
Cecelia shrugged. “We ain’t given it much thought. You have any idea who might be worth a damn?”
The batwings creaked and into the saloon strolled Wendolyn Channing Mayal, his elephant gun, as he called it, in the crook of his elbow.
“I think I do,” Fargo said.
They didn’t get to leave at first light as they wanted. Word spread that the mayor had called for a meeting of all the bear hunters the next day at noon. Since there wasn’t a building big enough to hold all of them, the meeting was to take place in the middle of the street.
Fargo remembered the mayor saying there were about fifty but the mayor underestimated by thirty to forty. The street was jammed with as diverse a group of humanity as he’d ever seen.
The clerk with his squirrel gun, some Swedish immigrants and their wives, a man in a stovepipe hat who claimed to be a chimney sweep, of all things.
Mayor Petty had a crate placed at one end of the street. Carefully climbing on, he flailed his arms to get everyone’s attention. Gradually the hubbub quieted. Clearing his throat, he began.
“All of you are probably wondering why I’ve called this gathering. The reason is simple. Gold Creek is fit to burst at the seams and you are the cause.”
Someone in the crowd hollered, “What did we do?”
“You showed up,” the mayor replied. “More of you than we ever reckoned would.”
“If you didn’t want anyone to come, you shouldn’t have posted a bounty,” someone shouted.
“I’m not assigning blame,” Petty said indignantly. “I’m merely pointing out that you have strained our meager resources to the breaking point.”
“Your what?” a man yelled.
“Since we only have one hotel and a handful of boardinghouses, most of you are camping on the outskirts,” Petty said. “You’re planting yourselves where you please. You’ve trampled gardens. Killed poultry that doesn’t belong to you. One of you even stole wash from a clothesline.”
There was laughter.
“It’s not funny. Not even a little bit,” Petty said. “We will have order or all of you will leave.”
A man in a derby cupped a hand to his mouth. “I’d like to see you make us.”
“I’ve already sent word to the army,” Petty revealed. “I expect a patrol to arrive before another week is out.”
“Oh, hell,” someone said.
“Until then, the following rules will be abided by.” Petty counted them off on his fingers. “One. All saloons will close at midnight—” He had to stop for the boos and insults. When they subsided, he said, “I repeat: All saloons will close at midnight. There will be no drinking in public. Anyone caught with a bottle will be fined. There will be no discharging of firearms in the town limits. Anyone caught doing so will be fined. There will be no accosting the ladies of our town. Anyone who imposes on them will be fined. There will—”
“You going to fine us for breathing, too?”
Petty was unruffled. “There will be no spitting tobacco except into spittoons. Anyone caught spitting in the street will be fined.”
“God Almighty,” a man said.
“Those of you who make fires are not to leave them untended. We almost had a forest fire because someone walked off and left his fire burning.”
A bear hunter seated on a hitch rail called out, “I bet anyone who lets a fire burn will be fined.”
There was more mirth.
“Very well. Be this way,” Petty said. “The complete list is posted at my office. I advise each and every one of you to memorize it.”
The meeting broke up.
Rooster summed up his feelings with, “Did you ever hear so much hogtwaddle in your life?”
“What I want to know,” Cecelia said, “is whether we head out now or wait until mornin’?”
“We’ve already lost half the day,” Fargo said. “It might as well be tomorrow.” He had an ulterior motive which he didn’t mention.
“Whatever you chaps decide is fine by me,” Wendolyn said. “I’m just thankful you invited me.”
“You might not be before this is done,” Rooster said.
9
Fanny had on a green dress that made her breasts bulge and clung to her long thighs. She smelled of lilacs. Each time she stopped behind Fargo’s chair and ran her fingers through his hair, he had to force himself to concentrate on his cards.
Along about ten o’clock one of the players lost his last dollar and got up. His empty seat was promptly claimed by someone.
Fargo didn’t pay much attention to who had sat down until the man addressed him.
“Remember me?” Leroy asked. Behind him were two of his friends.
“I make it a point to remember jackasses.”
Leroy’s spite oozed from every pore. “You have a mouth on you, mister. Someone needs to shut it.”
“The last time you tried it didn’t turn out well.”
“Moose and that foreigner ain’t here,” Leroy said. “It’s just you.”
“Enough gab,” a townsman said. “Are we playing cards or aren’t we?”
Play resumed. Fargo paid no mind to Leroy’s constant glaring. He won big with a flush and again with a full house.
“Lucky bastard,” Leroy muttered.
Fargo was still ahead an hour later but not by as much. He was dealt two pair and bid cautiously and was glad he did when another player laid down a flush. Another round was under way and he was being dealt new cards when he smelled lilacs and a warm hand fell on his shoulder.
“I got off early,” Fanny whispered in his ear. “Just for you.”
“Pull up a chair.”
Fargo had been given a queen, a jack, a ten, a seven and a two. He debated, asked for two cards, and wound up with a king and an ace. His face a mask, he put all he had into the pot since there was no limit. Two of the players folded. A third gnawed on his lip a while and then he folded, too. That left Leroy.
“I think you’re bluffing.”
“One way to find out,” Fargo said.
Leroy counted his chips and drummed his fingers and finally met the raise. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Fargo laid out the straight.
“Son of a bitch.” Leroy threw down his cards, stood up, and stomped off in a huff.
“Can we go now?” Fanny asked as Fargo raked in his winnings.
“I am all yours.”
It was a cool night and a lot of people were out and about. Two men were having a tobacco-spitting contest in defiance of the new town ordinance. A friend of Fanny’s was strolling about with a gentleman in a suit.
“I sure do like it here,” Fanny declared, her arm linked in his.
Fargo patted his bulging poke. “I’m right fond of it myself.”
“Are you still planning to go after Brain Eater tomorrow?”
“Why even ask?” Fargo rejoined.
She looke
d into his eyes and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful, you hear? I won’t sleep a wink until you get back.”
Fargo did her the courtesy of pretending to believe her. Patting her bottom, he said, “Neither will I.”
They turned into the side street to her lodgings. There were few lights. Fargo was about to nuzzle her ear when some of the shadows moved. He was expecting them to and had the Colt in his hand before the first shadow reached him.
“I’ve got you now!”
Fargo slammed the barrel against Leroy’s ear and the farmer folded like so much limp wash. He pointed it at Leroy’s friends, who stopped cold at the click of the hammer.
“Don’t shoot!” one blurted.
Fargo nudged Leroy with a toe. “Get this sack of pus out of here.”
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”
They bent to grab him.
“And tell Leroy that if there’s a next time, I won’t go easy.”
Fargo didn’t holster the Colt until they were dim in the distance. He chuckled and twirled it and slid it in with a flourish.
“You handle yourself real well,” Fanny complimented him.
Fargo sculpted her bottom with his hand. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Other than a chemise that had been tossed over her table, her room was the same. Fargo kicked the door shut and pulled her to him and their two mouths became one. She sucked on his tongue while kneading his muscles and grinding her lower mount against him.
“I’ve been dreaming of this all day,” she husked into his ear.
Fargo had done some dreaming himself. He swept her onto the bed and went through the ritual of undressing her. The dress didn’t have as many buttons as the last one. Soon she was gloriously naked and reaching for him with open arms.
Fargo melted into her. Her lips were red-hot coals, her legs were silken clamps. He caressed her breasts and pulled on her nipples and she wriggled and cooed and told him to do it harder. She was wet down below. He knelt and slid the tip of his member along her slit and she shivered and dug her fingernails into his shoulders.
“Yessss. Keep doing that.”
Fargo was glad to accommodate her. He teased and stroked until she suddenly grabbed his pole and hungrily fed him into her, groaning louder with every inch he penetrated. When he was all the way she lay still, her eyes closed, her forehead on his chest.
“I love this.”
So did Fargo.
“When you get back, look me up. You can have me every night we’re here.”
“Maybe I will,” Fargo said. So long as she didn’t make more of it than there was.
Fanny began to move her bottom. “You’re the best I’ve had and I’ve had a lot.”
Fargo kissed her to shut her up. The bed creaked under them in rising tempo as their two bodies merged and pumped.
It promised to be a spell before he could treat himself again so he took his sweet time. They were both panting and slick with sweat when Fanny arched her back and her eyes grew wide with the ecstasy of climax. She gushed, humping against him violently.
Fargo wasn’t ready yet. He went on plunging into her while she gasped and moaned and smothered him with burning kisses. His own explosion nearly broke the bed.
Afterward, Fanny lay with her cheek on his shoulder and plied his hair. He was on the verge of drifting off when she spoiled things.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“If you have to.”
“Will you be honest with me?”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“All right. Tell me one thing.” Fanny raised her head. “What are the odds of you making it back alive?”
“Double hell.”
Fanny kissed his chin. “You can’t blame a girl for worrying.”
“Sure I can.”
“Please don’t be mad,” she said, running her hand over his chest. “It’s not as if I’m in love or anything.”
“Good,” Fargo said.
“But this bear has killed a lot of people. They say it’s the meanest critter on four legs. They say it can outthink any man. They say—”
Fargo opened his eyes and put his finger to her lips. “I don’t give a damn what they say.”
“Me either. But I do give a damn about you.”
Fargo sighed.
“Don’t take me wrong. It’s not like I’m in love or anything,” Fanny said again. She smiled and traced his hairline with a fingertip. “I mean what I said, is all.”
“About what?”
“You are the best fuck I ever had.”
Fargo chuckled. “They say everyone should be good at something.”
“Oh you,” Fanny said, and reached below his waist. “What do you say to a second helping?”
“I’m a big eater,” Fargo said.
Five adults plus three kids plus two packhorses. Fargo was at the head, and when he glanced over his shoulder as they were climbing, he saw that the line of horses stretched for a hundred and fifty feet. He didn’t like that. They were spaced too far apart. It made them easy pickings for Brain Eater should the grizzly attack. He turned to Rooster, who was behind him, and asked him to go down the line and ask everyone to ride closer together. The old scout nodded and reined around.
It was the Englishman who had suggested a spot to put their plan into effect. He had come across it while out hunting for the bear a couple of weeks earlier.
Fargo hadn’t seen bear sign all day. The sun was on its westward arc and they had about five hours of daylight left, enough to set up before dark.
The slope leveled and ahead lay shadowed forest. Fargo was watching a hawk circle when Wendy brought his buttermilk next to the Ovaro.
“I say, old chap, mind if I have a few words with you?”
“Old?” Fargo said.
“A figure of speech on my side of the pond,” Wendy said. “It doesn’t mean you’re really old.”
“What’s on your mind?” Fargo asked when the Brit didn’t go on.
“Mrs. Mathers,” Wendy said. “I didn’t say anything back at the saloon when all of you asked me to join your little expedition.”
“Is that what you call this?” Fargo said.
“I call it inspired lunacy but lunacy nonetheless,” Wendy said. “I understand it was her idea and all, but really, she is putting herself and her children in great danger.”
“We know that.”
“Yet you and the others went along with it.” Wendy slid a hand under his cap and scratched his head. “And that’s the part I don’t understand. Going along with her, I mean. It’s insane.”
“We know that, too.”
“You could have told her no,” Wendy said. “Maybe not that big lump of muscle. She has him eating out of her hand. And maybe not the old man. He has a crust on him but she cows him, I suspect. Which leaves you, and you don’t strike me as the timid sort. You could have stood up to her and shot this whole enterprise down.”
“She needs the money.”
“Is that all? Then why don’t we send her back and I’ll give her my share if we bag the brute?”
“That’s considerate of you.”
“I don’t need the money. I’m not here for the bounty, as I’ve already explained. I’m here for the sport of the hunt and nothing more.” Wendolyn motioned. “So what do you say? Do we make her go back?”
Fargo grinned. “I’d like to see anyone make Cecelia Mathers do something she doesn’t want to.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You can ask her if you want but I know what she’ll say.”
“Stubborn, is she?”
“Practical,” Fargo said. “Without her and the kids, this won’t work.”
“What makes you so certain?”
They were almost to the forest. A squirrel scampered in the upper terrace and a robin warbled.
“Have any of the hunters gotten close enough to get off a shot at Brain Eater?” Fargo asked, and answered his own question. “No, they haven’t. T
his bear stays away from anyone who is after it.”
“Are you saying it’s smart enough to tell the difference? Exceptional, if true.”
“I’ve never heard of a bear like this one,” Fargo said.
“In Africa once an elephant went rogue. He raided villages in the dead of night and hunted people like we’re hunting this bear. And when warriors went after him, he avoided them just as this blighter has been avoiding us.”
“I saw an elephant once,” Fargo mentioned. “It was with a circus.”
“Ah. Then you know how gigantic they are compared to these puny bears.”
“A griz is a lot of things but puny isn’t one of them.”
Wendy patted his rifle. “My beauty will prove otherwise. It’s custom-made, you see, to my specifications by Holland and Holland of Bond Street.” He proudly ran his hand along the barrel. “Most big-game guns are four bore but mine is a two. It’s the most powerful firearm there is short of a punt gun.” He opened a pouch that was slanted across his chest and held out a shell.
“Good God,” Fargo said.
Wendy smiled. “It weighs half a pound, to your Yank way of measure.”
“How much does the rifle weigh?”
“Twenty pounds.”
Fargo’s Sharps weighed about twelve and that was considerable for a rifle.
“It can drop a bull elephant in its tracks but it has its disadvantages,” Wendy said. “The smoke, for one. After I shoot I can’t hardly see. It’s like being in a fog.”
“What’s the other?”
“The recoil,” Wendy answered, and touched his right shoulder. “If you’re not braced for it, it can spin you around or knock you on your backside.” He smiled wryly. “Or break your shoulder.”
“That’s some gun,” Fargo said.
“It has to be. I’ve gone after cape buffalo and hippopotamus and rhinos, as well as elephants. All are a lot bigger than your grizzlies.”
“It’s not the size—it’s the teeth and the claws.”
“Even there, I’ve hunted lions and tigers and other big cats. I know what to expect.”
Fargo looked at him. “No,” he said. “You don’t.”
