Grizzly Fury

“Ma always told us a story before we went to bed. I’d like to go to sleep so tell me one.”

Fargo was taken aback. Most of the “stories” he knew would get belly laughs in a saloon but weren’t fit for children.

“You must know one,” Bethany said. “A fairy tale would be nice. Ma liked fairy tales.”

Fargo racked his brain. He recollected his mother had told a few when he was young but he would be damned if he could remember them. “How about the goat and the turtle?”

Bethany smiled and squirmed excitedly. “I never heard that one. How does it go?”

“Once upon a time”—Fargo remembered most fairy tales began that way—“there was a goat and a turtle. One day the goat was walking along and he saw a turtle and said ‘howdy.’ ”

“Howdy?” Wendy said with his eyes closed, and snorted.

“That’s how goats talk,” Fargo told Beth. “Just then it started to rain. The goat was wet and cold but the turtle pulled into his shell until the rain stopped and then poked his head out again.”

“I saw a turtle do that,” Bethany said.

“The goat liked the shell. It kept the turtle dry. He wanted a shell for himself so he went out back of a house where an old woman had hung her laundry and pulled a blanket down with his teeth and swung it over his back.”

“Gosh,” Bethany said.

“He went to the turtle to show him. He bragged how his shell was bigger and better than the turtle’s. Just then it rained again. The blanket was soaked. So was the goat. The turtle laughed so hard, the goat got mad and stomped on him and the turtle died.”

“Oh, the poor turtle.”

“The moral of the story is don’t poke fun at people unless you want to be stomped.”

“That was a good one,” Beth said.

Wendolyn opened his eyes. “It was the sorriest excuse for a fairy tale I’ve ever heard.”

“If you can do better be my guest.”

“I have a joke I heard about three sailors and a farmer’s daughter.”

“Tell us,” Bethany coaxed.

“Not on your life, little one.”

Bethany pecked Fargo on the cheek. “Will you tuck me in like Ma used to do?”

Fargo tried to remember the last time, if ever, he’d tucked a child in. He pulled the blanket to her chin and patted her cheek. “If you need anything give a holler.” He returned to his seat at the fire.

“The goat and the turtle?” Wendy said again, and indulged in quiet laughter.

“Go to hell,” Fargo said.

Wendy’s mirth died in his throat and he thrust a finger at the woods.

Eyeshine blazed where the brambles merged into the trees.

Fargo jumped up and jammed the elephant gun to his shoulder. It was the heaviest rifle he’d ever held. The Brit had to be a lot stronger than he looked to tote the thing around all day. Fargo sighted down the barrel—and the eyes disappeared.

“Was it Brain Eater, do you reckon?”

Fargo felt foolish. “I can’t say,” he admitted. But now that he thought about it, the eyes weren’t as high off the ground as the grizzly’s, nor as far apart.

“And me lying here useless,” Wendy said.

Fargo edged toward the trees. A black bear wouldn’t worry him. They scared easier than grizzlies. He came to where he thought it had been standing.

“Anything?” Wendy whispered.

“No.”

The relief Fargo felt was short-lived. He came back into the circle of firelight just as a roar rolled down from the crags above.

25

“Now that was the bloody bear,” Wendy exclaimed.

Fargo agreed. From the sound, Brain Eater was about a quarter of a mile off. Was she making a kill? Or letting them know she was still after them?

Bethany had sat up and was staring fearfully up the mountain. “Will she kill us like she did my ma?”

“I won’t let her,” Fargo said. “Lie back down and try to get some sleep.”

She did as he told her, the blanket up to her nose, her eyes as wide as double eagles.

Fargo went over to the Brit. “How are you feeling?”

“Better and better. By morning I’ll be in the prime of health.”

Fargo placed his hand on Wendolyn’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“A slight fever, nothing more. I insist on pulling my weight. I’ll take second watch tonight.”

“Like hell you will.”

“You’re making too much of a fuss. I’m perfectly capable, I tell you.”

“The answer is still no.” Fargo sat where he could see the woods and most of the brambles and placed the elephant gun across his lap. It was going to be a long night. He filled his cup with coffee and wet his throat.

“You’re terribly stubborn, Yank.” Wendy wouldn’t let it drop. “Why can’t you take my word for it?”

“Because you’re a terrible liar.”

“What if I stay up anyway?” Wendy challenged. “What if I help you stand watch all night?”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“All right, then,” Wendy said angrily. “Just sit there and see if I don’t.”

In less than ten minutes both were sound asleep, Bethany’s face cherubic in the starlight, Wendolyn snoring and sputtering and tossing.

The coffee helped but Fargo was worried he might not stay awake the whole night. An occasional crackle brought him to his feet but whatever was out there stayed out there. Deer, mostly, he reckoned. Once he saw eyes but it was a raccoon. “Shoo,” he said, and stomped his foot, and the little bandit ran off.