13

Fargo drew rein. He remembered the two sets of eyes at the meadow. He remembered Mrs. Nesmith saying that the bear that killed her family wasn’t Brain Eater, but smaller. This one had a lighter coat, especially around the head and neck. It also had razor teeth and claws as long as Fargo’s fingers. When it growled again and moved toward him, he flew for his life.

He wanted to beat his head against a tree for being so careless. He’d been so deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed it until he was much too close.

This new bear was quicker than Brain Eater and was after them like a hound let off the leash after a coon. It roared as it charged. A raking paw nearly caught the Ovaro.

Fargo swore. Slicking the Colt, he twisted and fired. The slug drilled the ground in front of the grizzly. He thumbed back the hammer to shoot again but the bear veered and broke off the chase and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Some bears were scared of guns; the noise sent them scurrying.

Fargo didn’t stop. He had escaped two bears in as many minutes and he would be damned if he would push his luck. He stayed at a gallop until he was sure neither was after him.

It was a long ride to the meadow and his friends. The sun had been down for more than an hour when the glow of their fire told him he didn’t have far to go.

Rooster was the first to spot him, and came running with his rifle. “About damn time, pard. I was commencing to worry.” He cocked his head. “You and that horse of yours look awful peaked. And did it rain where you were?”

“I could use some coffee.” Fargo’s buckskins were still damp and uncomfortable in the growing chill of the high-country night.

Cecelia had his cup full and held it out to him. “Here you go,” she said as he dismounted.

“Where have you been, my good man?” Wendolyn asked. He was holding his teacup and saucer and was as impeccably dressed as ever in a hunting outfit that included a wide-brimmed hat with a high crown that he had told them was popular with big-game hunters in Africa.

Fargo hunkered by the fire for the warmth. He swallowed half the cup before he launched into a recital of his day. They listened with intense interest. No one interrupted. When he was done he drained the rest of the cup and promptly refilled it.

“So the two bears are sticking close to one another?” Rooster said thoughtfully. “Maybe the smaller one is her cub.”

“Too old,” Fargo said. Cubs stayed with their mothers for a year or so, two years at the most. The smaller grizzly looked to be twice that.

“Now and then a cub doesn’t want to go off on its own no matter what.”

“Then where this Brain Eater goes, the smaller one follows,” Wendy said.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Cecelia said.

Moose, who hadn’t uttered a word since Fargo arrived, roused and said, “What?”

“We have to kill both of them.”

“There’s no bounty on the smaller griz,” Rooster said.

“So what?” Cecelia countered. “It’s killed people, the same as the big one. And it will go on killin’ unless it’s stopped.”

“I daresay I have no objection,” Wendy said. “Two bears are twice the sport and twice the fun.”

“Fun?” Rooster said, and snorted.

“We can always sell the hide for money,” Moose said. “It won’t be a lot split five ways but it will put a little extra in our pokes.”

“A fine notion,” Cecelia said, smiling warmly at him.

Then she turned to Fargo. “How about you, Skye? What do you say?”

“We kill both.”

“This hunt is getting complicated,” Rooster groused. “Killing the big one will be hard enough.”

Cecelia asked Bethany to get her a clean plate and ladled squirrel meat onto it. She added a slice of bread and handed it to Fargo, saying, “Here you go. You must be awful hungry after the day you’ve had.”

“I’m obliged.” As he speared a morsel with his fork, Fargo noticed Moose staring at him.

“Back to these bears,” Wendy said. “You Yanks have more experience with the brutes. How do you suggest we go about it?”

“Very carefully,” Rooster said.


The next morning the men were in position by sunrise. They waited throughout the day while Cecelia cooked and her children played and made a lot of noise.

Neither grizzly showed.

That night the men and Cecelia took turns keeping watch and maintaining the fire.

Neither bear appeared.

Two more days and nights wore on their nerves. They never knew but when one or another of the man-killers would come bursting out of nowhere to rip and rend.

The next morning dawned clear and brisk. Wendy had the last watch and woke everyone.

Fargo cast off his blanket and stood. He needed coffee but first he went to the stream. Kneeling, he dipped his hands in the cold water and splashed it on his face. Usually that was enough to jar him awake. He did it several times and wiped his face with his sleeve. As he went to rise he glanced to one side.

There was a moccasin print in a strip of mud. The print had not been there the day before because he had knelt at the exact spot.

Fargo examined it. The imprint was smooth and clear; it had been made in the past hour. He placed his hand on his Colt and stared across the stream at the wall of vegetation.

Rooster came shuffling up, and grumbling. “My old bones don’t take to lying on the ground as good as they used to. I should have brought extra blankets.” He stopped. “What has you looking like a dog on point?”

Fargo pointed at the mud.

“Damn,” Rooster said, and squatted. “He was spying on us, I bet.”

Fargo nodded.

“And where there’s one there are more. The question is, how many?”

“The question is, which tribe?” Fargo said. Given where they were, it could be one of two, either the Blackfeet or the Bloods. Neither were fond of whites.

Rooster knew that, too. “This ain’t good. They won’t like us being here.”

The rest took the news uneasily except for Wendolyn.

“I say, why the long faces? These savages won’t bother us, will they? Not with all the guns we have.”

“Hell, English,” Rooster said. “That’s just it. They might attack us to get our guns.”

“Or our horses,” Fargo said. The Blackfeet, in particular, esteemed horse stealing highly, almost as high as counting coup on an enemy.

Wendy patted his elephant gun. “If they try they will regret it.”

“Ever fought Indians?” Rooster asked.

“I can’t say as I have, no.”

“Then don’t act like you know what you’re talking about. At short range their bows are as lethal as that cannon of yours. And they can loose arrows a damn sight faster than you can shoot.”

“I still say they’ll think twice. And if they attack we’ll give them bloody hell.”

Cecelia had her arms around her kids. “What about us? You men they’ll kill and scalp. But what do they do to women and children? Take them captive?”

“The kids they might,” Rooster said, and let it go at that.

“Oh,” Cecelia said.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Moose said. “I’ll pick them up and break them over my knee like I done to a Sioux once.”

“As if we didn’t have enough to worry about with the bears,” Rooster muttered.

Fargo was sipping coffee. “I could try to talk to them. Find out what they’re up to.”

“How would you go about it?” Cecelia asked.

“By going off into the woods alone. If they’re still around, they might show themselves.”

“Or they could stick arrows in you from ambush and put your hair on display in a lodge,” Rooster said.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Cecelia said. “It’s too dangerous.”

Moose scowled. “If he wants to we should let him. Why are you worrying about him, anyhow?”

“He’s one of us,” Cecelia said.

“Well, you shouldn’t so much. Your kids and me are who you should worry about.”

“What are you goin’ on about? Naturally I worry about you and my kids.”

“I’m just saying,” Moose said.

“Well, you’re bein’ silly. We can’t afford to lose Skye, not when we still have Brain Eater to kill.”

“Don’t forget that other bear,” Rooster said.

Wendy grinned and patted his rifle. “Bears and savages. I must say, this is more exciting than I dared hope it would be.”

Rooster squinted at him. “Tell me something, hoss.”

“Anything, my fine friend.”

“Are all Brits as loco as you?”

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