path. Obstacles were so much paper, to be shredded or barreled through.
Out of nowhere a gully appeared. Fargo raced along the rim, pebbles flying. Forty feet away the gully turned at a right angle. He had no recourse but to jump it. The Ovaro never broke stride. He nearly lost his hat when the stallion launched itself.
Brain Eater didnât try to jump. Barreling headlong down one side and up the other, the bear shot out of the gully as if flung by a catapult. As it cleared the crest it roared.
Fargo was growing worried. The bear didnât show sign of slowing.
The Ovaro came to the base of a steep hill and thundered up it. Fargo was elated to find he was gaining. He reached the crestâand drew sharp rein. He had misjudged. It wasnât a hill. Erosion had worn the other side away, leaving a forty foot drop that overlooked a small lake.
Brain Eater charged up the slope.
Fargo had nowhere to go. Once again he was left with no recourse. A jab of his spurs, and the stallion bounded to the edge, and over. Kicking free of the stirrups, Fargo pushed clear. He cleaved the water in a dive that propelled him under. His hat came off and he grabbed it. Angling toward the light, he stroked and kicked. His buckskins and his boots hampered him.
A few more strokes and the sun was warm on his face. He sucked air into his lungs while treading water.
The Ovaro was swimming toward shore.
Brain Eater was at the bluffâs rim, staring down at them. Rearing onto her hind legs, she roared.
Fargo swam. He thought she might jump in after him but she stood there staring until his legs brushed the bottom and he wearily staggered out of the lake and sprawled on solid ground.
Brain Eater raised a giant paw and swatted the air as if it were his head, then dropped onto all fours and lumbered into the forest.
Fargo wouldnât put it past her to circle the lake. Regaining his feet, he shuffled to the stallion. His boots squished with every step. He made sure the Sharps was still in the scabbard, forked leather, and fanned the breeze.
The dunking had soaked him to the skin. His buckskins were drenched. His saddle, his saddlebags, everything was wet. He needed to start a fire and dry out but that would have to wait. It wasnât safe to stop until he put a lot of miles between Brain Eater and himself.
Fargo reflected on how Brain Eater almost had him. He owed his life to the Ovaroâyet again. He gave the stallion a pat. Later he would strip it and rub it down and see that the stallion had plenty to drink and ample rest.
Now that Fargo had seen Brain Eater with his own eyes, he had a better idea of what the people of Gold Creek were up against. Heâd known the bear was big. He just hadnât appreciated how big.
Fargo wasnât so sure that luring it to the meadow was a good idea. Cecelia didnât realize the degree of danger she and her brood were in.
A low growl punctured Fargoâs reverie. He glanced behind him, thinking Brain Eater was after him again, but nothing was there. The growl was repeated, off to his right, and he swiveled, his hand swooping to his Colt.
It was a bear, all right.
But a different one.
13
Fargo drew rein. He remembered the two sets of eyes at the meadow. He remembered Mrs. Nesmith saying that the bear that killed her family wasnât Brain Eater, but smaller. This one had a lighter coat, especially around the head and neck. It also had razor teeth and claws as long as Fargoâs fingers. When it growled again and moved toward him, he flew for his life.
He wanted to beat his head against a tree for being so careless. Heâd been so deep in thought, he hadnât noticed it until he was much too close.
This new bear was quicker than Brain Eater and was after them like a hound let off the leash after a coon. It roared as it charged. A raking paw nearly caught the Ovaro.
Fargo swore. Slicking the Colt, he twisted and fired. The slug drilled the ground in front of the
Out of nowhere a gully appeared. Fargo raced along the rim, pebbles flying. Forty feet away the gully turned at a right angle. He had no recourse but to jump it. The Ovaro never broke stride. He nearly lost his hat when the stallion launched itself.
Brain Eater didnât try to jump. Barreling headlong down one side and up the other, the bear shot out of the gully as if flung by a catapult. As it cleared the crest it roared.
Fargo was growing worried. The bear didnât show sign of slowing.
The Ovaro came to the base of a steep hill and thundered up it. Fargo was elated to find he was gaining. He reached the crestâand drew sharp rein. He had misjudged. It wasnât a hill. Erosion had worn the other side away, leaving a forty foot drop that overlooked a small lake.
Brain Eater charged up the slope.
Fargo had nowhere to go. Once again he was left with no recourse. A jab of his spurs, and the stallion bounded to the edge, and over. Kicking free of the stirrups, Fargo pushed clear. He cleaved the water in a dive that propelled him under. His hat came off and he grabbed it. Angling toward the light, he stroked and kicked. His buckskins and his boots hampered him.
A few more strokes and the sun was warm on his face. He sucked air into his lungs while treading water.
The Ovaro was swimming toward shore.
Brain Eater was at the bluffâs rim, staring down at them. Rearing onto her hind legs, she roared.
Fargo swam. He thought she might jump in after him but she stood there staring until his legs brushed the bottom and he wearily staggered out of the lake and sprawled on solid ground.
Brain Eater raised a giant paw and swatted the air as if it were his head, then dropped onto all fours and lumbered into the forest.
Fargo wouldnât put it past her to circle the lake. Regaining his feet, he shuffled to the stallion. His boots squished with every step. He made sure the Sharps was still in the scabbard, forked leather, and fanned the breeze.
The dunking had soaked him to the skin. His buckskins were drenched. His saddle, his saddlebags, everything was wet. He needed to start a fire and dry out but that would have to wait. It wasnât safe to stop until he put a lot of miles between Brain Eater and himself.
Fargo reflected on how Brain Eater almost had him. He owed his life to the Ovaroâyet again. He gave the stallion a pat. Later he would strip it and rub it down and see that the stallion had plenty to drink and ample rest.
Now that Fargo had seen Brain Eater with his own eyes, he had a better idea of what the people of Gold Creek were up against. Heâd known the bear was big. He just hadnât appreciated how big.
Fargo wasnât so sure that luring it to the meadow was a good idea. Cecelia didnât realize the degree of danger she and her brood were in.
A low growl punctured Fargoâs reverie. He glanced behind him, thinking Brain Eater was after him again, but nothing was there. The growl was repeated, off to his right, and he swiveled, his hand swooping to his Colt.
It was a bear, all right.
But a different one.
13
Fargo drew rein. He remembered the two sets of eyes at the meadow. He remembered Mrs. Nesmith saying that the bear that killed her family wasnât Brain Eater, but smaller. This one had a lighter coat, especially around the head and neck. It also had razor teeth and claws as long as Fargoâs fingers. When it growled again and moved toward him, he flew for his life.
He wanted to beat his head against a tree for being so careless. Heâd been so deep in thought, he hadnât noticed it until he was much too close.
This new bear was quicker than Brain Eater and was after them like a hound let off the leash after a coon. It roared as it charged. A raking paw nearly caught the Ovaro.
Fargo swore. Slicking the Colt, he twisted and fired. The slug drilled the ground in front of the
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