Grizzly Fury

“A female can’t compare to the excitement of the kill,” Wendy went on. “When I’m looking down my barrel into the eyes of a charging rhino or tiger, I’m as close as mortal man can be to ecstasy.”

“If you say so.” Fargo would rather attain the heights of pleasure with a woman’s thighs wrapped around him.

“You don’t feel a thrill when you shoot a wild beast?”

“I only do it for food or to defend myself.”

They went around the bend. To the right was a thicket. To the left the stone wall had partially buckled, creating a ramp of stones and earth.

“You must have felt a tingle once or twice,” Wendy persisted. “Haven’t you ever been charged by a buffalo? Or a moose?”

“Both. And I could go my whole life without having it happen again.”

The three warriors were talking in low tones. Something had agitated them.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, man?” Wendy teased. “Where’s your zest for a challenge?”

Stones clattered. Fargo glanced back just as the male grizzly rose up at the top of the ramp. Uttering a thunderous roar, it was on the Blackfeet in less time than they could blink. Red Mink was nearest and his horse bore the brunt of the impact. Both mount and warrior crashed to the ground, Red Mink thrusting with his lance as he went down. The tip sliced into the grizzly’s shoulder but didn’t penetrate far enough to inflict much of a wound. The bear bit down on the horse’s mane and there was the crack of its spine breaking.

Bird Rattler let an arrow fly.

Fargo reined around and tugged on the Sharps. It was caught in the scabbard.

Red Mink made it to his knees and stabbed at the grizzly’s chest. He drew the lance back to try again but the bear’s claws flashed once, twice, three times, and Red Mink’s head was left hanging by a ribbon of flesh. Blood pumped in a fine mist.

Bird Rattler loosed another arrow.

The Sharps came free and Fargo jammed the stock to his shoulder.

Lazy Husband was trying to control his bucking horse.

The grizzly had both front paws on Red Mink. Two feathered shafts jutted from its body but it didn’t seem to feel the pain. Growling, it charged Bird Rattler, who was sighting down another arrow. Bird Rattler tried to wheel his mount but the grizzly reached it before he could break into a gallop. Flashing paws met the horse’s hide and blood spurted. The horse shrieked and staggered.

Fargo fired. He didn’t have a heart or lung shot so he went for the head and scored but the slug glanced off. He grabbed for another cartridge.

“God in heaven, man, move!” Wendy bellowed.

Fargo realized he was between the Brit and the griz, and reined aside.

The grizzly swung toward them. Blood flecked its maw and its front paws. Powerful muscles rippling, it barreled at the Ovaro.

An artificial thunderclap filled the gorge. The walls seemed to shake and dust rained down and the bear pitched into a slide that ended with its nose inches from the stallion’s leg.

“Son of a bitch,” Fargo blurted.

Wendy patted his smoking rifle. “I told you this beauty would get the job done.”

The two-bore was a cannon. The slug had shattered the grizzly’s skull. A hole big enough for Fargo to stick his fist in oozed gore.

“Easy as pie,” Wendy boasted.

“Brain Eater won’t be,” Fargo predicted. “She’s twice as big as this one.”

“And elephants are twice as big as she is. All I need is a clear shot and I’ll end her savage spree as easily as I ended the life of this one.” Wendy laughed and commenced to reload. “When you’ve faced down as many meat-eaters of all kinds as I have, a grizzly is—what’s that expression? Oh, yes. A grizzly is small potatoes.”

“You wish,” Fargo said.

20

Moose fixed supper. He shot a grouse and plucked it and roasted the meat on a spit.

Cecelia complained about not being allowed to help but she was too weak to sit up, let alone stand.

Bird Rattler and Lazy Husband had brought Red Mink back, swaddled in a blanket. They accepted portions of meat and then sat apart, talking.

Fargo caught snatches of what they were saying so he wasn’t surprised when Bird Rattler came over and stood waiting for them to acknowledge his presence. “What is it?”

“Our friend dead.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Fargo said.

“Bad medicine him die.”

“We weren’t careful enough.”

Bird Rattler went on as if he hadn’t heard. “My people say not come. Say bear much bad medicine. But I come.”

“We’re glad you did,” Fargo tried to soothe him, “and we hope you’ll stick around a good long while.”

“In morning we go. Take Red Mink our people.”

“You’re runnin’ out?” Cecelia said. “I admit I don’t think highly of redskins but I never took you to have a yellow streak.”

“Yellow streak?” Bird Rattler said.

“You’re a scaredy-cat,” Cecelia replied. “You have no more grit than mud.”

“Mud?” Bird Rattler was confused.

“She says you’re an old woman,” Fargo made it plain. Among the Blackfeet, for a man to be called that was the insult of insults.

Bird Rattler stiffened.

“And you’re wrong,” Fargo told Cecelia. “In the fight today he stood his ground. He’s as brave as any of us.”