Grizzly Fury (13 page)

“They have no interest in the bounty?”

“None,” Fargo confirmed.

Cecelia pursed her lips. “In that case they're welcome to stay. But only so long as they abide by my conditions.”

“Which are?”

“They do what we say when we say it. They cook for themselves. They're not to go near my kids, ever. And at night they don't sleep in the lean-to. Tell them.”

“No,” Fargo said.

“Why in blazes not?”

“Where to begin?” Fargo responded, half to himself. “They're Blackfeet warriors. We can't tell them what to do. We can ask but whether they do it or not is up to them. They're here after Brain Eater, not your kids. They like sleeping under the stars so I doubt they'd want to sleep in the lean-to. And since they're helping us, we share our food.”

“Sounds to me like you're treatin' them the same as you treat us.”

“Smart gal.”

“But they're
heathens
.”

Fargo had met so many whites who had the same attitude that he supposed he shouldn't be disappointed, but he was. “They're people.”

“Pard, that is the stupidest thing you ever said,” Rooster spat.

“I say,” Wendolyn interjected. “All this arguing isn't doing us any good. We need to work together.”

“I'll work with anyone but the Blackfeet,” Rooster declared.

“Damn it, Rooster,” Fargo said.

“I'm sorry, pard. If they were Shoshones or Crows, I wouldn't mind. You can call it wrong but I can't help being me.”

“Will you at least not shoot them if we let them lend us a hand?”

Rooster glared at the three warriors, who were still on their horses. “I reckon I can live and let live just this once. But only for you, you hear? Were it up to me they'd be dead already.”

“Cecelia?”

“If you vouch for them I'll go along with it too,” she said with obvious reluctance. “But understand me. They do anythin' I don't like, anythin' at all, they'll be gone or they'll be dead.”

Fargo sighed and walked over to the Blackfeet. “You heard?”

“Me hear,” Bird Rattler said.

“There's a lot of hate going around,” Fargo said. “On both sides.”

Bird Rattler ran a hand over his mount's mane. “When I young, I think hate good. More winters I live, not like hate so much.”

“Stay away from the old one,” Fargo advised. “He hates the most.”

“It not old man worry me,” Bird Rattler said. “It bear.”

 

The tension was thick enough to cut with a blunt knife.

Bird Rattler and his companions made camp near the stream. By coincidence it was at the spot where Fargo and his companions usually took their horses to drink. That afternoon, Rooster took them to a different spot.

In the evening Fargo called them all together. The whites sat on one side of the fire, the Blackfeet on the other.

“If we are going to make this work,” Fargo began, “we need a plan.” He explained to Bird Rattler that they had hoped to lure the she-bear in close enough to shoot but so far she had only come once, and at night, and they didn't get the chance. He also mentioned that the male bear had been with her.

“Bears much hard kill.”

“What was your plan?” Fargo asked him.

“Find tracks. Follow tracks. Find bear. Kill bear.”

“Except bears don't always leave tracks, do they, redskin?” Rooster said sarcastically.

“No, white skin,” Bird Rattler said. “They not.”

“Using ourselves as bait hasn't worked either,” Fargo said. “We need something better.”

“Like what?” Rooster said. “Bears think with their stomachs. All they care about is food. If our horses and us ain't enough, what else can we use?”

“How about a deer?” Moose said. “We can kill one and rig it over the fire. Maybe the smell of roast meat will bring Brain Eater in again.”

Fargo had a thought. “We can go that one better. We'll shoot a deer and bring it here to bleed out.”

“What'll that do?”

Rooster grinned and snapped his fingers. “I get it, hoss. It's the blood. Grizzlies can smell blood from a mile off.”

“They can?” Cecelia said. “Then why not kill two deer and bleed them? Or even three?”

“What do we do with all that meat?”

“Leave what we don't eat to rot.”

“No, we dry it and smoke it for jerky,” Fargo proposed.

Between the blood and the venison, he reckoned it just might work.

Rooster excitedly rubbed his hands together. “This is the best idea we've had yet. Let's get to it at first light.”

With the rising of the sun they split into hunting parties. Bird Rattle and his friends went off in one direction, Moose and Wendy in another, Fargo and Rooster yet a third. Usually they saw a lot of deer but by midmorning they hadn't seen one. When Rooster drew rein in disgust, so did Fargo.

“Figures,” the old scout complained. “There's never a deer around when you want to shoot one.”

Fargo was about to say that the others might be having better luck when he spied gray coils winding skyward over a mile away and half a mile lower down. “Smoke.”

“Got to be whites. Redskins are smart enough not to let folks know where they are. Should we have a look-see?”

The smoke was thinning by the time they crossed a ridge that overlooked a picturesque valley.

“Yonder, near those trees,” Rooster said, pointing. He rose in his stirrups. “Do you see what I see?”

Fargo did. Shucking the Sharps from his saddle scabbard, he gigged the Ovaro. They descended through heavy timber to the valley floor.

The Ovaro nickered.

“Side by side,” Fargo instructed. “You cover left, I'll cover right.”

“I'll watch our backs too.” Rooster's horse shied and he had to calm it.

The valley was as quiet as a cemetery. Other than a butterfly there was no sign of life. A strong breeze rustled the grass.

“It can't have been long ago if the fire's still going,” Rooster said.

“No,” Fargo agreed.

“The damn thing could be anywhere.”

A patch of grass seemed to bulge and Fargo jerked his Sharps up. But it was only another gust.

“You're twitchy, pard,” Rooster said, and chuckled.

“I'm fond of breathing,” Fargo said. The smell of the smoke was strong. So was another smell that was becoming all too familiar.

The fire was down to charred wood and glowing embers. Beside it lay a coffeepot on its side and an overturned frying pan. Packs had been torn open and the contents strewn about. A sack of flour had burst, spraying flour over what was left of a man who lay sprawled facedown. His clothes were in shreds but enough remained to show he had been wearing overalls with suspenders.

“It's one of those would-be bear hunters,” Rooster said. “I can't recollect his name but he makes his living as a store clerk.”

Part of the clerk's head was missing. Gore oozed from the empty skull.

“Brain Eater,” Rooster said.

Fargo thought he was referring to the dead man's head.

Then a gigantic shape lumbered out of the woods and growled.

“Shoot her!” Rooster cried, snapping his Sharps to his shoulder.

“No!” Fargo said. “Not yet!” He hoped the grizzly would rise onto her rear legs and give them a better shot at her vitals.

Rooster didn't heed. His rifle boomed. Blood sprayed from the she-bear's head and she recoiled. But the slug had only grazed her. Opening her maw, she let out with a tremendous roar.

“Ride!” Fargo bawled.

Rooster hauled on his reins but his horse had only begun to turn when Brain Eater slammed into it with the impact of an avalanche. The horse squealed and crashed down. Rooster tried to shove clear but his leg was pinned. He pushed at the saddle as his horse, kicking wildly, sought to rise.

Fargo raised his rifle. He didn't have much of a shot; the grizzly's flank was to him.

Brain Eater sank her teeth in the horse's neck. The horse shrieked, and there was a
crunch
. With a powerful wrench Brain Eater tore the stricken animal's throat out and swallowed a chunk of flesh.

Rooster was still frantically trying to free himself.

“Lie still!” Fargo shouted. The bear might ignore him if Rooster pretended to be dead.

Instead, Rooster groped in his pocket. He found a new cartridge and fumbled at inserting it. He wasn't looking at the grizzly.

Fargo fired just as Brain Eater's mouth closed on Rooster's head. Rooster screamed and tried to pull away. His eyes fixed on Fargo in terrified appeal, and then there was another, louder,
crunch
as Brain Eater ripped the top of his head off.

Transfixed, Fargo saw the grizzly stick her snout into the hole in Rooster's head, and slurp. Rooster's brain oozed out and she gobbled it down in quick gulps. Then she stepped back and turned—toward the Ovaro.

Self-preservation broke Fargo's spell. Rooster was gone and if he stayed and made a fight of it, he was as good as gone, too.

Brain Eater exploded into motion.

Fargo fled. The stallion galloped toward the far end of the valley with the giant grizzly pounding in pursuit. Teeth gnashed; the bear was biting at the Ovaro's tail. Fargo twisted and fired at the grizzly's broad skull. He hit it, too, because a scarlet furrow blossomed. His slug, like Rooster's, failed to penetrate.

But Brain Eater did slow and shake her head as if she were trying to clear it.

Fargo galloped on. When he glanced over his shoulder the grizzly had stopped. He didn't. Not until he was in the trees.

Brain Eater was tearing at the dead horse. She ignored Rooster. Apparently the only part of a human she liked to eat were the brains.

Fargo stared at his friend, thinking of former times. “Damn.” Yet another he had lost. At the rate things were going, by the time he reached old age he wouldn't have any friends left.

He had a decision to make. He could tuck tail and ride off, leaving the grizzly free to go on killing, or he could try to stop the slaughter once and for all.

Dismounting, Fargo tied off the reins. He could get closer on foot than on horseback. He reloaded and stalked along the tree line toward the bear. She was so intent on her feast, she'd forgotten about him.

 

Fargo moved from cover to cover with the speed of molasses. Any faster, and the movement might give him away.

Brain Eater was standing side-on. Fargo had a good shot if he could get close enough.

The grizzly gnawed at an eye socket. She seemed to like eyes as much as she liked brains.

Fargo raised his Sharps but didn't shoot. Not yet. He needed to be certain. He skirted a small blue spruce and stopped dead.

Brain Eater was staring in his direction.

Fargo broke out in a sweat. Had she or hadn't she seen him? He was too far from the Ovaro to reach it if she came after him.

Brain Eater resumed feeding. But something in the way she stood warned Fargo that she was suspicious and was keeping her eye on his vicinity. He took a step and she raised her head.

Fargo froze.

The grizzly raised her muzzle and sniffed. Shifting, she resumed filling her stomach.

Fargo flattened. She couldn't see him now so it was safe to move faster. Or so he thought until he heard a growl and raised his head high enough to see over the grass.

Brain Eater had stopped feeding and was holding her head high, scenting the wind. Blood dribbled from her mouth and gleamed red on her throat.

Fargo crabbed to an oak. Keeping it between him and the bear, he slowly stood and brought the Sharps to his shoulder. He was close enough.

Brain Eater was still testing the breeze.

I've got you now, Fargo thought. He aligned the front sight with the rear sight and placed his finger on the trigger.

All he had to do was cock the hammer.

Another growl sent a ripple of consternation down Fargo's spine. It didn't come from in front of him. It came from
behind
him. He took his cheek from the Sharps and looked over his shoulder.

It was the other bear, the male, the one the Blackfeet called Little Penis.

Even as Fargo set eyes on him, Little Penis charged.

 

Fargo had no time to shoot and nowhere to run. Instead he jumped at a low limb, caught hold, and pulled himself into the tree. He barely made it. Claws raked his boot. He scrambled higher. The male reared and bit at Fargo's leg, and missed.

Fargo gained a new hold, rising out of reach. Little Penis didn't like that. He roared and clawed at the oak and might have gone on clawing at it if not for crashing in the brush.

Suddenly Brain Eater was there.

The grizzlies stared at one another and Little Penis sank onto all fours.

Fargo tried to aim at her but branches were in the way. He carefully shifted to find a better position.

Brain Eater came to the tree. She looked up, tilting her head to see him. She sniffed the air and the male sniffed her and she turned to him and they rubbed heads.

Fargo still didn't have a shot.

Brain Eater uttered a low whine and moved off into the timber. Little Penis went on sniffing, and followed.

Fargo waited several minutes after the sounds of their passage faded before he risked descending. Bears sometimes circled back on prey, although in this instance he suspected they had something else on their minds.

Once he was on the ground, Fargo ran. He was covered with sweat and puffing when he climbed on the Ovaro. The smart thing to do was leave, to get as far from the two grizzlies as he could. Instead he rode down the valley to Rooster.