It was early afternoon when they rode into town. Rooster said he had to go see somebody and they parted company. Fargo went straight to the Three Deuces, paid for a bottle, and claimed a chair against a side wall. He was filling his glass when perfume wreathed him and a warm hand fell lightly on his shoulder.
“I was beginning to think I’d never see you again,” Fanny Jellico said. She wore a pink dress that left nothing to the imagination. “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest.” Fargo pushed the glass across to her and took a long pull from the bottle.
“Where have you been?” Fanny asked, her luscious lips curled in a playful pout. “I thought for sure you’d come calling after I threw myself at you.”
“Went after the bear,” Fargo said, and briefly told her about his first attempt to track the grizzly down.
“You actually saw it?” Fanny marveled. “You’re the first one who has.”
“Don’t make more out of it than there is. I might have seen its eyes. That’s all. Others have gotten a better look than me.”
“Who?” Fanny asked. “Not one other bear hunter has gotten close enough.”
“The people the griz killed.”
“Oh.”
Fargo sucked down more bug juice and set the bottle on the table. “Are you working right now?”
Fanny glanced at a large clock on a shelf behind the bar. “Not for another hour or so yet. Why?” She grinned impishly. “What did you have in mind?”
“Treating you to a meal.”
Grinning, Fanny slowly ran a hand from her neck down over the swell of her bosom to her flat stomach. “I was hoping it might be something else.”
“Later,” Fargo promised. “Do you know a good place to eat?”
“The best in town.”
The sign read BETTY’S HOME COOKING. Betty turned out to be a stout matron who wore her white hair in a bun and had the sweetest disposition this side of sugar. She brought menus and gave Fargo a glass after informing him that while normally she didn’t allow alcohol in her establishment, she’d let him partake of the bottle he’d brought if he promised to behave.
“You won’t get rowdy, will you? If there’s anything that gets my goat, it’s a man who can’t hold his liquor.”
“Rowdy, no,” Fargo said, “but I can’t promise I won’t get playful.” He placed his hand on her hip. “You and me, out back, after I’m done eating?”
Laughing, Betty pushed his hand away. “Oh, you,” she said, and went to greet another customer.
“What is it with you and women that we want to fawn all over you?” Fanny wondered.
“It must be my dimples.”
The tiny bell over the door chimed and in came the mother of three with her children in tow. She looked around, started toward a table at the back, then caught sight of Fargo. To his surprise she changed direction and steered her brood over to theirs.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with a distinct drawl, “but you’re him, aren’t you? Rooster’s friend? Fargo?”
“He is,” Fanny confirmed, looking highly amused. “What can he do for you?”
“I can talk for myself,” Fargo said.
“I’m Cecelia Mathers. This here is Abner”—she tapped the oldest boy on the head—“and this one is Thomas”—she tapped the middle child—“and this is my youngest, Bethany.” She gave the girl a hug and the girl smiled shyly.
“Care to join us?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t think of imposin’,” Cecelia said. “It’s just that I was talkin’ to Rooster a while ago. He told me how you almost killed Brain Eater.”
“We didn’t come close,” Fargo said.
“That’s not how he’s tellin’ it,” Cecelia said. “He’s sayin’ you darn near had Brain Eater in your sights.”
“I wish,” Fargo said.
“He also told me you and him are partners. Was that another lie?”
“We’re hunting together,” Fargo admitted.
Cecelia moved her oldest and middle boy aside and leaned on the table. “How would you feel about havin’ a new partner?”
“New?”
“Take me with you instead of him. Me and my young’uns, here.”
It was rare that Fargo couldn’t find a word to say but he couldn’t find one now.
“I see by your face you must think I’m joshin’ but I ain’t,” Cecelia said. “We can ride and I’m as good a shot as anythin’ in britches. We wouldn’t be no bother nohow.”
“Rooster and I go back a long way,” Fargo said.
Cecelia acted as if she hadn’t heard. “He says as how he needs the bounty but I need it more. I have three mouths to feed besides my own and no man to help support us. My Ed got kicked by a horse. Couldn’t talk or hardly move. I had to feed him and bathe him and everythin’, and then he went and died on me.”
“Have you ever hunted a bear?”
Cecelia straightened. “What’s that got to do with it? It’s no different from huntin’ other critters. I’ve shot me a few deer and a couple of coons and once I killed a wild boar that was tryin’ to get at our sows.”
“There are safer ways of making money.”
“Mister, you’re not listenin’. We’re talkin’ five thousand dollars. Or half if I partner up with you. I could pay off the farm and get the kids some schoolin’ so they can make somethin’ of themselves.”
“Where are you from?”
“Tennessee. Why?”
Fargo motioned at her offspring. “Take them and go back there. Find another way.”
“There ain’t no other way,” Cecelia said archly, and smacked the table. “Not to make this much at once. Rooster says you’re the best tracker alive, and I figure with your help, the money is as good as mine.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ll stick with Rooster.”
Cecelia’s mouth became a slit and her jaw muscles twitched. She gathered her boys and the girl in her arms and walked to another table.
Fanny patted Fargo’s hand and laughed. “Yes, sir,” she said. “When it comes to females, you’re a regular magnet.”
5
They ate and returned to the Three Deuces. Fanny had to work so Fargo sat in on a poker game. The cards went from cold to warm to hot and he was on a winning streak and over a hundred dollars to the better when a commotion broke out over at the bar. He wasn’t paying it any mind until a familiar voice caught his ear.
“I say, take that back, you bounder. I will put up with a lot but not an insult.”
Fargo shifted in his chair. Wendolyn Channing Mayal was as impeccably dressed as ever. Wendy was matching glares with a burly man in bib overalls. A farmer from Missouri, as Fargo recollected, another bear hunter. The man had four friends and the five of them were drunk.
Now the farmer poked Wendy in the chest. “I say that any country that lets itself be run by a woman, the men ain’t got no sand.”
“That is so outrageously stupid I don’t know where to begin,” Wendy said. “And I’ll thank you again not to slur the queen.”
“He just called you stupid,” one of the others said to the burly one.
“Real men don’t let females tell them what to do,” the instigator declared.
“You’ve never been married, then?” Wendy said.
“I was once but she ran off with a corset salesman.” The farmer poked the Englishman harder. “And this ain’t about me. It’s about you coming over here from Great England or whatever the hell you call it and trying to take money away from good honest Americans like us.” He gestured at his friends.
“In the first place, it’s Great Britain, and in the second place, I have as much right as any of you to have a go at this Brain Eater.”