Fargo scrambled down. He hadn’t accomplished much other than making her mad as hell. But she would be more cautious and come on slower, gaining him precious time. The longer he delayed her, the closer he got to Gold Creek and safety.
For about fifteen minutes Fargo held to a steady pace. Another of the innumerable bends brought him to a pool—and two men camped beside it. The flap to their tent was open, and they were seated on stools. Beyond were their hobbled horses.
Fargo figured they were prospectors. “We have to get out of here.”
The pair picked up rifles and rose. Both were big and blond and well muscled.
“Hej,” one of them said. “Pratar du svenska?”
Fargo remembered them now. They were Swedish or Danish.
Immigrant farmers, lured to Gold Creek by the bounty. “Brain Eater is after me,” he warned. “Take me to town.”
They looked at one another.
“Jag forstar inte,” the one on the right said.
“Var snall och prata langsammare,” said the other.
“Goddamn it.” Fargo glanced over his shoulder. They had a few minutes yet. “Do either of you speak English?”
“Ja,” the one on the right replied. “Engelska.”
“The bear is after me,” Fargo explained, and jabbed a finger back the way he had come. “Do you savvy? Brain Eater? She is hunting me and will kill us if we don’t light a shuck.”
“Bear?” the immigrant on the left said.
“Yes, yes,” Fargo said. “Do you understand? Bear. Brain Eater. After me.” Again he pointed north.
“Bear,” the same man said, and beamed at his companion.
“Bjorn!”
“Bjorn?”
“Ja.”
The pair hefted their rifles and eagerly brushed past Fargo.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The one pointed as Fargo had done. “Bear!” he excitedly exclaimed.
“Yes. Brain Eater.” Fargo touched his head and made a scooping motion. “Do you understand? The grizzly that has been killing everybody. We must go. Now.”
The Swedes looked positively delighted. They raised their rifles.
“No, damn it.” Fargo’s sense of urgency was climbing. He ran to the nearest man and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Don’t do this. Your guns won’t stop it.” They were armed with old long rifles better suited for small game. “We must get out of here while we can.”
The immigrant smiled and nodded. “Oroa dig inte. Vi kommer att doda bjornen.”
“What?” Fargo said.
“Slappa,” the man said.
“What the hell does that mean?” Fargo was growing desperate, and shook him. “You’re going to die if you don’t listen to me.”
“Tillrackligt,” the immigrant said, and tugged loose. “Lamna detta till oss.”
Fargo looked at the other one and the man smiled and nodded. He didn’t know what else to do. “You could at least learn the damn language.”
“Tack for att bjornen till oss,” the man said.
Fargo was about to appeal to them once more but they had run out of time.
Brain Eater was there.
27
The grizzly barreled around the bend and came to a stop. It looked past the two Swedes at Fargo and let out a growl.
“Run!” Fargo shouted, and dashed to the horses.
As for the immigrants, they grinned and the one on the right said, “Det ar var tur dag.”
The other one nodded. “Pengarna ar var.”
Fargo couldn’t get the first hobble off. It was a makeshift affair, a short piece of rope with more knots than he had knuckles. He hiked his pant leg and palmed the Arkansas toothpick.
“Vill du skjuta forst?”
“Nej du gar forst.”
“Detta var din ide. Det ar ratt att du skjuter forst.”
It looked to Fargo as if they were arguing over who should shoot first. He slashed at the hobble but the rope was new and stiff and resisted his blade.
“Behaga. Jag insisterar du gora det.”
“Hur omkring om vi skjuter tillsammans sedan?”
A few strands parted but nowhere near enough. Fargo glanced at the grizzly, wondering how long it would continue to just stand there.
Not another second. Brain Eater roared and was on the Swedes with incredible speed. The one on the right bleated, “God Gud!” and tried to take aim. A paw crushed his face.
The other Swede cried, “Han hor dodat dig!” and fired.
Whether he hit the bear or not was irrelevant; it had no effect whatsoever.
Brain Eater roared as her claws sheared into the second man’s crotch. He shrieked and dropped his rifle and cried out.
“Vad du gor du, din dumma bar?”
With a powerful surge, the grizzly ripped him open from manhood to sternum.
Fargo was only partway through the first hobble. Darting around the horses, he plunged into the woods. He went about ten feet and sprawled flat.
Brain Eater was chomping on the second Swede’s innards. His guts had spilled out and the bear had part of an intestine in her mouth and was shaking the ropy coils.
The other man was whimpering and convulsing.
There was nothing Fargo could do. He stayed flat and drew the Colt. It wouldn’t do much good but he wasn’t going to be ripped apart without a fight.
Brain Eater wolfed a hunk of flesh. Straddling the dead man, she nuzzled his neck and head and sank her fangs into his forehead. As easily as if she was peeling the crust of a pie, she peeled the scalp from the cranium and spat it out. She licked the blood that welled, then spread her jaws wide and closed them on the man’s head. It burst like a melon and she lapped at the oozing brains as if she couldn’t get enough of them.
Hampered by the hobbles, the horses were trying to flee and whinnying in panic.
Fargo wished he had the elephant gun. He had a perfect shot.
Brain Eater went to the other Swede. He had stopped moving. She pawed at his body and when there was no reaction, she ripped off an ear and a swatch of hair. Underneath gleamed the skull.
Fargo told himself to look away but didn’t.
Brain Eater’s teeth were so many razors, slicing through flesh and crunching bone. Once again she indulged in her favorite food and when she was done, she licked the brain pan clean.
The horses had gone about ten yards. One was bucking and struggling to break free of the hobble.
Brain Eater raised her dripping maw. She broke into motion and swiped at the first horse. A leg cracked and the horse squealed and went down. The bucking horse tried to kick Brain Eater but the grizzly dodged and raked her claws from tail to ribs.
Fargo figured she would be busy for a while eating. He crabbed backward and stood. The grizzly was tearing at the second horse’s belly. Turning to the south, he stealthily made his way through the woods to the creek.
More running. His feet were sore and his leg muscles protested but he ate up the distance. He wondered how many more hunters or gold seekers he would encounter. Three men had died and he was indirectly to blame. With the bear after him, he invited death on everyone he met.
No sooner did the thought cross his mind than two women came flying up the creek toward him. Both had cornstalk hair and wore plain homespun dresses and bonnets. At the sight of him they stopped and one called out, “Vem ar du? Var ar vara man?”