20
Moose fixed supper. He shot a grouse and plucked it and roasted the meat on a spit.
Cecelia complained about not being allowed to help but she was too weak to sit up, let alone stand.
Bird Rattler and Lazy Husband had brought Red Mink back, swaddled in a blanket. They accepted portions of meat and then sat apart, talking.
Fargo caught snatches of what they were saying so he wasn’t surprised when Bird Rattler came over and stood waiting for them to acknowledge his presence. “What is it?”
“Our friend dead.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Fargo said.
“Bad medicine him die.”
“We weren’t careful enough.”
Bird Rattler went on as if he hadn’t heard. “My people say not come. Say bear much bad medicine. But I come.”
“We’re glad you did,” Fargo tried to soothe him, “and we hope you’ll stick around a good long while.”
“In morning we go. Take Red Mink our people.”
“You’re runnin’ out?” Cecelia said. “I admit I don’t think highly of redskins but I never took you to have a yellow streak.”
“Yellow streak?” Bird Rattler said.
“You’re a scaredy-cat,” Cecelia replied. “You have no more grit than mud.”
“Mud?” Bird Rattler was confused.
“She says you’re an old woman,” Fargo made it plain. Among the Blackfeet, for a man to be called that was the insult of insults.
Bird Rattler stiffened.
“And you’re wrong,” Fargo told Cecelia. “In the fight today he stood his ground. He’s as brave as any of us.”
“Not if he runs off, he ain’t,” she said. “And if they’re goin’, Moose and me should rethink headin’ for Gold Creek.”
“No you don’t,” Moose said. “You’re not using this as an excuse to stay.”
“But it will just be Skye and the foreigner,” Cecelia protested. “We owe it to them to lend a hand.”
“What can you lend?” Moose said. “You can’t hardly walk.” He looked at Fargo. “I’m sorry. I’m taking her whether she likes it or not.”
“Damn you,” Cecelia said. “I don’t like bein’ bossed around.”
“It’s not my fault I care for you.”
Wendy was cleaning his Holland and Holland and chose that moment to say, “Don’t worry about Fargo and me, Mrs. Mathers. My elephant gun will drop Brain Eater in her tracks just as it did the male.”
“I wish I’d’ve seen that,” Cecelia said.
“It was glorious,” Wendolyn said.
“You must be awful strong. That time you let me hold your rifle, it was so heavy, I could barely hold it steady to take aim.”
“I’m strong, too,” Moose said.
The rest of the evening passed quietly. Fargo kept to himself. Despite the Brit’s confidence, Brain Eater wouldn’t be easy. She was a lot bigger and a lot tougher and a lot cannier. It occurred to him that with the male dead, she might go elsewhere in search of a new mate—in which case they might not ever find her.
The sky changed from gray to purple to black. Stars in their multitude sparkled in the firmament. From out of their dens and thickets came the meat-eaters, and soon the mountains were alive with howls and yips and cries.
Fargo remembered going back east once, and how the nights were so quiet. Most of the wolves and mountain lions had been killed off. Coyotes were few and bears were fewer. He imagined that in a hundred years the same would be true of the Rockies. Cecelia turned in early, Abner, Thomas and Bethany on either side of her, Bethany with her hand in her mother’s.
When the four were asleep, Moose rose and came around the fire. He sank down with a sigh and said in earnest, “I’m right sorry about running out on you.”
“I understand,” Fargo said.
“I’ve never run out on anyone. I want you to know that. But you can see how it is.”
“I understand,” Fargo said again.
Moose gazed at the sleeping figures. “Life sure is strange. I came here looking for a bear and found a family.” He chuckled. “Me, of all people.”
“Where will you go? What will you do?”
“I figure to head down Denver way. There’s plenty of mountains and bears for me to hunt. There’s more people, too, and the kids and Cecelia will like that. It’ll be safer for them.”
“She’s a good woman,” Fargo said.
“Smart, too. It puzzles me, a gal like her latching on to a man like me. I wouldn’t ever repeat this to anyone else, but I ain’t all that bright. I know it and I make the best of it, but we are what we are.”
“The two of you will do fine together.”
Moose held out his hand. “I don’t hold a grudge over those fights we had. I respect you more than I do most. You stand up for yourself, the same as me.”
Fargo shook. “I ever get down Denver way, I’ll look you up.”
“You do that.” Moose rose. “I’m fixing to turn in, too. Wake me for the second watch.” Fargo nodded.
The bear hunter spread his blanket beside his new family and was soon snoring louder than all of them combined.
Lazy Husband was asleep, too, but not Bird Rattler. He stared into the flames, his chin in his hands. “Me sorry too.”
“You can’t ignore bad medicine,” Fargo said. He had lived with Indians. Their beliefs were as entrenched as white beliefs. He didn’t always agree with either but he respected those who were sincere.
Bird Rattler looked at him. “Bad medicine for you, too.”
“I can’t go,” Fargo said.
“Because bear kill friend?”
“Because of a lot of things,” Fargo said, and smiled wryly. “But mainly because I’m too stubborn to know when to quit.”
“You not quit,” Bird Rattler said, “maybe you die.”
By midnight fewer roars and screams and cries echoed off the high peaks. The camp lay quiet under the mantle of darkness.
Fargo put a fresh batch of coffee on. He was supposed to sit up until about one. He yawned and stretched and heard a splash in the stream. His hand dropped to the Sharps but it was only a doe. She came into the light, stared a bit, and melted away.
Fargo relaxed. The bear might be miles away. He’d start after her in the morning and this time he would stick to her trail as relentlessly as a hound to the scent of a raccoon.
It was more than the bounty now. It was personal.
Wendy sat up and cast off his blankets. “Nature’s call,” he said sleepily, and with his elephant gun cradled in his arm, he shambled toward the woods.
Again Fargo yawned. His eyelids were leaden. He shook his head and slapped his cheek but it did no good. Annoyed, he got up and paced and flapped his arms to get his blood flowing.
The Ovaro raised its head and pricked its ears and nickered.
Fargo stopped flapping. The stallion was staring to the east. Wendy had gone north so it couldn’t be the Brit. He looked but didn’t see anything. Picking up his Sharps, he moved to the edge of the firelight. Nothing moved. There were no sounds.
The Ovaro was still staring—but to the south.
