“Is that a fact?”
“I’ve just said it was.”
The burly one glanced at his companions.
Fargo sensed what was coming. He hardly knew the Englishman, and it really wasn’t any of his business and he should stay at the table, yet he found himself setting down his cards and saying, “I’ll be right back.”
The farmer swatted Wendy’s ale from his hand and the stein crashed to pieces against the bar.
“You bloody idiot.”
The farmer threw a punch that Wendy blocked. The others sprang and grabbed his arms.
“Let go, damn you. This is most unsportsmanlike.”
The burly one shook a fist. “Mister, I am sick of you and your airs.”
“Knock his noggin off, Leroy,” another of the drunks exhorted him.
“Release me, I say,” Wendy said. “It’s not my fault that so many of you colonials aren’t gentlemen.”
“There you go again.” Leroy leaned in close. “When I’m done, you’ll be laid up for a month of Sundays.” He cocked his arm.
By then Fargo was there. He grabbed Leroy’s wrist. “Enough.”
The farmer turned in surprise and wrenched free. “What the hell? I remember seeing you out at the Stoddard place. Are you his friend or something?”
“I like the name Wendy,” Fargo said.
“What kind of name is that for a man, anyhow?”
“Let go of him and go back to your drinking,” Fargo advised.
They were too drunk and too dense. They looked at one another and Leroy did more fist shaking.
“Mister, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take that big nose of yours somewhere else.”
“Yours is a lot bigger,” Fargo said, and punched him in it.
Cartilage crunched and blood spurted and Leroy roared with rage and attacked.
Wendy kicked one of the men holding him in the knee and was slammed against the bar.
Two others came at Fargo and suddenly he was half surrounded and warding off blows from three attackers at once. He slipped a sloppy cross and let loose with a sharp uppercut that raised the man onto the tips of his toes. A fist to his shoulder made him wince. Another scraped his cheek. He pivoted and rammed his knuckles into a flabby gut, only to have his arm gripped and held. He brought his left arm up but that was seized, too, and now he was in the same predicament as Wendy.
Glowering, Leroy wiped blood from his face with his sleeve. “Hold them, boys.”
“Thank you for trying to help,” Wendy said to Fargo. “Very decent of you, my good fellow.”
“Shut up,” Leroy snarled, and once more cocked his arm. “I’m going to enjoy the hell out of pounding the two of you into the floor.”
The next instant a large figure reared behind him and a hand the size of a ham clamped around his neck.
“What’s going on here, Leroy?”
“Moose!” Leroy exclaimed.
“I asked you a question,” Moose Taylor said, shaking him. “Wendy, there, has been nice to me, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“This ain’t any of your affair.”
Moose glared at the others. “Let go of them or I’ll do something you won’t like.”
Leroy gave a tug but couldn’t pull free. “I don’t like you now, damn you. You let go of me. There are five of us and that’s more than enough, even for you.”
“Don’t be mean,” Moose said.
Once more Leroy tried to jerk loose and couldn’t. His temper snapped. “Mean? I’ll give you mean, you big ox. You are nothing but brag, always going on about all the bears you claim you’ve killed.”
A red flush spread from Moose’s neck to his hair. Just like that, he bent and gripped Leroy by the shirt and the belt, and in an incredible display of raw strength, raised the farmer clear over his head.
Leroy bleated and struggled. “Put me down, goddamn you!”
“I can’t stand mean,” Moose said, and threw Leroy onto a table. Its legs splintered, and the table and Leroy crashed to the floor with Leroy stunned and nearly unconscious. Moose wheeled on the others, who were riveted in amazement. “Anyone else want to be chucked?”
All four raised their arms and backed off shaking their heads.
“Darn mean people, anyhow,” Moose said.
Wendy smoothed his jacket and smiled. “I’m grateful for the assistance, Mr. Taylor.”
Fargo offered his hand.
Moose looked at it and at him, and beamed. “Does this mean we’re friends too?”
“Friends,” Fargo said, and nearly had his arm shaken off when the big man enthusiastically pumped it.
“I like having friends,” Moose said, and laughing, he clapped Fargo on the back.
Fargo thought it a wonder his spine didn’t break. Moose Taylor was ungodly strong.
“I say,” Wendy broke in. “How about I treat both you chaps to drinks for coming to my rescue?”
“I like drinks,” Moose said.
“I’d like to,” Fargo said, “but I’m in the middle of a card game.” He returned to the table and sat and no sooner was he dealt a new hand than Wendy and Moose were on either side of his chair. “You want something?”
“Friends stick with friends,” Moose said.
The game resumed and Fargo had about forgotten they were there when he was dealt a full house.
Behind him, Moose chuckled. “Oh, that’s a good one. If I was playing cards I’d bet all I had.”
The other players folded.
Fargo glanced up in annoyance. Wendy looked embarrassed by Moose’s mistake. Moose, though, was smiling in serene and earnest innocence.
“Hell,” Fargo said. He stood and gathered his winnings. “How about I treat both of you?”
Moose made space for them at the bar just by stepping up to it. The bartender brought a bottle of Monongahela and was filling their glasses when murmuring broke out and Fargo turned to see Cecelia Mathers march into the saloon with her brood in her wake.
“What the hell?” the bartender said.
Cecelia looked around, then came straight toward the bar, parting those in front of her as the prow of a ship might part the sea.
Fargo figured she hadn’t taken no for an answer but it wasn’t him she came to see. She halted in front of Moose and put her hands on her hips.
“If it can’t be him it might as well be you.”
“Ma’am?” Moose said.
“I need a partner to go after Brain Eater,” Cecelia said, and jerked a thumb at Fargo. “I asked him but he’s already got one. So now I’m askin’ you.” She paused and glanced at the Englishman. “Wait a minute. How about you? I’m not particular, and they say you have a rifle that can drop a buffalo with a single shot.”
“I’m sorry, madam, but I hunt alone.”
“Then it’s back to you,” Cecelia said to Moose. “How about it?”
“How about what?”
“Aren’t you payin’ attention? How about partnerin’ up with me to hunt the griz.”
“You and me?”
“They say you’ve killed a heap of bears so you must be good at it.”
Moose squared his wide shoulders and puffed out his enormous chest. “A heap is about right.”
“Then will you or won’t you?”
“Won’t I what?”
Cecelia rose onto her toes so her face was inches from his.
“Is there somethin’ the matter with you?”
“I ain’t been sick in years,” Moose said.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious about being sick,” Moose said. “I don’t like to throw up.”
Cecelia took a step back. “Enough about sick. Will you or won’t you be my partner? We’ll split the bounty fifty-fifty. In return, while we’re on the trail, I’ll do all the cookin’ and such. I’ll mend any socks you have that need darnin’. And do whatever else you say needs doin’. Does that sound fair?”