From a fork high in an oak Fargo watched to see what would happen.
Grizzlies were sharp-eyed brutes. Brain Eater spotted his bandanna. She stopped and gazed warily about and sniffed. She walked up to it and sniffed some more. She put a front paw on it, unaware that it was stretched over a hole and held in place with small rocks, and that under it was the sharpened stick, embedded deep. She tried to draw back but her own weight worked against her. She yowled as the tip pierced her paw.
Fargo grinned. It wasn’t much of a wound but anything that slowed her down helped.
Brain Eater roared. She raised her leg, bit the stick, and wrenched it out. In her rage she shook it and bit it in half. She clawed at one of the pieces and walked in a circle and roared again.
Fargo quickly clambered down. He had a good lead and he wanted to keep it. He jogged for a while, the sun warm on his bare chest. He hadn’t liked to give up his buckskin shirt. Fortunately he had a spare in his saddlebags.
A spruce offered his next vantage. He climbed high enough and roosted on a thick limb.
Brain Eater was nearing the next trap. It had been a lot harder to rig but it would hurt her more. Fargo thought she would go right by but his scent on the shirt was strong and her nose didn’t fail her. She spied it hanging on what appeared to be a low branch, and stopped.
Brain Eater warily moved toward it. She stopped to sniff and turned her head from side to side. The shirt moved slightly in the breeze. She lumbered closer but stopped again. Fargo began to think she wouldn’t be curious enough. Then she raised the same paw and clawed at the shirt.
The principle was simple: a notched limb for a lever, a large log, and gravity. He’d had to strain every sinew to position the log just right.
The grizzly tugged. The shirt moved and the limb was torn out from under the log and the log rolled down on her. She tried to jump over it and once again her weight was her enemy. The log hit hard and she sprawled forward.
Brain Eater was enraged. She attacked the log, biting and clawing. When her fury subsided she turned south again. She was limping.
Fargo scrambled down. He hadn’t accomplished much other than making her mad as hell. But she would be more cautious and come on slower, gaining him precious time. The longer he delayed her, the closer he got to Gold Creek and safety.
For about fifteen minutes Fargo held to a steady pace. Another of the innumerable bends brought him to a pool—and two men camped beside it. The flap to their tent was open, and they were seated on stools. Beyond were their hobbled horses.
Fargo figured they were prospectors. “We have to get out of here.”
The pair picked up rifles and rose. Both were big and blond and well muscled.
Fargo remembered them now. They were Swedish or Danish.
Immigrant farmers, lured to Gold Creek by the bounty. “Brain Eater is after me,” he warned. “Take me to town.”
They looked at one another.
“Goddamn it.” Fargo glanced over his shoulder. They had a few minutes yet. “Do either of you speak English?”
“The bear is after me,” Fargo explained, and jabbed a finger back the way he had come. “Do you savvy? Brain Eater? She is hunting me and will kill us if we don’t light a shuck.”
“Bear?” the immigrant on the left said.
“Yes, yes,” Fargo said. “Do you understand? Bear. Brain Eater. After me.” Again he pointed north.
“Bear,” the same man said, and beamed at his companion.
The pair hefted their rifles and eagerly brushed past Fargo.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The one pointed as Fargo had done. “Bear!” he excitedly exclaimed.
“Yes. Brain Eater.” Fargo touched his head and made a scooping motion. “Do you understand? The grizzly that has been killing everybody. We must go. Now.”
The Swedes looked positively delighted. They raised their rifles.
“No, damn it.” Fargo’s sense of urgency was climbing. He ran to the nearest man and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Don’t do this. Your guns won’t stop it.” They were armed with old long rifles better suited for small game. “We must get out of here while we can.”
The immigrant smiled and nodded.
“What?” Fargo said.
“What the hell does that mean?” Fargo was growing desperate, and shook him. “You’re going to die if you don’t listen to me.”
Fargo looked at the other one and the man smiled and nodded. He didn’t know what else to do. “You could at least learn the damn language.”
Fargo was about to appeal to them once more but they had run out of time.
Brain Eater was there.
27
The grizzly barreled around the bend and came to a stop. It looked past the two Swedes at Fargo and let out a growl.
“Run!” Fargo shouted, and dashed to the horses.
As for the immigrants, they grinned and the one on the right said,
The other one nodded.
Fargo couldn’t get the first hobble off. It was a makeshift affair, a short piece of rope with more knots than he had knuckles. He hiked his pant leg and palmed the Arkansas toothpick.
It looked to Fargo as if they were arguing over who should shoot first. He slashed at the hobble but the rope was new and stiff and resisted his blade.
A few strands parted but nowhere near enough. Fargo glanced at the grizzly, wondering how long it would continue to just stand there.
Not another second. Brain Eater roared and was on the Swedes with incredible speed. The one on the right bleated,
The other Swede cried,
Whether he hit the bear or not was irrelevant; it had no effect whatsoever.
Brain Eater roared as her claws sheared into the second man’s crotch. He shrieked and dropped his rifle and
