damned if he could remember them. “How about the goat and the turtle?”
Bethany smiled and squirmed excitedly. “I never heard that one. How does it go?”
“Once upon a time”—Fargo remembered most fairy tales began that way—“there was a goat and a turtle. One day the goat was walking along and he saw a turtle and said ‘howdy.’ ”
“Howdy?” Wendy said with his eyes closed, and snorted.
“That’s how goats talk,” Fargo told Beth. “Just then it started to rain. The goat was wet and cold but the turtle pulled into his shell until the rain stopped and then poked his head out again.”
“I saw a turtle do that,” Bethany said.
“The goat liked the shell. It kept the turtle dry. He wanted a shell for himself so he went out back of a house where an old woman had hung her laundry and pulled a blanket down with his teeth and swung it over his back.”
“Gosh,” Bethany said.
“He went to the turtle to show him. He bragged how his shell was bigger and better than the turtle’s. Just then it rained again. The blanket was soaked. So was the goat. The turtle laughed so hard, the goat got mad and stomped on him and the turtle died.”
“Oh, the poor turtle.”
“The moral of the story is don’t poke fun at people unless you want to be stomped.”
“That was a good one,” Beth said.
Wendolyn opened his eyes. “It was the sorriest excuse for a fairy tale I’ve ever heard.”
“If you can do better be my guest.”
“I have a joke I heard about three sailors and a farmer’s daughter.”
“Tell us,” Bethany coaxed.
“Not on your life, little one.”
Bethany pecked Fargo on the cheek. “Will you tuck me in like Ma used to do?”
Fargo tried to remember the last time, if ever, he’d tucked a child in. He pulled the blanket to her chin and patted her cheek. “If you need anything give a holler.” He returned to his seat at the fire.
“The goat and the turtle?” Wendy said again, and indulged in quiet laughter.
“Go to hell,” Fargo said.
Wendy’s mirth died in his throat and he thrust a finger at the woods.
Eyeshine blazed where the brambles merged into the trees.
Fargo jumped up and jammed the elephant gun to his shoulder. It was the heaviest rifle he’d ever held. The Brit had to be a lot stronger than he looked to tote the thing around all day. Fargo sighted down the barrel—and the eyes disappeared.
“Was it Brain Eater, do you reckon?”
Fargo felt foolish. “I can’t say,” he admitted. But now that he thought about it, the eyes weren’t as high off the ground as the grizzly’s, nor as far apart.
“And me lying here useless,” Wendy said.
Fargo edged toward the trees. A black bear wouldn’t worry him. They scared easier than grizzlies. He came to where he thought it had been standing.
“Anything?” Wendy whispered.
“No.”
The relief Fargo felt was short-lived. He came back into the circle of firelight just as a roar rolled down from the crags above.
25
“Now
Fargo agreed. From the sound, Brain Eater was about a quarter of a mile off. Was she making a kill? Or letting them know she was still after them?
Bethany had sat up and was staring fearfully up the mountain. “Will she kill us like she did my ma?”
“I won’t let her,” Fargo said. “Lie back down and try to get some sleep.”
She did as he told her, the blanket up to her nose, her eyes as wide as double eagles.
Fargo went over to the Brit. “How are you feeling?”
“Better and better. By morning I’ll be in the prime of health.”
Fargo placed his hand on Wendolyn’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“A slight fever, nothing more. I insist on pulling my weight. I’ll take second watch tonight.”
“Like hell you will.”
“You’re making too much of a fuss. I’m perfectly capable, I tell you.”
“The answer is still no.” Fargo sat where he could see the woods and most of the brambles and placed the elephant gun across his lap. It was going to be a long night. He filled his cup with coffee and wet his throat.
“You’re terribly stubborn, Yank.” Wendy wouldn’t let it drop. “Why can’t you take my word for it?”
“Because you’re a terrible liar.”
“What if I stay up anyway?” Wendy challenged. “What if I help you stand watch all night?”
“You’re welcome to try.”
“All right, then,” Wendy said angrily. “Just sit there and see if I don’t.”
In less than ten minutes both were sound asleep, Bethany’s face cherubic in the starlight, Wendolyn snoring and sputtering and tossing.
The coffee helped but Fargo was worried he might not stay awake the whole night. An occasional crackle brought him to his feet but whatever was out there stayed out there. Deer, mostly, he reckoned. Once he saw eyes but it was a raccoon. “Shoo,” he said, and stomped his foot, and the little bandit ran off.
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,
