Grizzly Fury (5 page)

“Later,” Fargo promised. “Do you know a good place to eat?”

“The best in town.”

The sign read BETTY'S HOME COOKING. Betty turned out to be a stout matron who wore her white hair in a bun and had the sweetest disposition this side of sugar. She brought menus and gave Fargo a glass after informing him that while normally she didn't allow alcohol in her establishment, she'd let him partake of the bottle he'd brought if he promised to behave.

“You won't get rowdy, will you? If there's anything that gets my goat, it's a man who can't hold his liquor.”

“Rowdy, no,” Fargo said, “but I can't promise I won't get playful.” He placed his hand on her hip. “You and me, out back, after I'm done eating?”

Laughing, Betty pushed his hand away. “Oh, you,” she said, and went to greet another customer.

“What is it with you and women that we want to fawn all over you?” Fanny wondered.

“It must be my dimples.”

The tiny bell over the door chimed and in came the mother of three with her children in tow. She looked around, started toward a table at the back, then caught sight of Fargo. To his surprise she changed direction and steered her brood over to theirs.

“I beg your pardon,” she said with a distinct drawl, “but you're him, aren't you? Rooster's friend? Fargo?”

“He is,” Fanny confirmed, looking highly amused. “What can he do for you?”

“I can talk for myself,” Fargo said.

“I'm Cecelia Mathers. This here is Abner”—she tapped the oldest boy on the head—“and this one is Thomas”—she tapped the middle child—“and this is my youngest, Bethany.” She gave the girl a hug and the girl smiled shyly.

“Care to join us?”

“No, no, I wouldn't think of imposin',” Cecelia said. “It's just that I was talkin' to Rooster a while ago. He told me how you almost killed Brain Eater.”

“We didn't come close,” Fargo said.

“That's not how he's tellin' it,” Cecelia said. “He's sayin' you darn near had Brain Eater in your sights.”

“I wish,” Fargo said.

“He also told me you and him are partners. Was that another lie?”

“We're hunting together,” Fargo admitted.

Cecelia moved her oldest and middle boy aside and leaned on the table. “How would you feel about havin' a new partner?”

“New?”

“Take me with you instead of him. Me and my young'uns, here.”

It was rare that Fargo couldn't find a word to say but he couldn't find one now.

“I see by your face you must think I'm joshin' but I ain't,” Cecelia said. “We can ride and I'm as good a shot as anythin' in britches. We wouldn't be no bother nohow.”

“Rooster and I go back a long way,” Fargo said.

Cecelia acted as if she hadn't heard. “He says as how he needs the bounty but I need it more. I have three mouths to feed besides my own and no man to help support us. My Ed got kicked by a horse. Couldn't talk or hardly move. I had to feed him and bathe him and everythin', and then he went and died on me.”

“Have you ever hunted a bear?”

Cecelia straightened. “What's that got to do with it? It's no different from huntin' other critters. I've shot me a few deer and a couple of coons and once I killed a wild boar that was tryin' to get at our sows.”

“There are safer ways of making money.”

“Mister, you're not listenin'. We're talkin' five thousand dollars. Or half if I partner up with you. I could pay off the farm and get the kids some schoolin' so they can make somethin' of themselves.”

“Where are you from?”

“Tennessee. Why?”

Fargo motioned at her offspring. “Take them and go back there. Find another way.”

“There
ain't
no other way,” Cecelia said archly, and smacked the table. “Not to make this much at once. Rooster says you're the best tracker alive, and I figure with your help, the money is as good as mine.”

“I'm sorry, but I'll stick with Rooster.”

Cecelia's mouth became a slit and her jaw muscles twitched. She gathered her boys and the girl in her arms and walked to another table.

Fanny patted Fargo's hand and laughed. “Yes, sir,” she said. “When it comes to females, you're a regular magnet.”

They ate and returned to the Three Deuces. Fanny had to work so Fargo sat in on a poker game. The cards went from cold to warm to hot and he was on a winning streak and over a hundred dollars to the better when a commotion broke out over at the bar. He wasn't paying it any mind until a familiar voice caught his ear.

“I say, take that back, you bounder. I will put up with a lot but not an insult.”

Fargo shifted in his chair. Wendolyn Channing Mayal was as impeccably dressed as ever. Wendy was matching glares with a burly man in bib overalls. A farmer from Missouri, as Fargo recollected, another bear hunter. The man had four friends and the five of them were drunk.

Now the farmer poked Wendy in the chest. “I say that any country that lets itself be run by a woman, the men ain't got no sand.”

“That is so outrageously stupid I don't know where to begin,” Wendy said. “And I'll thank you again not to slur the queen.”

“He just called you stupid,” one of the others said to the burly one.

“Real men don't let females tell them what to do,” the instigator declared.

“You've never been married, then?” Wendy said.

“I was once but she ran off with a corset salesman.” The farmer poked the Englishman harder. “And this ain't about me. It's about you coming over here from Great England or whatever the hell you call it and trying to take money away from good honest Americans like us.” He gestured at his friends.

“In the first place, it's Great Britain, and in the second place, I have as much right as any of you to have a go at this Brain Eater.”

“Is that a fact?”

“I've just said it was.”

The burly one glanced at his companions.

Fargo sensed what was coming. He hardly knew the Englishman, and it really wasn't any of his business and he should stay at the table, yet he found himself setting down his cards and saying, “I'll be right back.”

The farmer swatted Wendy's ale from his hand and the stein crashed to pieces against the bar.

“You bloody idiot.”

The farmer threw a punch that Wendy blocked. The others sprang and grabbed his arms.

“Let go, damn you. This is most unsportsmanlike.”

The burly one shook a fist. “Mister, I am sick of you and your airs.”

“Knock his noggin off, Leroy,” another of the drunks exhorted him.

“Release me, I say,” Wendy said. “It's not my fault that so many of you colonials aren't gentlemen.”

“There you go again.” Leroy leaned in close. “When I'm done, you'll be laid up for a month of Sundays.” He cocked his arm.

By then Fargo was there. He grabbed Leroy's wrist. “Enough.”

The farmer turned in surprise and wrenched free. “What the hell? I remember seeing you out at the Stoddard place. Are you his friend or something?”

“I like the name Wendy,” Fargo said.

“What kind of name is that for a man, anyhow?”

“Let go of him and go back to your drinking,” Fargo advised.

They were too drunk and too dense. They looked at one another and Leroy did more fist shaking.

“Mister, if you know what's good for you, you'll take that big nose of yours somewhere else.”

“Yours is a lot bigger,” Fargo said, and punched him in it.

Cartilage crunched and blood spurted and Leroy roared with rage and attacked.

Wendy kicked one of the men holding him in the knee and was slammed against the bar.

Two others came at Fargo and suddenly he was half surrounded and warding off blows from three attackers at once. He slipped a sloppy cross and let loose with a sharp uppercut that raised the man onto the tips of his toes. A fist to his shoulder made him wince. Another scraped his cheek. He pivoted and rammed his knuckles into a flabby gut, only to have his arm gripped and held. He brought his left arm up but that was seized, too, and now he was in the same predicament as Wendy.

Glowering, Leroy wiped blood from his face with his sleeve. “Hold them, boys.”

“Thank you for trying to help,” Wendy said to Fargo. “Very decent of you, my good fellow.”

“Shut up,” Leroy snarled, and once more cocked his arm. “I'm going to enjoy the hell out of pounding the two of you into the floor.”

The next instant a large figure reared behind him and a hand the size of a ham clamped around his neck.

“What's going on here, Leroy?”

“Moose!” Leroy exclaimed.

“I asked you a question,” Moose Taylor said, shaking him. “Wendy, there, has been nice to me, and I don't want to see him hurt.”

“This ain't any of your affair.”

Moose glared at the others. “Let go of them or I'll do something you won't like.”

Leroy gave a tug but couldn't pull free. “I don't like you now, damn you.
You
let go of
me
. There are five of us and that's more than enough, even for you.”

“Don't be mean,” Moose said.

Once more Leroy tried to jerk loose and couldn't. His temper snapped. “Mean? I'll give you mean, you big ox. You are nothing but brag, always going on about all the bears you claim you've killed.”

A red flush spread from Moose's neck to his hair. Just like that, he bent and gripped Leroy by the shirt and the belt, and in an incredible display of raw strength, raised the farmer clear over his head.

Leroy bleated and struggled. “Put me down, goddamn you!”

“I can't stand mean,” Moose said, and threw Leroy onto a table. Its legs splintered, and the table and Leroy crashed to the floor with Leroy stunned and nearly unconscious. Moose wheeled on the others, who were riveted in amazement. “Anyone else want to be chucked?”

All four raised their arms and backed off shaking their heads.

“Darn mean people, anyhow,” Moose said.

Wendy smoothed his jacket and smiled. “I'm grateful for the assistance, Mr. Taylor.”

Fargo offered his hand.

Moose looked at it and at him, and beamed. “Does this mean we're friends too?”

“Friends,” Fargo said, and nearly had his arm shaken off when the big man enthusiastically pumped it.

“I like having friends,” Moose said, and laughing, he clapped Fargo on the back.

Fargo thought it a wonder his spine didn't break. Moose Taylor was ungodly strong.

“I say,” Wendy broke in. “How about I treat both you chaps to drinks for coming to my rescue?”

“I like drinks,” Moose said.

“I'd like to,” Fargo said, “but I'm in the middle of a card game.” He returned to the table and sat and no sooner was he dealt a new hand than Wendy and Moose were on either side of his chair. “You want something?”

“Friends stick with friends,” Moose said.

The game resumed and Fargo had about forgotten they were there when he was dealt a full house.

Behind him, Moose chuckled. “Oh, that's a good one. If I was playing cards I'd bet all I had.”

The other players folded.

Fargo glanced up in annoyance. Wendy looked embarrassed by Moose's mistake. Moose, though, was smiling in serene and earnest innocence.

“Hell,” Fargo said. He stood and gathered his winnings. “How about I treat both of you?”

Moose made space for them at the bar just by stepping up to it. The bartender brought a bottle of Monongahela and was filling their glasses when murmuring broke out and Fargo turned to see Cecelia Mathers march into the saloon with her brood in her wake.

“What the hell?” the bartender said.

Cecelia looked around, then came straight toward the bar, parting those in front of her as the prow of a ship might part the sea.

Fargo figured she hadn't taken no for an answer but it wasn't him she came to see. She halted in front of Moose and put her hands on her hips.

“If it can't be him it might as well be you.”

“Ma'am?” Moose said.

“I need a partner to go after Brain Eater,” Cecelia said, and jerked a thumb at Fargo. “I asked him but he's already got one. So now I'm askin' you.” She paused and glanced at the Englishman. “Wait a minute. How about you? I'm not particular, and they say you have a rifle that can drop a buffalo with a single shot.”

“I'm sorry, madam, but I hunt alone.”

“Then it's back to you,” Cecelia said to Moose. “How about it?”

“How about what?”

“Aren't you payin' attention? How about partnerin' up with me to hunt the griz.”

“You and me?”

“They say you've killed a heap of bears so you must be good at it.”

Moose squared his wide shoulders and puffed out his enormous chest. “A heap is about right.”

“Then will you or won't you?”

“Won't I what?”

Cecelia rose onto her toes so her face was inches from his.

“Is there somethin' the matter with you?”

“I ain't been sick in years,” Moose said.

“Are you serious?”

“I'm always serious about being sick,” Moose said. “I don't like to throw up.”

Cecelia took a step back. “Enough about sick. Will you or won't you be my partner? We'll split the bounty fifty-fifty. In return, while we're on the trail, I'll do all the cookin' and such. I'll mend any socks you have that need darnin'. And do whatever else you say needs doin'. Does that sound fair?”