Grizzly Fury

“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.”

“I don’t need him to,” Moose said. “I ain’t dumb. You got your head in the clouds.”

“I doubt you comprehend at all,” Wendy said.

Moose bunched his fists. “Keep talking to me like that and so help me, I’ll pound you.”

“Talk a little louder so the bloody bears will know we’re here.”

“They already do.”

“Is that true?” Wendy asked Fargo.

“Odds are,” Fargo said.

“Then how do we sneak up on them?”

“We don’t.”

“Is this like tiger hunting? Do we go in and make a lot of noise and drive them toward the Indians? Or do the Indians drive them toward us?”

“Drive a grizzly?” Moose said, and laughed.

“We go in and hope we get off a shot before they claw us to bits,” Fargo said.

“You make it sound as if we’re depending entirely on luck.”

“Now the foreigner gets it,” Moose said.

Wendolyn muttered something about Yanks, shouldered his elephant gun, and walked away.

Moose chuckled. “I reckon I hurt his feelings.”

“Go easy on him. That elephant gun of his could come in handy.”

“That reminds me,” Moose said. “I’m been meaning to ask. What the blazes is an elephant, anyhow?”

Fargo had been keeping an eye on the sun, and now he stood. “I’ll tell you later. It’s time to start in.”

“Look out, Brain Eater,” Moose said. “Here we come.”