Grizzly Fury

“Yes, you may, with my blessing.” Fanny patted him on the shoulder. “Now why don’t you run along and have a few drinks and I’ll tell Harriet to expect you later?”

“I will. And thanks.” Moose clapped her on the shoulder and nearly knocked her over. Turning to the onlookers, he bellowed, “Rooster is a mouse and I’m a bull!” He strode toward the saloon, still laughing.

“Thanks a lot, Fanny,” Rooster said.

Fargo realized he was still holding his fists up and let his arms relax. His shoulder throbbed. The people around them began to disperse.

Fanny leaned on her parasol and grinned. “I do believe you owe me one.”

“I’m obliged,” Fargo said.

“Moose has a good heart but a bad temper. He’s a ten-year-old who never grew up.”

“He looked pretty grown to me.”

Fanny laughed. “The next time he sees you, he’ll probably have forgotten all about your fight. That’s how he is.”

Rooster thrust a hand at Fargo. “I owe you, hoss. He’d have beat me without half trying.”

Fargo shook, his hand hurting from the punch to Moose’s jaw. “You should know better than to make a man like him mad.”

Rooster shrugged. “I’d had a little too much to drink and it bothered me, him bragging like he does.”

“Still,” Fargo said.

“I know, I know.” Rooster smiled. “But enough about that big oaf. How about I treat the two of you to drinks?”

“I already have a bottle,” Fargo said, and noticed that Fanny didn’t have it with her.

“I put it on that crate you were sitting on.”

They went over but the whiskey was gone. Fargo swore and looked around but whoever took it had slipped it under a coat or gone into a building. He did more swearing.

“I’m sorry,” Fanny said. “I forget how human nature is.”

“My offer still holds,” Rooster declared, and led them to the next saloon, a place called Spirits. It had a painting of naked ladies on the wall behind the bar and a small chandelier.

Customers were playing cards and drinking but it wasn’t as rowdy as the Sluice.

Fargo chose a corner table. He held a chair for Fanny and Rooster fetched a bottle and three glasses. As soon as his old friend claimed a seat, he leaned back and asked, “What can you tell me about this bear?”

“Brain Eater?” Rooster grew grim. “He’s the worst man-killer I’ve ever come across, and I’ve got pretty near seventy winters under my belt.”

“You’re sure it’s a male?”

“So everyone says.”

“You’ve been out after him?”

“Twice so far,” Rooster said. “Each time I came back empty-handed. He’s like a ghost, Skye. And he’s so smart it’s spooky. To tell you the truth, I was thinking about calling it quits. But if you’re willing to partner up, I’ll stay and we can go after him together.”

“Brain Eater is as good as dead,” Fargo said, and grinned.

“You’re not listening,” Rooster said. “This bear ain’t like any other. We go after him, hoss, there’s a good chance neither of us will come back alive.”

3

Fargo discovered that when Fanny called it a circus, she wasn’t kidding.

Five thousand dollars was a lot of money. To some it was a fortune. So it was no surprise that the bounty had drawn would-be bear hunters from all over. That so many of them had never done any bear hunting didn’t matter. All they cared about was the money.

Rooster took Fargo on a tour of the saloons so Fargo could meet some of them and see for himself.

“It’s quite a collection,” Rooster said dryly.

Fargo agreed.

There were farmers. There were store clerks. There was a bank teller who admitted he’d never hunted so much as a chipmunk but who told Fargo, in all seriousness, “I don’t see where this bear will be a problem. All I have to do is point my gun and shoot.” There were buffalo hunters. There was a rancher who needed the money to keep his ranch afloat. There were mule skinners. There was a boy who couldn’t be more than twelve, who showed up with two cents to his name, toting a slingshot. Fargo was introduced to an Englishman who had brought a special rifle he used to bag elephants in Africa. There were several women, including a mother with three children who had lost her husband in an accident. Out of the hundred or so, only a handful had ever hunted bear.

“What do you think?” Rooster asked when they were at the last saloon.

“I think I need a drink.” Fargo bought another bottle and they planted themselves at the end of the bar. As he filled their glasses he remarked, “They have no damn notion what they’re up against.”

“It’s plumb ridiculous.”

“If the town council had any sense, they’d send these folks packing.”

“The council is hoping one of the hunters will get lucky and put an end to the killings.”

“That, and it’s good for business,” Fargo guessed. The saloons alone were taking in more money in an hour than they used to make in a week.

“Here’s to greed,” Rooster said, tipping his glass to his lips.

“Here’s to stupid,” Fargo said, and did the same.

“So the way I see it, hoss,” Rooster said, “is that you and me have as good a chance as anyone and a better chance than most of tracking this Brain Eater and splattering his brains.”