Grizzly Fury

“Why am I still alive?”

“Why are . . . either of us?” Cecelia weakly rejoined. “The bear . . . ate their brains . . . and then left.”

Fargo needed a gun. The grizzly might come back. He started to turn but she gripped his hand so tight, it hurt.

“Wait. You have . . . to save her.”

“Who?” Fargo said, and knew the moment he asked.

“Beth. She got away . . . I think. I told her to run. She went that way . . .” Cecelia tried to point toward the stream. “You must find her.”

“I will,” Fargo vowed.

“I don’t have any kin who would take her,” Cecelia gasped. “Get her to an orphanage. Or a minister or a priest.”

“I’ll see she’s taken care of.”

Cecelia smiled and closed her eyes. “Thank you. I’m afraid I don’t have long left.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

“No,” Cecelia said. “Forget about me. Find Bethany. She must be scared to . . .” She stopped and inhaled.

“For what it’s worth, you’re a fine mother,” Fargo sought to ease her regret. “You did what you thought best.” He squeezed her hand but she didn’t squeeze back. “Cecelia?” He pressed his fingers to her wrist; she had no pulse. “Damn.” He slowly stood and surveyed the slaughter. He saw his Sharps. As he was reloading it he remembered the horses.

They were gone.

Fargo went over to where they had been tied. There was no blood, which told him they ran off and weren’t killed. He’d trained the Ovaro to come when he whistled and he whistled several times but the stallion didn’t appear. He moved to the stream and hollered for Bethany over and over, with the same result.

Kneeling, Fargo undid his bandanna. He soaked it and washed each of his cuts to reduce the risk of them festering. He washed his face, wrung the bandanna out, and retied it. Standing, he shouted for Bethany and whistled for the Ovaro, and shouted louder. He was about to turn when the undergrowth to his left crackled. Snapping the Sharps to his shoulder, he aimed at moving brush.

Out of the thicket shuffled Wendolyn. His shirt and pants were ripped and stained with blood and he had cuts on his upper arm that could use stitches. He was holding his elephant gun limply at his side. He mustered a lopsided grin and said, “Miss me?” His legs started to buckle.

Fargo caught him and lowered him onto his back. “I figured the bear got you, too.”

“I never heard it,” Wendy said. “I had just got done buttoning up and it was on me.” He stopped. “Wait. Did you say ‘too’? How many of the others?”

“All of them except you and me and maybe the little girl,” Fargo informed him.

Shock made the Brit paler than he already was. “No,” he said. “Not that remarkable woman and her adorable boys.”

“Here,” Fargo said, undoing his bandanna again. “Let me clean you up.”

The blow to Wendy’s head had cut half an inch deep. Fargo cleaned the slashes and the other wounds and cut a strip from Wendy’s shirt to use as a bandage. The Brit lay quiet until he was done.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself be taken so easily.”

“A grizzly is a ghost when it wants to be.”

“I should have been at your side. Together we could have saved them.”

“Or you could be lying over there with your brains eaten out.”

“I never expected . . .” Wendy paused. “I thought bears were blundering, noisy beasts. Of all the animals I’ve hunted, this grizzly of yours reminds me most of a tiger. Its stealth belies its bulk and its cunning is second to none.”

“That pretty much describes a grizzly, all right,” Fargo said.

“I’ve underestimated my enemy and now those poor people have paid for my mistake.”

“Quit beating yourself over it.”

Grimacing, Wendy sat up. “This beast has to be stopped. We have to kill this blighter.”

“Dead as dead can be,” Fargo agreed.

22

They spent the better part of an hour searching for Bethany, yelling her name until they were hoarse. Then they attended to the bodies. The best they could do was cover them. All except Cecelia. Wendolyn insisted on burying her even though they had nothing to dig with except branches and rocks. They scooped a shallow grave and Wendy bowed his head.

“In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground. For out of it were you taken. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”

Fargo waited, and when the Brit didn’t go on, he said, “Was that the Bible?”

Wendy nodded and shouldered his elephant gun.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“What else is there?”

The patches of blood still crawled with flies. Fargo kindled a new fire near where the lean-to had been. The coffeepot was intact and half full, and he put it on to heat.

The Britisher squatted across from him. “Let’s assess our situation. Everyone else is dead. Our horses have run off. Most of our supplies have been destroyed. We’re both wounded and hurting. Brain Eater is still out there somewhere and could show up at any moment. Is there anything I missed?”

“There’s a storm coming,” Fargo said, and pointed to the west where a thunderhead framed the horizon. Flashes of lightning danced in the dark clouds.

“Just what we need,” Wendy said. “A good drenching.”