Flathead Fury Read Free

isn’t smart to be out alone at night,” Fargo observed. “The Blackfeet have been acting up of late. And there are grizzlies hereabouts.”
    â€œHell, the Blackfeet have held a grudge since Lewis and Clark. As for the silvertips, most stay up in the mountains these days. To come down here is an invite to be stuffed and mounted.”
    â€œSo the answer is no?”
    â€œIf your head were any harder, you would have rock between your ears.”
    Fargo had taken all of the old man’s barbs he was going to. “And you called me ornery, you old goat. Have it your way,” he said, and applied his spurs. But no sooner did he do so than the undergrowth parted and onto the trail strode the lord of the Rockies, the very creature Fargo had been concerned about. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, drawing rein.
    Apparently Thaddeus had not noticed the newcomer because he asked, “What has you in a dither, sonny?”
    Fargo did not have to answer. The grizzly did it for him by rearing onto its hind legs, tilting its head, and growling.

2
    Grizzlies were living mountains of muscle with razor teeth and claws. Immensely strong, they could rip a man apart with one swipe of an enormous paw. They were unpredictable; nine times out of ten they ran at the sight or smell of a human being, but the tenth time was to be dreaded, for stopping a griz was next to impossible. Their skulls were so thick, the bone was virtual armor. To hit the heart or a lung was almost as difficult owing to their huge bodies.
    But that did not stop Fargo from yanking the Henry from his saddle scabbard. Levering a round into the chamber, he pressed the stock to his shoulder, saying quietly to Thaddeus Thompson, “Don’t move.”
    The old man did not heed. Flapping his arms, he walked toward the bear, bawling, “Go away! Shoo! Bother someone else, you consarned nuisance!”
    Fargo braced for a charge. He would do what he could but he doubted he could bring the grizzly down before it reached Thompson and reduced him to a pile of shattered bones and ruptured flesh. “Stop, damn it,” Fargo hollered.
    Thaddeus glanced back, and laughed. “Don’t shoot! It’s only old One Ear. He has been around nearly as long as I have.”
    Fargo looked, and sure enough, the bear did appear to be past its prime. Splashes of gray marked the muzzle, and it was more gaunt than a grizzly should be. The left ear was missing, apparently torn off, leaving a ridge of scar tissue. But Fargo did not lower the Henry. An old bear was still dangerous. “It might attack,” he warned.
    Thaddeus Thompson dismissed the notion with a wave. “Shows how much you know! One Ear never hurt anybody. He comes and goes as he pleases, and hardly anyone ever sees him except me. I think he likes me.”
    â€œYou are an idiot,” Fargo said.
    â€œThink so, do you? Just you watch!” Thaddeus squared his thin shoulders and boldly marched toward the bear, saying as if greeting a long-lost friend, “How do you do, One Ear? How have you been? If you drank coffin varnish I would share mine if I had any left.”
    Then and there Fargo decided the old-timer was more than a few bales short of a wagon load. He took a bead on the grizzly’s chest.
    One Ear was regarding the old man as if it could not quite make up its mind what to do. Suddenly the bear dropped onto all fours, ponderously wheeled, and crashed off into the underbrush. Within moments the racket faded and the woods were still.
    â€œSee?” Thaddeus gloated. “I told you he wouldn’t hurt me.”
    Fargo waited to be good and sure the bear was gone, then let down the Henry’s hammer, slid the rifle into the scabbard, and gigged the Ovaro up next to Thompson. “You will get yourself killed one day pulling that stunt.”
    â€œWe all end up in a grave.”
    â€œSo?” Fargo said.
    â€œSo when my time comes, I would