by Jon Sharpe
“Help her,” Bethany begged.
Fargo carefully moved Cecelia’s hand, and grimaced.
Behind him Wendy said, “My word. I’ll go heat water and cut bandages.”
“The bear did it,” Bethany said, her eyes brimming with tears.
“It came out of nowhere,” Thomas said.
“Brain Eater?” Fargo figured.
“No,” Abner answered. “It was the other one. The small bear. The male.”
“It knocked Ma down and clawed her,” Thomas said.
“She threw fire in its face,” Bethany said.
“Stand back,” Fargo directed. Easing his hands under Cecelia, he gently lifted her and carried her down the bank. She didn’t stir. Her head lolled against his chest and once she groaned. The children trooped after him.
The Blackfeet made room as Fargo set Cecelia down near the fire. The bear’s claws had caught her across the ribs. Bone gleamed from torn flesh. She had bled so much that her dress was stiff with dry blood.
“When did it attack you?” Fargo asked Abner as he felt for a pulse; it was pitifully weak and erratic.
“About noon,” the oldest said. “Ma made soup and we were sittin’ down to eat.”
“We ran and hid,” Thomas said. “The bear didn’t come after us. It wanted the food.”
“Will she live, mister?” Bethany anxiously asked.
Fargo honestly couldn’t say.
19
“We’re leaving and that’s that,” Moose announced.
The sun had been up for an hour. Fargo yawned and stretched and yearned for sleep.
Moose had behaved himself when he came to and saw that Cecelia was hurt. After Fargo untied him, the big hunter hovered over her with her hand clasped in his. The kids sat close to him and fell asleep with their heads on his leg.
About an hour before dawn Cecelia had come around. The first thing she did was ask for her children. The second was ask for water. Moose held a cup to her lips and she gratefully swallowed. She thanked him and passed out again.
Fargo leaned against his saddle and wearily rubbed his eyes. When he lowered his hand, she was staring at them.
“What was that I just heard?”
“Cecelia!” Moose beamed and bent and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do for you? Anything you need me to do for the kids?”
“You can hush,” Cecelia said. Gritting her teeth, she shifted and touched the bandage. “No wonder I hurt like the dickens. That critter took a sizable chunk out of me.”
Before anyone could stop her, Bethany threw herself at her mother and hugged her tight. Cecelia grimaced in pain but didn’t scold her.
Sobbing, the girl said, “Oh, Ma. I was so scared. I thought you’d die.”
“So did I,” Moose said, earning a stern look from Cecelia. “Well, I did, and it helped me make up my mind.”
“About what?”
“Us leaving,” Moose said. “This is no place for you and yours. I’m taking you back to town.”
“The blazes you are,” Cecelia said. “I’m not givin’ up my share of the bounty for you or anybody else.”
“The money be damned, woman. You matter more.”
Cecelia was set to voice an angry reply, but stopped. Her features softened and she said, “That’s plumb sweet of you. But I’m a grown woman and can do as I please.”
“You used to, you could.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We’re together now. We ain’t married yet but it’s the same. You said so yourself. And if we’re together then I have a say and my say is that I’m getting you and the kids out of these mountains.”
“But the bounty . . .”
“We’ll make do without it. I don’t earn a lot but it’s enough that we won’t go without clothes on our backs or food in our bellies.”
“We’d lose your share, too.”
Fargo had heard enough. “Both of you get full shares whether you’re here or not.”
“Why would you do that for us after I whomped on you?” Moose asked.
Shrugging, Fargo looked at Cecelia and her kids. “Figure it out yourself.”
“It’s awful kind,” Cecelia said, “but I’ve never shirked a job my whole life.”
“You’ve lost a gallon of blood,” Fargo recited. “Your rib is busted and the bear cut you so deep I had to stitch you with Wendy’s fishing line. It’ll be a week or two before you’re back on your feet and you won’t be yourself for a month or more. I wouldn’t call that shirking.”
“Listen to him,” Moose said.
Cecelia tried to sit up but couldn’t. “I reckon I have to give in. But not ’cause you want me to. I can’t protect my young’uns, the state I’m in.”
“You can’t travel, either,” Fargo said. “Not today, anyway.”
Moose agreed to stay with her while Fargo and the rest went after the male grizzly. They headed out within the hour. Tracks on the other side of the stream pointed due north. Once in the woods the sign was scarcer but Fargo stuck to the bear’s trail.
Noon came and went.
Fargo was in the lead, Wendy behind him, then Bird Rattler, Red Mink and Lazy Husband. Wooded slopes funneled them to the mouth of a gorge.
The tracks showed that the bear had gone in—but hadn’t come out.
Fargo eyed the high walls and shadows. “I don’t like it. It’s a good spot for the bear to jump us.”
“The brute probably went on out the other side,” Wendy said.
“I should go on ahead while you wait here.”
“Nonsense, my good fellow,” the Brit disagreed. “Why should you take all the risks? We’ll all go in and if you’re right about the bear it will be too bloody bad for him.” Wendy patted his elephant gun.
Against his better judgment Fargo gigged the Ovaro. The still air and the blazing sun turned the gorge into an oven. He was sweating profusely before they went fifty feet. Vegetation was sparse. The tracks in the dust showed that the grizzly had wandered from one side of the gorge to the other.
Wendy removed his hat and wiped his brow with a sleeve. “I say, it’s deuced hot. Reminds me of the time I crossed the Sahara Desert.”
“From the sounds of things, you’ve been most everywhere,” Fargo idly remarked.
“Not really,” Wendy said. “I’ve hunted on most every continent but there’s so much I haven’t set eyes on yet.”
“Did you hunt a lot as a boy?”
“Hardly at all. My passion came to me later in life.”
The Blackfeet had spread out and were three abreast, Bird Rattler in the center. He and Lazy Husband had arrows nocked. Red Mink held a lance.
“Is there anything you’re passionate about?” Wendolyn asked. “Something you couldn’t give up if you tried and you’re not about to try.”
“Women,” Fargo said.
“I can take them or leave them. You ask me, they’re more of a nuisance than they’re worth. A man has to cater to their every wish. And they’re so emotional. I knew a woman once who would burst into tears at the drop of a feather and she’d drop the feather.”
“They have their good points.”
A bend hid the next stretch.
“A female can’t compare to the excitement of the kill,” Wendy went on. “When I’m looking down my barrel into the eyes of a charging rhino or tiger, I’m as close as mortal man can be to ecstasy.”
“If you say so.” Fargo would rather attain the heights of pleasure with a woman’s thighs wrapped around him.
“You don’t feel a thrill when you shoot a wild beast?”
“I only do it for food or to defend myself.”
They went around the bend. To the right was a thicket. To the left the stone wall had partially buckled, creating a ramp of stones and earth.
“You must have felt a tingle once or twice,” Wendy persisted. “Haven’t you ever been charged by a buffalo? Or a moose?”
“Bot
h. And I could go my whole life without having it happen again.”
The three warriors were talking in low tones. Something had agitated them.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, man?” Wendy teased. “Where’s your zest for a challenge?”
Stones clattered. Fargo glanced back just as the male grizzly rose up at the top of the ramp. Uttering a thunderous roar, it was on the Blackfeet in less time than they could blink. Red Mink was nearest and his horse bore the brunt of the impact. Both mount and warrior crashed to the ground, Red Mink thrusting with his lance as he went down. The tip sliced into the grizzly’s shoulder but didn’t penetrate far enough to inflict much of a wound. The bear bit down on the horse’s mane and there was the crack of its spine breaking.
Bird Rattler let an arrow fly.
Fargo reined around and tugged on the Sharps. It was caught in the scabbard.
Red Mink made it to his knees and stabbed at the grizzly’s chest. He drew the lance back to try again but the bear’s claws flashed once, twice, three times, and Red Mink’s head was left hanging by a ribbon of flesh. Blood pumped in a fine mist.
Bird Rattler loosed another arrow.
The Sharps came free and Fargo jammed the stock to his shoulder.
Lazy Husband was trying to control his bucking horse.
The grizzly had both front paws on Red Mink. Two feathered shafts jutted from its body but it didn’t seem to feel the pain. Growling, it charged Bird Rattler, who was sighting down another arrow. Bird Rattler tried to wheel his mount but the grizzly reached it before he could break into a gallop. Flashing paws met the horse’s hide and blood spurted. The horse shrieked and staggered.
Fargo fired. He didn’t have a heart or lung shot so he went for the head and scored but the slug glanced off. He grabbed for another cartridge.
“God in heaven, man, move!” Wendy bellowed.
Fargo realized he was between the Brit and the griz, and reined aside.
The grizzly swung toward them. Blood flecked its maw and its front paws. Powerful muscles rippling, it barreled at the Ovaro.
An artificial thunderclap filled the gorge. The walls seemed to shake and dust rained down and the bear pitched into a slide that ended with its nose inches from the stallion’s leg.
“Son of a bitch,” Fargo blurted.
Wendy patted his smoking rifle. “I told you this beauty would get the job done.”
The two-bore was a cannon. The slug had shattered the grizzly’s skull. A hole big enough for Fargo to stick his fist in oozed gore.
“Easy as pie,” Wendy boasted.
“Brain Eater won’t be,” Fargo predicted. “She’s twice as big as this one.”
“And elephants are twice as big as she is. All I need is a clear shot and I’ll end her savage spree as easily as I ended the life of this one.” Wendy laughed and commenced to reload. “When you’ve faced down as many meat-eaters of all kinds as I have, a grizzly is—what’s that expression? Oh, yes. A grizzly is small potatoes.”
“You wish,” Fargo said.
20
Moose fixed supper. He shot a grouse and plucked it and roasted the meat on a spit.
Cecelia complained about not being allowed to help but she was too weak to sit up, let alone stand.
Bird Rattler and Lazy Husband had brought Red Mink back, swaddled in a blanket. They accepted portions of meat and then sat apart, talking.
Fargo caught snatches of what they were saying so he wasn’t surprised when Bird Rattler came over and stood waiting for them to acknowledge his presence. “What is it?”
“Our friend dead.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Fargo said.
“Bad medicine him die.”
“We weren’t careful enough.”
Bird Rattler went on as if he hadn’t heard. “My people say not come. Say bear much bad medicine. But I come.”
“We’re glad you did,” Fargo tried to soothe him, “and we hope you’ll stick around a good long while.”
“In morning we go. Take Red Mink our people.”
“You’re runnin’ out?” Cecelia said. “I admit I don’t think highly of redskins but I never took you to have a yellow streak.”
“Yellow streak?” Bird Rattler said.
“You’re a scaredy-cat,” Cecelia replied. “You have no more grit than mud.”
“Mud?” Bird Rattler was confused.
“She says you’re an old woman,” Fargo made it plain. Among the Blackfeet, for a man to be called that was the insult of insults.
Bird Rattler stiffened.
“And you’re wrong,” Fargo told Cecelia. “In the fight today he stood his ground. He’s as brave as any of us.”
“Not if he runs off, he ain’t,” she said. “And if they’re goin’, Moose and me should rethink headin’ for Gold Creek.”
“No you don’t,” Moose said. “You’re not using this as an excuse to stay.”
“But it will just be Skye and the foreigner,” Cecelia protested. “We owe it to them to lend a hand.”
“What can you lend?” Moose said. “You can’t hardly walk.” He looked at Fargo. “I’m sorry. I’m taking her whether she likes it or not.”
“Damn you,” Cecelia said. “I don’t like bein’ bossed around.”
“It’s not my fault I care for you.”
Wendy was cleaning his Holland and Holland and chose that moment to say, “Don’t worry about Fargo and me, Mrs. Mathers. My elephant gun will drop Brain Eater in her tracks just as it did the male.”
“I wish I’d’ve seen that,” Cecelia said.
“It was glorious,” Wendolyn said.
“You must be awful strong. That time you let me hold your rifle, it was so heavy, I could barely hold it steady to take aim.”
“I’m strong, too,” Moose said.
The rest of the evening passed quietly. Fargo kept to himself. Despite the Brit’s confidence, Brain Eater wouldn’t be easy. She was a lot bigger and a lot tougher and a lot cannier. It occurred to him that with the male dead, she might go elsewhere in search of a new mate—in which case they might not ever find her.
The sky changed from gray to purple to black. Stars in their multitude sparkled in the firmament. From out of their dens and thickets came the meat-eaters, and soon the mountains were alive with howls and yips and cries.
Fargo remembered going back east once, and how the nights were so quiet. Most of the wolves and mountain lions had been killed off. Coyotes were few and bears were fewer. He imagined that in a hundred years the same would be true of the Rockies. Cecelia turned in early, Abner, Thomas and Bethany on either side of her, Bethany with her hand in her mother’s.
When the four were asleep, Moose rose and came around the fire. He sank down with a sigh and said in earnest, “I’m right sorry about running out on you.”
“I understand,” Fargo said.
“I’ve never run out on anyone. I want you to know that. But you can see how it is.”
“I understand,” Fargo said again.
Moose gazed at the sleeping figures. “Life sure is strange. I came here looking for a bear and found a family.” He chuckled. “Me, of all people.”
“Where will you go? What will you do?”
“I figure to head down Denver way. There’s plenty of mountains and bears for me to hunt. There’s more people, too, and the kids and Cecelia will like that. It’ll be safer for them.”
“She’s a good woman,” Fargo said.
“Smart, too. It puzzles me, a gal like her latching on to a man like me. I wouldn’t ever repeat this to anyone else, but I ain’t all that bright. I know it and I make the best of it, but we are what we are.”
“The two of you will do fine together.”
Moose held out his hand. “I don’t hold a grudge over those fights we had. I respect you more than I do most. You stand up for yourself, the same as me.”
Fargo shook. “I ever get down Denver way, I’ll look you up.”
“You do
that.” Moose rose. “I’m fixing to turn in, too. Wake me for the second watch.” Fargo nodded.
The bear hunter spread his blanket beside his new family and was soon snoring louder than all of them combined.
Lazy Husband was asleep, too, but not Bird Rattler. He stared into the flames, his chin in his hands. “Me sorry too.”
“You can’t ignore bad medicine,” Fargo said. He had lived with Indians. Their beliefs were as entrenched as white beliefs. He didn’t always agree with either but he respected those who were sincere.
Bird Rattler looked at him. “Bad medicine for you, too.”
“I can’t go,” Fargo said.
“Because bear kill friend?”
“Because of a lot of things,” Fargo said, and smiled wryly. “But mainly because I’m too stubborn to know when to quit.”
“You not quit,” Bird Rattler said, “maybe you die.”
By midnight fewer roars and screams and cries echoed off the high peaks. The camp lay quiet under the mantle of darkness.
Fargo put a fresh batch of coffee on. He was supposed to sit up until about one. He yawned and stretched and heard a splash in the stream. His hand dropped to the Sharps but it was only a doe. She came into the light, stared a bit, and melted away.
Fargo relaxed. The bear might be miles away. He’d start after her in the morning and this time he would stick to her trail as relentlessly as a hound to the scent of a raccoon.
It was more than the bounty now. It was personal.
Wendy sat up and cast off his blankets. “Nature’s call,” he said sleepily, and with his elephant gun cradled in his arm, he shambled toward the woods.
Again Fargo yawned. His eyelids were leaden. He shook his head and slapped his cheek but it did no good. Annoyed, he got up and paced and flapped his arms to get his blood flowing.
The Ovaro raised its head and pricked its ears and nickered.
Fargo stopped flapping. The stallion was staring to the east. Wendy had gone north so it couldn’t be the Brit. He looked but didn’t see anything. Picking up his Sharps, he moved to the edge of the firelight. Nothing moved. There were no sounds.
The Ovaro was still staring—but to the south.
