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.
Fargo scanned the slopes above. He didn’t expect to see the bears but he did. They were climbing side by side. As he watched, they stopped and rubbed against one another and then moved into a dense growth of firs.
“True love,” Fargo said, but he didn’t laugh. Climbing down, he went through Rooster’s pockets, then dragged the body into the shade and covered the old scout’s remains with branches and rocks and dirt. He also salvaged what he could from Rooster’s saddlebags. He tied Rooster’s Sharps on the Ovaro with his bedroll.
A dry blood trail led him to the man who made the fire: another bear hunter. The man had lost an arm and a foot and half his head was gone. So was his brain.
The sun was on its westward incline when Fargo reined the Ovaro to the northwest. He wasn’t going after the two grizzlies alone. One, yes, he could handle, but to tackle two was to ask for an early grave.
Twilight was spreading its colorless blanket over the wilds when Fargo reached the meadow. The others were already back.
Moose and Wendy were by the fire with Cecelia and the kids. The Blackfeet were at their own fire near the stream. He wearily climbed down. Without saying a word he knelt and helped himself to coffee and gulped half the cup.
Everyone stared. The Blackfeet came over and waited for him to say something.
It was Moose who glanced into the woods and said, “Where’s Rooster? Did you leave the old goat behind?”
“He’s dead,” Fargo said.
“I’m sorry,” Cecelia said. “I know him and you go a ways back.”
“Breaks Heads?” Bird Rattler asked.
Fargo nodded. “She and the male are together.”
“As if the one ain’t problem enough,” Cecelia said.
Moose nodded. “They could stay together for days or weeks. It’ll be that much harder for us.”
“Twice the challenge, eh, mates?” Wendy said with a happy grin.
Fargo was refilling his cup. “Rooster wouldn’t think so.”
“What do we do?” Cecelia asked. “How do we kill two bears when we can’t kill the one?”
All eyes fixed on Fargo again. “Could be they’ll lay up for a while,” he guessed. “They have Rooster’s horse to eat so they won’t be in a hurry to go anywhere. We can go back there tomorrow and end this.”
“All of us?” Moose said, and shook his head. “I’m staying with Cecelia.”
“No,” she said.
“I won’t leave you and the kids alone.”
“You don’t take part, we’re not entitled to any of the bounty.”
Fargo spoke up. “You each get your share whether he comes or not. It will be safer for you if he stays.”
“I won’t be coddled,” Cecelia said.
“I’d be too worried,” Moose said.
“What can happen? The bears are miles from here.” Cecelia looked at Bird Rattler. “Are there any other of your people hereabouts?”
“No.”
“There you have it,” Cecelia said to Moose. “We’ll be perfectly fine. You go off with these others and do what you have to.”
“But—” Moose began, and she held up a hand.
“I won’t have a man who uses me as an excuse.”
“It’s not—” Moose started again, but this time she covered his mouth with her palm.
“Prove to me you’re worth a damn. Go off and help kill Brain Eater and that other one if you have to and get us the money we need.” She removed her hand. “You hear me?”
“Whatever you say,” Moose said.
“That’s settled then.” Cecelia smiled sweetly. “It’s getting late. I’d better start on supper.” She collected her kids and ushered them toward the lean-to.
“You know,” Wendy said, “I’ve hunted elephant and rhino. I’ve pitted myself against tigers and jaguars. But there’s nothing on this earth half as formidable as a woman with her dander up.”
“Does that mean you’d be scared of her if you was me?” Moose asked.
“In a word, my good man, yes.”
Moose sighed. “I sure could use a drink right about now.”
“We all could,” Fargo said.
17
Buzzards covered the horse. They tore at the flesh with their beaks and swallowed the meat whole. A red fox sat on its haunches nearby. Twice it had approached but the vultures hissed and flapped their wings and the fox timidly retreated.
“I don’t see no bears,” Moose said.
They were on the ridge Fargo had crossed the day before. Sunlight bathed the valley. Only the thickest of the timber was in shadow. A yellow finch was conspicuous. So was a jay high in a pine.
“Where did you see the fearsome blighters last?” Wendy asked.
Fargo pointed at the firs on the opposite slope. “Going into those trees.”
“They might still be there,” Moose said.
“You’re the expert on bears,” Wendolyn said. “Do we wait for them to come out or do we go in after them?”
Bird Rattler and his friends had not uttered a word the entire ride. But now the venerable warrior cleared his throat and said, “Go in.”
“Catch them napping, as it were?” Wendy said. “I like the idea.”
Fargo didn’t. Something was bothering him but he couldn’t put his mental finger on the cause.
“Piikani go there,” Bird Rattler said, and pointed at the west end of the fir belt. “White-eyes go there,” and he pointed at the east end.
“Piikani?” Wendy said.
“It’s what the Blackfeet call themselves,” Fargo explained. The names that whites called most tribes weren’t their real names. The Apaches were the Shis-Inday. The Comanches called themselves the Numunu. The Crows were the Apsaalooke.
“It’ll take us half the day to get up there,” Moose observed.
“Stay here if you want,” Wendy said. “Personally, I like going into the bush after dangerous game. It adds to the thrill.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.”
Wendy ran a hand over his elephant gun. “At last I can put my beauty to the test.”
They agreed that each group would start into the firs when the sun was at its zenith. Then they separated and began their climb. The terrain was rugged, their ascent arduous. Still, Fargo and his companions reached the fir belt half an hour before they were to move in. “We’ll rest a bit,” he announced. Shucking the Sharps, he sat with his back to a boulder, plucked a blade of grass, and stuck it in his mouth. From where he sat he could see the buzzards and the fox.
Wendy breathed deep of the rarefied air, and smiled.
“I daresay I like this country of yours. These mountains stir the very soul.”
“They’re just mountains,” Moose said.
“That’s like saying the ocean is just water. Look about you.” The Brit gestured. “These noble crags and lofty heights are a testament to the grandeur of creation. They would inspire a poet to rapturous verse.”
“Raptu-what?”
“The hand of an artist is everywhere. Don’t you feel it?”
“I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about,” Moose said.
The Britisher appealed to Fargo. “Surely you understand. Explain it to him, if you would.”