Beartooth Incident

by Jon Sharpe

  He opened his eyes. The woods were still far off. Too far, maybe. Could he reach them before he collapsed?

  A shriek brought Fargo out of himself. It came from overhead. He blinked up into the glare and spied a hawk soaring on outstretched wings. A red-tailed hawk, over two feet from beak to tail. It shrieked again, as if frustrated that the snow prevented it from finding the mice and rabbits on which it loved to feast.

  “I know how you feel.”

  The hawk banked and glided toward the mountains, rising until it was a mere speck.

  “If I had wings I wouldn’t be in this fix.”

  Fargo stopped and snorted.

  “That was a downright stupid thing to say.”

  He took three more steps and his legs had enough. He fell to his knees, grinned at the distant woodland, and sank onto his side. The snow was warmer than it had been. It was as warm as a blanket. He closed his eyes and sank into it and drifted on tides of inner darkness.

  It was buzzing that brought Fargo around. At first he thought it must be bugs. Flies, probably. Come to crawl on him now that he was too weak to stop them. He swatted at them and one of the flies grabbed his wrist. Another fly alighted on his cheek. He tried to brush it away and it buzzed at him. “I don’t talk fly.”

  “What was that, mister?” a voice asked.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Jayce,” another voice said. “Look at him. He’s half out of his wits.”

  Fargo opened his eyes. He had been out a good long while. The sun was low in the western sky. But it wasn’t the sun that interested him. It was the boy and the girl hunkered at his side. The boy looked to be ten or thereabouts, the girl maybe twelve. They were bundled in clothes that had seen better days. Their gloves had holes in them. The boy wore a torn hat and the girl had an old scarf wrapped around her head and ears. Both had thin, oval faces, green eyes, and sandy hair.

  “I take it I’m not dead,” he croaked.

  “Not yet, but you ought to be,” the boy said. “I never saw so much blood. What on earth happened to you?”

  “Wolves.”

  The boy stiffened and looked all around. “What wolves? There’s two that’s been trying to get at our chickens and sometime at us, and making our ma plumb mad.”

  “They’re dead. Back a ways. Your ma can rest easy.”

  The girl put a hand to his brow. “I think you have a fever. And you’re awful pale.”

  “How far to your ranch? If it’s not far I can make it.” Fargo tried to rise on an elbow but couldn’t.

  “We don’t have a ranch, mister,” the boy said.

  “Your farm, then?”

  The girl shook her head. “We don’t have a farm, neither. I’m Nelly, by the way. Nelly Harper. This here is my brother, Jayce. Ma said we could go play in the snow and we saw you lying way out here. We thought you were a dead deer, and we could surely use the meat.”

  “We can’t eat you, though,” Jayce said, sounding vastly disappointed.

  “You’re welcome to come to our cabin if you want,” Nelly offered. “It’s warm there, and there’s some soup left over.”

  Jayce glanced at her. “Ma might not like it. Maybe we should go ask her first.”

  “He’s hurt,” Nelly said. “Hurt bad. We can’t just leave him lying there. Maybe Sten and his men will come.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.” Jayce regarded Fargo while gnawing on his lower lip. “Say. Maybe he’s one of them.”

  “I’ve never seen him with them before.”

  “So? He could be new.” Jayce poked Fargo in the chest. “Tell us true, mister. Do you ride for Cud Sten?”

  “Never heard of him,” Fargo said. “Seems an odd name for a man to have,” he added.

  Nelly was chewing on her lip, too, but stopped. “Cud is short for Cudgel. They call him that on account of he likes to beat people with a club. His last name is Stenislaski or something like that but no one can ever say it right, so everyone just calls him Sten.”

  “You know a lot about him. Is he a friend of the family?”

  “Gracious, no. Cud’s a bad man, mister. A very bad man. He’s killed folks and worse, Ma says. He keeps paying us visits even though she keeps telling him not to.”

  “Why doesn’t your father run him off?”

  Nelly grew sad. “In the first place, no one runs Cud Sten off. In the second place, we don’t have a pa.”

  “He died,” Jayce said, mirroring his sister’s sorrow. “A bear got him. He was out chopping wood and a griz snuck up and ate him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fargo said to be polite. “Was this recent?”

  “Oh, no,” Nelly said. “About a year ago, it was. I miss him an awful lot. He was a fine pa.”

  “Yes,” Jayce said, and his throat bobbed. Then, with a toss of his head, he stood. “I reckon sis is right and we should take you with us. Can you stand or do we have to help you?”

  Fargo went to push to his feet and realized his hands were empty. He scooped at the snow near where his right hand had been when he passed out.

  “What on earth are you doing, mister?”

  “I lost something.”

  “Is this it?” Nelly asked, and her hand came from behind her dress holding the Arkansas toothpick by the tip.

  “We didn’t want you stabbing us,” Jayce said.

  “Hold on to it if you don’t trust me,” Fargo suggested. Just so he didn’t lose it like he had lost everything else. He made it to his knees and then to his feet and swayed like a reed in a high wind.

  “Are you dizzy?” Nelly asked.

  “Some.”

  She stepped in close. “You can lean on me if you need to. Just be nice is all I ask. Some of Sten’s men aren’t so nice, and I don’t like them very much.”

  Fargo took note of that. He took a step, and a second, and smiled, thinking he could do it on his own. But at the next stride his head went into a whirl, and it was all he could do stay upright. He put a hand on her shoulder and waited for the vertigo to pass.

  “You’re not doing so well, are you?”

  “I’ve done better,” Fargo admitted.

  “You haven’t told us who you are or what you’re doing in these parts. It isn’t often we get visitors.”

  “Except for Cud Sten,” Jayce said.

  Fargo remedied his lack of manners. But he didn’t tell the complete truth. He left out the part about scouting for the army. “I like to explore new country, and the Beartooths are as new as country gets. I didn’t think there was anyone living within a thousand miles of here.”

  “There’s just us,” Nelly told him.

  Fargo took note of that, too. He had gained a little strength, and he started off again, leaning on her as lightly as he could and still stay on his feet. “What about the Indians?”

  “What about them?” Jayce rejoined.

  “Are you on friendly terms? There are a lot of hostiles in the mountains, and they’ve been known to lift white scalps now and then.” Fargo regretted saying it the moment he did.

  Both children got that fawn-in-the-glow-of-a-lantern look, and Jayce glanced anxiously up and down the valley as if afraid a war party was about to swoop down on them.

  “We worry about Indians all the time. Pa used to say they’d leave us be if we left them be. And once he gave one of our cows to them.”

  “Now that he’s gone,” Nelly said, taking up the account, “Ma is afraid they might take us to live with them.”

  Fargo could see that happening. Now and then warriors took fancies to white women. “Why don’t the three of you leave?’

  Sister and brother looked at each other, and Nelly answered, “You’d best ask Ma. It’s not up to us.”

  “I’d go if we could,” Jayce said. “I’m tired of always having to be on the lookout for Sten and Indians and bears and whatnot.”

  Fargo was mildly surprised. Most boys his age would gladly live in the country rather than in a settlement or town. Boys thrived outdoors, running ba
refoot and fishing and hunting and catching frogs and snakes.

  “I’d love to go through a day safe,” Nelly chimed in. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

  “You make it sound awful bad here.”

  That was when Jayce, who was struggling in the deep snow, twisted his head around. “Say, mister, didn’t you say you killed those two wolves?”

  “As dead as dead can be,” Fargo assured him.

  “Then how come one of them is chasing us?”

  4

  Fargo stopped and half turned and a chill ran down his spine. One of the wolves was closing on them with surprising speed, given that its coat was spattered with red from the stab wounds he had inflicted. There was a grim intensity about its expression. Every dozen feet or so it staggered for a few steps, but then it came on again.

  Fargo took the Arkansas toothpick from Nelly, who was staring at the wolf in terror. “Run.”

  Jayce faced the wolf and balled his fists. “We’ll help you fight it off, mister.”

  “No,” Fargo said. Stricken as it was, the wolf was still formidable. “Get to your cabin. Let your ma know.”

  Nelly had recovered from her shock enough to say, “It wouldn’t be right to leave you. You’re in no shape to do much.”

  “I don’t want you hurt.” Fargo gave her a push. “Either of you. Now run.”

  His tone spurred her into flying, and she pulled Jayce with her. But they took only a few steps and stopped.

  “We can’t.”

  It was all Fargo could do to stay on his feet. “Run, damn it!” he commanded, and this time they actually did. But they couldn’t go very fast.

  And the wolf was almost on them.

  Fargo shook his head to try to clear it but it didn’t help. He focused on the wolf and only the wolf. He would do what he could to delay it, but he wasn’t going to fool himself. He didn’t stand much of a chance. He hefted the toothpick and was appalled at how heavy it felt. It showed how weak he was.

  The wolf came to a stop just out of reach, bared its fangs, and snarled.

  Fargo would swear he saw hate in its eyes. Hate for the killing of its mate, maybe. Or maybe it was his imagination. “Come and get me.” He hoped the children kept running. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder to find out.

  Holding the toothpick low, he tried a feint, which the wolf ignored.

  The movement brought on more dizziness. Worse, Fargo’s gut churned, and bile rose in his throat. He went to swallow it back down, and thought, Why bother? He let it come all the way up—and out. He threw up on the wolf.

  For a few moments the wolf was motionless.

  Then it came at him so quick that Fargo couldn’t get the toothpick up in time. Fangs tore into his shirt. Its weight drove him back. He tripped over his own feet and then he was on his back, holding the wolf by the throat while it snapped at his face and neck and growled in fury and sought to rip and rend with its claws.

  Fargo summoned what strength he had left but it wasn’t much. He couldn’t hold the beast off him for long. Pain seared his side. Teeth gnashed an inch from his eyes. The wolf was practically beside itself; he looked into its eyes and saw hellfire.

  Fargo tried to roll so that he could pin it with his body but he couldn’t do more than raise a shoulder. Again the fangs snapped, missing his neck by a whisker. He locked his elbows to keep it from reaching him but his arms were forced lower. His end was near. He sensed it, and the wolf sensed it. In a surge of ferocity, the wolf bit at his jugular. He twisted his neck away but he was only delaying the inevitable.

  The next moment Fargo’s strength gave out completely. The wolf’s face filled his vision. Teeth were everywhere. He braced for a final explosion of pain, but there was an explosion of a different kind. Thunder boomed, and the wolf jerked to the impact of a heavy slug. It looked up, and thunder boomed again. Blood and hair and bits of an eyeball sprayed over Fargo’s face, and the wolf went limp.

  He couldn’t hold it up. He felt his arms start to give out.

  The world went dark.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Fargo was conscious of a warm hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes and could barely see for the glare. “Who . . . ?”

  “I’m Mary Harper. You’re in a bad way. I sent Nelly and Jayce to fetch our sled. But it will take them a bit.”

  “Sled?” Fargo said in confusion. His mind was a jumble. He could hardly think.

  “To haul you to our cabin. You’re too heavy for us to carry. And I wouldn’t want to try, the shape you’re in.”

  “Can’t see,” Fargo said. He swallowed and blinked, and there she was, her face as close as the wolf’s had been. She was a vision: blond hair that glowed like a halo and the most incredible green eyes and small, full lips. There was no wariness in her eyes, only concern. “You’re beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself.

  Mary Harper smiled. “You’re not in your right mind. You’ve lost a terrible amount of blood.”

  “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Being so helpless,” Fargo replied. It embarrassed him. Yet he had to admit it was a strange thing to be embarrassed about.

  “It’s not as if you planned it.”

  “Lost horse,” Fargo tried to explained. “Fell off mountain. . . . so much snow . . . couldn’t stop.”

  “Hush. Don’t waste yourself. You can tell me all about it later, after we have you warm and bandaged and fed.”

  “Don’t want . . . to be a burden.”

  “There you go again,” Mary Harper said, kindly. “Please. Don’t think anything of it. I would do the same for anyone in the shape you are. Indians included.”

  Fargo believed she would. An awkward silence fell—awkward to him, at any rate—and he said to fill it, “Can’t believe you’re here.”

  “My children were gone too long and I came looking for them.”

  “No. I mean, I can’t believe you’re here.” Fargo tried to motion to encompass the valley and the mountains but couldn’t move his arm far enough.

  “Oh. To tell you the truth, there are days when I can’t believe it, either. When I wonder what I was thinking when I let my Frank talk me into it. But, God, I loved that man.”

  “I heard about the griz.”

  Mary’s features clouded. “The bear comes back from time to time. I shot at it once but don’t think I hit it. Mark my words, though. I’ll make it pay for what it did to my Frank.”

  Fargo had more he wanted to say, but a great weariness came over him and he closed his eyes and was out. Movement brought him around. He was being jostled, but gently.

  “Careful now, Jayce. Don’t drop him.”

  “I won’t, Ma.”

  “Nelly, lift his legs higher if you can.”

  “I’m trying. He’s so big, Ma. Bigger than Pa.”

  “There. That should do it. Now, Nelly, you spread the blanket, and all three of us will pull.”

  Fargo was on his back, a hard surface under him, his arms folded across his chest. He felt himself being covered. Blinking, he tried to raise his head.

  “Lie still,” Mary said. “We just got you on the sled. It will be a while before we get you to the cabin.”

  Two ropes had been tied to the runners, high up at the front. Mary took hold of one and her children took hold of the other. Bent at the waist, the ropes across their shoulders, they put their whole bodies into it. The sled moved a few inches, and stopped.

  “It’s hard, Ma,” Jayce said.

  “I know. But if we don’t get him to our cabin, he’ll die, son. Let’s try again.”

  The sled jerked forward, stopped, and jerked again. This time it kept going. The crunch of the runners through the snow and the heavy breathing of the three pulling the sled soon lulled Fargo into limbo. He didn’t fight it. He was so weak from blood loss, he didn’t have the energy.

  When Fargo woke up they were still huffing and puffing and the sled was still crunching. But instead of blue
sky above him, there were tree branches. They were in the woods. He licked his lips and got an elbow under him so he could try to sit up.

  “Don’t even think it,” Mary Harper warned. To her children she said, “Let’s stop and rest again.”

  “Fine by me, Ma,” Jayce said. “My shoulder is about rubbed raw.”

  “With me it’s my hands,” Nelly said. “My blisters have blisters.”

  “We’re almost there. Another few minutes.”

  Fargo said, “If you’ll help me up, I’ll try to walk.”

  “Nothing doing,” Mary responded. “You wouldn’t make it, and we’d have to go to all the trouble of putting you back on the sled.”

  Her face floated above him. She placed her palm to his brow, probed for a pulse in his wrist, and scowled.

  “What is it, Ma?” Jayce asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re fibbing. And you always told us not to ever fib. Is he dying, Ma? Is that it?”

  Mary Harper looked sadly down at Fargo and didn’t say anything. Her expression was more eloquent than words could be.

  Fargo forced a chuckle. “I’m that bad off, am I?”

  “Do you want the truth?”

  “Nothing but.”

  Mary’s throat bobbed, and she touched the back of her hand to his cheek in a gesture of sympathy. “I’m no doctor. Oh, I can set broken bones and sew up cuts, and I have a few herbs for croup and the like. But you need a sawbones. Without one, without a hospital where they can tend you proper, well . . .” She bit her lip. “I can’t offer any guarantees.”

  “I wasn’t expecting any.” Fargo softened his tone. “Look, we hardly know each other. But something tells me you’ll do the best you can. I’m in as good a pair of hands as any.”

  She looked at him strangely, then gazed off into the trees, her face in profile as lovely as any he ever beheld. “It’s not far. Once I dress the bites and get some soup into you and we put you to bed, the rest will be in God’s hands.” She patted his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d do a lot of praying.”

  “I’m not much for bending my knees,” Fargo confessed.

  “Then we’ll pray for you. Never underestimate the power of the Almighty, Mr. Fargo. The Good Lord has kept my children and me alive.”