“About those beastly scavengers?” Wendy said, viewing the vultures with distaste. “They’re ugly blokes, I’ll grant you, but they serve a purpose. I’ve seen their like on every continent.”
“Not them,” Fargo said. “Something else.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I wish to hell I could.” Fargo watched a buzzard tug at a strip of flesh that was stuck to a leg bone.
“Let’s keep going,” Moose urged. “It’ll be dark soon and Cecelia and her little ones are alone.”
“You act like their father,” Wendy teased.
“Maybe I will be,” Moose said. “Cecelia is looking for a new husband. I might not be much of a catch but she says I can be trained.”
Wendy laughed. “Ah, yes. Don’t you find it ironic that women marry a man and then want to change him into something he wasn’t when they said ‘I do’?”
Moose shrugged. “I don’t mind changing some if I get to be in the same bed with her every night.”
“Sex,” Wendy said. “The great equalizer.”
“God, you talk peculiar. And you better not be thinking of Cecelia when you say that word.”
“Perish forbid,” Wendy said.
Moose motioned impatiently at Fargo. “What are we waiting for? Those bears ain’t anywhere near here.”
“No, they’re not,” Fargo said, and the vague notion that had been troubling him was suddenly clear as crystal. “Son of a bitch,” he blurted.
“What’s wrong?” Moose asked.
“Why didn’t I see it sooner?”
“See what?”
“Brain Eater never came back to her kill.”
Moose looked as confused as a human being could be. “So she didn’t come back? What difference does that make?”
“A grizzly wouldn’t let that much meat go to waste unless it had a damn good reason.”
“She wasn’t hungry or she was busy with the male,” Moose said. “When bears mate they don’t think about food as much. I’m like that myself but after it’s over I’m always hungry as can be.”
“Brain Eater didn’t finish the horse because she wasn’t here,” Fargo said, “and if she wasn’t here, where was she?”
“I still don’t savvy.”
Fargo raised his reins. “Ride,” he said. “Ride like the wind and hope to God I’m wrong.”
18
A full moon cast the meadow in pale light. They came out of the trees and drew rein, their exhausted horses hanging their heads.
Wendy cleared his throat. “I say, the fire has gone out. Weren’t they supposed to keep it going night and day?”
“Cecelia!” Moose hollered, and used his heels with no thought to his own safety.
“Damn,” Fargo said. He went after him. He still hoped he was wrong but the Brit had a point; the fire should still be burning. Fire was one of the few things most bears were afraid of. Cecelia knew that. And with her children at stake, she wouldn’t let it go out.
Moose frantically bellowed her name. He was the first to reach the camp. Drawing rein, he exclaimed, “My God! The lean-to!”
Fargo was off the Ovaro before it stopped moving. The structure was a shambles, the limbs and brush in bits and pieces. So were many of the articles that had been in it.
“No, no, no, no,” Moose said, moving amid the ruin in a daze.
“Fargo!” Wendy called. “Over here.” He was on a knee by the charred vestige of their fire. “Look at this.”
Partially burned logs were scattered about. A gouge in the earth explained why.
“It looks as if the ruddy bear attacked the fire,” Wendy marveled.
Fargo turned to the Blackfeet. “We need your help. The woman and her children are missing.”
Bird Rattler grunted and translated for his friends and the three spread out.
Fargo took only a couple of steps when fingers like iron spikes clamped onto his arm.
“Where are they?” Moose cried.
“Their horses are gone. It could be they escaped.”
Moose didn’t seem to hear him. His fingers dug deeper. “If anything has happened to them I won’t ever forgive myself. I should never have went with you.”
“We should help the others look.”
“I didn’t want to go,” Moose said. “You heard me. I was against it but she made me.”
“Moose, listen—” Fargo said, but the big bear hunter turned and ran off in erratic circles bawling Cecelia’s name. Fargo went to where the horses had been. The ground was churned by their hooves. He was moving toward the stream when light flared and flames crackled. “Bring a brand,” he hollered, and Wendy jogged to join him.
“Anything, mate?”
“Not yet.”
“Our big friend is beside himself,” Wendy said, nodding at Moose, who was at the other end of the meadow, continuing to bellow. “Can’t say as I blame him. I’d be worried sick if it was my woman. Do we go off into the woods after them?”
Rubbing his beard, Fargo debated. Tracking at night was a painstaking chore. Even with torches, it took forever. Plus their horses were worn out and they weren’t much better off. As much as he disliked to say it, he did. “We wait until first light.”
“That’s the smart thing,” Wendy agreed. “But I predict you-know-who won’t like it.”
Moose didn’t. “Why are you two standing here?” he demanded when he stopped running and shouting and came to the fire. “We have to keep looking. All night, if need be.”
“No,” Fargo said.
Moose had turned but stopped. “What the hell do you mean, no? Cecelia and her kids are out there somewhere and they need us.”
“They could be anywhere,” Fargo said. “It’s no good for us to blunder around in the dark.”
“We’ll yell a lot. They’re bound to hear us.”
“So will the bears.”
“No. We’re doing it and I won’t hear no argument.”
“Use your head,” Fargo said.
“I’ll use something,” Moose angrily retorted. Setting his rifle down, he cocked his fists.
Fargo backpedaled. A jab clipped his jaw. A straight arm brushed his shoulder. He blocked an overhand to the face. The force, though, sent him staggering. He recovered, heard Wendy holler, and Moose was on him. Knuckles the size of walnuts grazed his head and his hat went flying. Planting himself, he rammed a hard right to Moose’s gut and whipped an uppercut to Moose’s jaw. All Moose did was blink. Fargo dodged a clumsy hook and retaliated with a flurry that should have set Moose back on his heels. Moose absorbed the punishment like a sponge.
“Stop this fight this instant!” Wendy shouted while trying to step between them.
“Butt out!” Moose roared, and gave the Brit a shove that sent Wendy sprawling.
“Calm down!” Fargo tried, and a fist arced at his face. Ducking, he flicked a right cross. He might as well have hit solid rock.
Moose paused, his face twisted in fury. “Are you going to help hunt for her or not?”
“At daybreak.”
“You can’t get it through your head,” Moose said. “She needs us
