Down came the pants/shirt/belt “rope.” The knot, where the pants were tied to the shirt, bulged like a fist. Would it hold? Fargo took the gamble. He grabbed the pants with one hand and then the other. The knot started to slip. He could see it shrinking. He tensed, thinking it would come undone, but just when it seemed his luck had run out, the knot caught.
“Hang on! Try not to move too much!”
Fargo rose, but oh-so-slowly. It had to be hard on the man pulling him. And the man had to be strong. Stronger than he thought.
Inch by snail-paced inch, Fargo was hiked higher until he was close enough to the rim to touch it. A brawny hand was lowered and iron fingers gripped his wrist.
“Get ready.”
Fargo was yanked upward. He flung his arms nd over, wedged his elbows on the rim, and swung onto his knees.
“Finally.” Lem Owen was in the dirtiest pair of long underwear any human ever wore. He lay on his back, puffing from his exertion, his bare feet bleeding where he had pressed them against the rocks.
“I’m obliged.”
Owen waved a hand as if to say it was nothing.
“I mean it,” Fargo said. Here he thought the man hated him, and Owen went and saved his life.
Owen grinned between gasps. “I never got undressed so fast in my life. But I couldn’t think of what else to do. I didn’t have a rope.”
“I’m in your debt.”
“Us white men have to stick together,” Owen joked, then said, “Besides, the senator wouldn’t like it if you were to get yourself killed.”
Fargo pushed to his feet and turned to peer over the cliff. This time he was careful not to step too close to the edge.
“What is it?” Owen asked, sitting up.
“The last I saw, the black bear was stalking him.” Fargo saw no sign of the politician or the beast. He unhooked his Henry from Owen’s belt, tossed Owen his clothes, and bolted for the slope. He barely reached it when a tremendous roar rose from below, followed by the crack of a shot.
Fargo descended as fast as was safe. It was so steep, a single misstep would send him tumbling. He was breathing hard when he came to the bottom and flew in among the trees. “Keever! Where are you?”
There was no answer.
Fargo began moving in ever wider circles, seeking some sign. He kept calling out the senator’s name. Then he rounded a pine and came on a small clearing and two still forms. “Damn.”
The black bear was sprawled on its belly. Its head was bent to one side, ringed by a scarlet pool, and its long tongue lay limp over its lower teeth. From under the bear poked a pair of legs—human legs.
Fargo warily circled around. Keever’s head and part of a shoulder jutted from under the other side of the bear. The senator’s eyes were closed and he didn’t appear to be breathing.
“Son of a bitch.” Fargo poked the black bear with the Henry. It appeared to be dead. Kneeling, he clasped Keever’s wrist to feel for a pulse.
Senator Keever’s eyes snapped open. “About time someone got here. Where have you been?”
“I had problems of my own.” Fargo bent to try to see the senator’s chest. He envisioned clawed and torn flesh, the ribs exposed, and worse.
“I can hardly breathe but otherwise I feel fine.” Keever struggled to move. “Get this brute off me, will you?”
The bear had to weigh upward of five hundred pounds. Fargo drew his Colt and placed it in the senator’s hand.
“What’s this for?”
“Until I get back. I don’t see your rifle anywhere.” Fargo rose and dashed across the clearing.
“Wait! Don’t leave me like this! Where are you going?”
“To get help.” Fargo ran faster. He didn’t like leaving the senator alone but he couldn’t lift the bear by himself. He doubted he could get it off even if Owen helped. So he ran, and when at last he broke from the trees, Lichen and the horses were where they should be. He wasted no time in explanations but swung onto the Ovaro and told Lichen to bring the others. A rake of his spurs, and he galloped back into the woods.
Keever had company. Owen was hunkered next to him and they were talking heatedly about something but stopped when Fargo burst into the clearing. He drew rein so hard that the stallion slid to a stop. Vaulting down, he had his rope in hand when he reached the bear.
“So that’s where you went,” Keever said.
Owen was dressed again. He gave the bear a smack, and grinned. “Can you believe this? Pinned under a bear! He’ll be the laughingstock of all his high and mighty friends if they hear of it.”
“Which they never will,” Keever said harshly. “I’m relying on your discretion, the both of you.”
Owen snorted. “Hell, I don’t even know what that is. But if you want me to keep my mouth shut, I will. For an extra hundred dollars.”
“Is that all you ever think of? Money?”
“I think of women a lot. But the kind of women I like takes money to get to know. That hundred dollars won’t buy me but two nights of heaven. I can always use more.”
Fargo was walking around the black bear. It was obvious the senator wasn’t gravely hurt. But if they weren’t careful about how they got the bear off, he might be. Fargo stepped to where one of the bear’s rear legs protruded and began tying the rope as tight as he could.
Lem Owen came around. “I savvy what you’re up to. Two horses would be better. I’ll fetch mine.”
Just then Lichen arrived with the rest. Owen climbed on his animal, uncoiled his rope, and tossed an end to Fargo. Fargo tied it to the bear’s other rear leg, then swung onto the Ovaro and lifted the reins.
“Nice and easy does it.”
Senator Keever called out, “What are you two up to? I can’t see from here. The bear’s backside is in the way.”
“Hold real still,” Fargo cautioned. “We’re about to drag the bear off you.”
Owen laughed. “Say, Senator? When we start pulling, watch out that the bear doesn’t snag a tooth or claw. You could lose skin, or maybe what you used to bring your little Gerty into the world.”
Fargo was surprised Keever didn’t take exception. Turning the Ovaro broadside to the bear, he dallied the rope around the saddle and glanced at Owen, who had done the same with his. “Ready? On the count of three.”
The Ovaro and the dun strained and the ropes grew taut. Bit by bit the bear slid backward. Its open mouth and head left blood and fluid on the senator’s shirt and jacket.
Keever was a statue. His rifle, it turned out, was next to him. He didn’t move until the bear’s head slid over his ankles. Then he rose on his elbows and looked down at him self. “I appear to be no worse for wear. But my clothes are a terrible mess.”
“You were damned lucky,” Owen said. “A black bear ain’t a griz but it can rip a man apart without half trying.”
Fargo climbed down. He offered his hand and helped the senator to stand. There were no bite marks, no cuts, not so much as a tear in the senator’s clothes. He nodded at the dead bruin. “Mind telling us what happened?”
“Not at all.” Keever commenced brushing himself off. “It tried to sneak up on me but I heard it. When it charged, I shot it in the head. But the beast was so close, it rammed into me before I could get out of the way and fell on top of me.”
Fargo reconstructed the event in his mind. “So the bear was almost on top of you when you heard it?”
“Actually, it was in the trees there.” Keever pointed at the woods. “I heard it when it stepped on a downed tree limb and the limb broke.”
Fargo calculated the distance. “That’s a good thirty feet.”
“More like forty.” Keever smoothed his bloodstained jacket and ran a hand through his hair. “How do I look?”
