The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,76

the past. Henry’s ribs soon healed, their lives slipped back into the same old routine, and they began to fell trees in preparation for their winter cabin. They cut mountains of firewood, stacking it to cure. It was nothing they hadn’t done every year for as long as either man could remember, but in their joy, they became complacent. It was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

A Promise Made Is A Promise Kept

The moon was at twelve o’clock high and the two old trappers were snoring in their bedrolls when a sound came out of the forest that sent them scrambling to their feet and tossing wood on the dying embers of the fire in wild abandon. It was a sound to put the most experienced of woodsmen on the alert, and it set the horses into a frenzy. Their two geldings whinnied in fear, snorting and pawing at the ground as they tried to escape that which now stood at the edge of their fire.

Henry ran to steady the horses as a low huff, accompanied by a belly-deep grunt, drifted through the darkness. Something was disturbing the carpet of rotting leaves beneath the trees, sending the musty scent of decay and danger into the air along with a keening roar.

Bear!

Henry’s belly rolled with fear. “Oh shit,” he muttered, and tied the horses’ leads a little tighter as Parson began flinging all their kindling onto the fire at once. “Where the hell did he come from? I ain’t once seen bear sign this far down.”

“Tell that to the bear,” Parson grumbled, as he began searching his pack for extra ammunition. Henry quickly did the same.

They smelled him before they saw him. By the time he shuffled into the light of their fire, they had their guns in hand, at the ready and aiming toward the bear coming into their camp.

“Think we oughta make a run for it?” Henry asked.

Parson studied on the idea about a second too long. “I think we shoulda’ done that when we heard him, not after we saw the whites of his eyes.”

Henry cursed and spit. “Them damned eyes don’t look none too white to me. They’re burnin’ red as the devil, or I’m a son-of-a-gun.”

The bear rose on his hind legs, swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor unaccustomed to land, and at that moment, Henry spied a dark, patchy stain running down the big bear’s belly. “Looky there, Parson. He’s done been shot and ain’t figgered out how to die. No wonder he come in on us like that. Ain’t no tellin’ how long it’s been since he ate.”

Parson shivered. “Is there any of that stew left? Maybe we could pitch it over to him and change his plans a mite.”

Henry had a sudden urge to pee. “Hell no. There ain’t never any leftovers around here. You eat ever dang thing that ain’t bitin’ back, and you know it.”

Parson inhaled slowly and took aim. The bear went down on all fours and came at them at a lope.

“Henry, if we don’t get out of this one, it’s been a hell of a ride.”

“Same here, old pard. Aim for his head.”

Parson shifted the rifle onto his shoulder and squinted. “Remember your promise. Don’t plant me ’til the proper words have been said over my body.”

“Shut up you crazy preacher and take aim a’fore you talk the bear to death.”

Seconds later a single shot rang out. It was Henry’s gun that belched, then kicked. Smoke from the campfire blew across his face. The wind had changed. When his vision cleared, he had a momentary glimpse of Parson frantically pounding at his gun which seemed to have jammed, before the paw came out of nowhere and removed most of the hair he had left on his head.

It was as skillful a scalping as any Crow warrior could have done. But the deed was wasted motion. Parson’s neck had already snapped. It was just as well. Being disemboweled, which came next, would have hurt like hell.

“No! Oh no! Oh goddamn!”

Henry didn’t hear himself screaming. Adrenalin shot through him, swift and painful as a rattler’s strike. He took one look at his partner’s body and began to shiver with rage. Without thought for his safety, he grabbed a blazing stick from the edge of the fire and ran toward the mortally wounded bear which was now on all fours, trying to feed on Parson’s remains.

“No you don’t, you hairy bastard!”

His shriek tore through the night as he thrust the