Grizzly Fury

By midnight Fargo had downed six cups. It was a wonder he didn’t slosh when he moved. But the six weren’t enough. His chin kept dipping to his chest and his eyes would close. He always snapped them open but each time it took longer than the last.

Midnight came and went. Fargo jerked his head up and swore. This time he had been out for several minutes. Brain Eater could have walked up to him and separated his head from his body and he’d never have known it. He picked up the coffeepot and shook it. Another three or four cups, he calculated, enough to last until morning. He poured and set the pot down and when he looked up, something was looking at him.

The creature was in the trees, far enough away that he couldn’t tell what it was. The eyes were big enough and high enough—but was it Brain Eater? He set the cup down and reached for the elephant gun.

The eyes were coming closer.

Fargo cocked the hammer and remembered to firm his grip. The animal stopped just beyond the firelight. He wanted it to growl or roar so there wouldn’t be any doubt. All it did was stand there. To hell with it, he thought, and took aim.

The animal took a few more steps.

“Damn,” Fargo said. “I should shoot you anyway.”

The cow elk seemed curious. She stared at him and the sleepers and at the Ovaro and then turned and walked off.

Fatigue set in again, and it was all Fargo could do to stay awake. He stood and walked around the fire. He slapped himself and pinched himself.

Wendy was sawing logs. Bethany had pulled the blanket up over her head.

A chill wind started to blow in from the north. Fargo was grateful. It revitalized him a little. Enough that he was still awake when a golden arc framed the eastern horizon.

He had done it. He had lasted the night. He let the Brit and the girl sleep in.

With the spreading light of the new day, his spirits rose. That Brain Eater hadn’t attacked suggested the grizzly had made another kill. He hoped so, for their sake. It would keep the bear away a while.

They reached the creek about eleven.

Wendolyn knelt and splashed water on his head and neck. He claimed he was feeling better. As for Bethany, she sat staring sadly into space. Every now and again she would sniffle and say, “Ma.”

While the Ovaro drank, Fargo prowled the bank and scanned the woods. He couldn’t shake a persistent feeling the bear was close. He tried to tell himself it was nerves.

Wendy had wet a handkerchief and applied it to the gash on his head.

“Any dizziness this morning?” Fargo asked.

“Hardly any. All I needed was a good night’s rest. Which reminds me. It was damned decent of you to let us sleep.”

“You can return the favor tonight if we don’t make it to Gold Creek.”

A mile along they rounded a bend and came on a small shack, with a mule tied to a sapling. A sluice sat near the water.

As they passed the sluice the door opened and out strode an unkempt barrel of flab holding a shotgun.

“What the hell are you doing on my claim?”

“Passing through,” Fargo said.

The man had the shotgun halfway to his shoulder when he blinked and said, “Wait. I know you. I saw you in town. You’re that scout. The one who found the Nesmith family.”

“That was me,” Fargo confirmed.

“They were decent folks.” The man lowered his shotgun. “Sorry for pointing this at you but a man has to protect his own.”

Fargo was too tired to dally. “Be seeing you.” He put another bend behind them, and suddenly stopped. “Damn it. I have to go back.”

“What on earth for?” Wendy asked.

“To warn him,” Fargo said. “If the grizzly is following us, he’s in danger.” He handed the elephant gun to Wendy so he could run faster. The shack door was open. Apparently the man had gone back in. “Mister?” he hollered. He got no answer. He went around the sluice and was almost to the shack when he saw red drops on the ground.

Stunned, Fargo stopped and placed his hand on his Colt. It couldn’t be, he told himself. He hadn’t heard a scream or a shout. He sidled to the left to see past the corner.

The shotgun lay in a scarlet pool. Drag marks led toward the trees.

Fargo heard a crunch. Shadows cloaked a huge shape that was tearing and biting. He backed away. When he was past the shack he whirled and flew along the creek. The Brit and the girl were still on the Ovaro, talking. He grabbed the elephant gun.

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asked in alarm.

“Ride like hell.”

Bewildered, Wendy gripped the strap to his ammo pouch, and paused. “It’s Brain Eater, isn’t it?”

“Don’t stop until you reach town.” Fargo was tired of running. “I’ll hold her here as long as I can.”

“What kind of bounder do you take me for?” Wendy said indignantly. “I’m staying to help.”

“Think of her,” Fargo said with a nod at Bethany.

“Why must it be you?”

“Go!” Fargo said.

Wendy angrily declared, “I am against this. I’m not a coward.”

“Never said you were. Hold on to her.”

“What?”

“Hold on to Beth,” Fargo said, and gave the Ovaro a hard slap. The stallion broke into a trot. Wendy looked back and scowled as they disappeared around a stand of cottonwoods.