When the Innocent Avenge – Extended Epilogue

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Gunshots rang out over Fallon, Nevada. Sheriff Duncan Hale and his wife, Yvonne Mahler Hale, sprang up out of bed. Duncan went the window, looking out over the still night of the dark countryside around the town. There’d been a danger hovering around, and as sheriff he was abreast of the goings-on. But he’d hoped the danger had come and gone.

It seemed it had returned, and it did so as it so often did: with a gunshot, ringing in the night. A second shot confirmed it.

Duncan climbed into his clothes, his wife looking on. She could not talk him out of going out there, she knew that. They both knew it. He’d hoped to lead his life of violence behind, that they’d both be able to do so. But duty called, and Duncan had to serve the town where he and his wife had settled down. The only thing that prevented her from being his deputy was that they had a son, a fine child of only a year old. They agreed she would hang up her guns and stay home with little Stephen, and Duncan would see to the generally tranquil events in Fallon as the turn of the century fast approached.

The town had continued to grow, though it was quiet at that time of night. More travelers had passed through on the way to Virginia City, Carson City, other points further west. Many chose to stay to call the little desert town home, and they weren’t the only ones.

Because the growing population in every corner of the United States was creating a greater intercourse of man and beast, forcing each uncomfortably close to the other. Duncan would never have guessed that, after years of roaming the States in search of death, he’d finally found the greatest natural threat coming at him set against the backdrop of a rising town, fast on the come.

Duncan climbed on his new horse, Jack, and kicked him into action, the animal carrying him off their country property and toward the Double Y ranch, just a bit further outside of town. He knew just where the shot had come from, and why.

Duncan rode up slowly to the house, calling out his own name and purpose for his visit before being welcomed in. Duncan climbed off his horse as homeowner and rancher Beevis Barns stood in his doorway, rifle in his hand.

“Sheriff.” He nodded, his toothless face slowly caving in as his gray hairline receded.

“Beevis.” Duncan glanced around. “Heard the shots.”

“Think I got him this time, that damned thing!”

Duncan looked around his darkened, modest ranch. “You sure what you were shooting at?”

“I don’t care what it was, it keeps huntin’ my sheep. Already killed my dogs!” There was no arguing with that. “You gotta bring that thing to me, Sheriff.”

Duncan turned to the work-aged rancher, an angry finger pointing. “First of all, you don’t have any proof that our bear is the same predator who hit your stock—”

“Ain’t two bears in these parts, Sheriff, an’ you know that! Just ‘cause this thing’s yer pet—”

“That thing saved my life,” Duncan snapped back. “That thing has more brains and sensitivity than ten of you, and he’s a lot better company!” A tense silence passed as the two men looked out over the darkness. “You go out there lookin’ for the body?”

“Hell no,” Beevis said. “An injured bear? You go, you like the thing so much.”

Duncan checked the location of the moon. “Another two hours, we’ll have daylight.”

“Two hours? What if it comes back, comes after another o’ my sheep? My shepherds won’t even stand their shifts no more!”

“All right, Beevis, all right. I’ll stand with you ‘til the sun comes up. My guess, no bear.”

“Then you’ll agree it ran off, maybe wounded?”

“No,” Duncan said, “I won’t. But I’ll go out and check the area. Until then, I hope you’ll remember two things: one, I’m the law here. Two, a person is innocent until proven guilty.”

Beevis offered a snarling smile. “Bear ain’t no person.”

“This one is, far as I’m concerned.”

The two men waited in a tense silence as the sun came up over Fallon. The desert morning was slow to fade to a bright blue, and Duncan was quick to search the area where the old rancher said he’d fired. There was blood on the grass in the area, and that excited the rancher as proof of Banjo’s guilt.

“No fur,” Duncan said, “could have been wolves.”

“I heard the thing shout out,” Beevis said, “t’weren’t no wolf, nor any cougar. T’was a bear, an’ that means yer bear!”

“There are bears all over the hills, Beevis, you know that.”

“So you admit that that it was a bear!”

“How can I admit that? It’s just a bit of blood; could be human blood for all we know. You see any poachers in the area, get any word of it?”

“Wouldn’t I have said as much?” Beevis shook his head, clapping his toothless mouth. “You can’t be that dense, Sheriff.”

“And you can’t really think a completely tame bear is suddenly predating on your sheep, when there are clearly bears all over the hills, as I’ve said?”

“’Cause a bear’s like a man, Sheriff, and when he stakes his claim he don’t let no others cross the line.” He cocked his rifle. “An’ I don’t neither.”

“All right, all right,” Duncan said, waving the older man down. “There’s really only one way to know for sure.”

“An’ how’s that, Sheriff Bear?”

“We stake out some bait,” Duncan said, “and if there’s a big predator stalking your sheep, it’ll be the first come around. Then, Banjo or not, we’ll end the thing once and for all.”

Beevis nodded as he clearly gave it some consideration. “And what kinda bait you have in mind?”

Duncan couldn’t resist the little joke of looking Beevis over. “Well, it is your ranch.”

That day was dedicated to setting the trap. They staked out one of Beevis’ sheep, tethered by rope into place in an open area, not too far from a cluster of trees at the mountains’ feet, just where such a predator would hide and wait and from which an attack was almost certain.

Duncan couldn’t stop thinking about Banjo. The big black bear had saved his life more than once. He’d chased off Cal Travertine and his gang. He’d appeared at the crucial tactic to deliver a crucial killing blow, saving Duncan’s adored wife Yvonne. The bear had suffered the loss of his oldest and dearest friend, the long-missed Gus Stephenssen, Duncan’s own son’s namesake. The bear and the old man had enjoyed a relationship stronger than many humans Duncan had seen come and go, family to one another or not.

He’d become friends himself with the lumbering beast, who lived on his own in the hills outside of town. He was no dog to live in a yard, though he was known to come in on occasion. He lived nearby and came like a guardian angel, as he always had.

Duncan only hoped Banjo was not the predator in question, though he knew it was certainly possible. For no matter how friendly or tame, an animal like a big black bear would rediscover its wild side, revert to the alpha male predator that it was born to be, before the corruption of man’s influence to twist it beyond natural recognition.

If that were true, Banjo would have to be destroyed, and Duncan knew he’d be the one to do it. He allowed no deputies, not even Yvonne, whose strength with a gun was well-known and beyond doubt. She’d be at a safe distance, their son never having to fear losing both parents. There was little enough danger to Duncan himself. It wasn’t about that.

Duncan knew in this case that, if the killing blow had to be delivered, he’d have to be the one to deliver it. He was the sheriff; he’d taken up the badge. He’d allowed the bear to roam free and be welcome, and if that had been part of the bear’s corruption then he was honor-bound to his citizens to end the danger he had inadvertently helped to create.

And there was another matter he had to see to. Duncan had led Banjo and Gus and the others in what he’d hoped would be a last campaign. That had been a promise, and it was a promise broken. Duncan owed Banjo a final apology, a chance to run and not look back, or a quick and painless death. But, more than that, he owed it to his old friend to look into his eyes one final time.

They staked out the sheep and corralled the others, a few locals volunteering to guard the sheep and shoot only to protect them or themselves.

Duncan and Beevis waited as the sun went down, the lone sheep baying out its fear. The animal seemed to sense danger, and the way it called out to the others in a confused plea for protection sent chills up Duncan’s spine.

That could bring in any predator, Duncan knew, even Banjo might not be able to resist! We’re tricking the poor creature to its slaughter, and mine has to be the killing hand!

A low growl leaked up in the distance, the sheep baying louder, hairs standing up on the back of Duncan’s neck. Beevis was tense, too, all too ready to aim and fire. But Duncan knew there was no way he could stop the old man, and it would only be a matter of seconds before they would both find out how things would end.

The big black shape stepped out of the trees, lumbering with a tan face. Banjo, Duncan knew. No, Banjo, no! Beevis raised his rifle, but Duncan said, “Just hold on, Beevis.”

“Why, so I can lose another sheep?”

“I’ll pay for your sheep… and your funeral. I shoot first.” Beevis looked Duncan over, and he seemed to realize Duncan wasn’t kidding. Duncan turned to see that Banjo wasn’t, either. Even from that distance, Duncan could see that the animal was riled, growling, a ridge up on his back. There was a wildness to him, there was no doubt about it.

Banjo seemed to glare at the sheep, which tried to run off but pulled the tether taught. I shouted out to the others of its flock, but none even bothered to respond, not even a sheepish farewell.

Beevis looked at Duncan, then back at the bear in the distance. “Well? What’re you waiting for, the thing to drop dead from boredom? Kill it already!” There was nothing to say, no way to combat the logic which dictated what was going to happen next. “Hurry, ‘fore I do!”

“Not another word,” Duncan said, one eye shut and the other fixed on his old and dear friend. The bear looked up, sensing the connection, the moment the two seemed destined to share from their first meeting. Banjo had saved Duncan’s life, and it had been a fatal mistake, finally come back to haunt it. Duncan sensed that old co-rider, bony death itself, grinning nearby with that skeleton face, laughing.

And, as he knew he’d have to do, Duncan refocused to look into his old friend’s eyes, one last time.

But the other bear’s growl stunned Duncan and stayed his hand, finger pulling away from the trigger as he raised his rifle to point harmlessly upward. He turned, and Beevis did, too, to see a second bear charging out of the trees. This one was even bigger than Banjo, much bigger. By its brown shaggy fur, Duncan knew it was a grizzly come in from California. It had three-hundred pounds or more on Banjo, and it was from a species known to be the most aggressive of all bears and the most-feared predator on land in all North America.

A fresh bullet wound in the grizzly’s left shoulder, crusted with dried blood, was enough proof for Duncan that this was the marauding predator.

It made perfect sense. Banjo was there because he’d sensed the other bear. That had been why Banjo had been so riled, the ridge on his back. It wasn’t a sign of predation, but of territoriality. Banjo wasn’t there to hunt, but to repel the bigger grizzly.

Only the pitched need to protect his territory could make Banjo be so ready to fight a bear so much bigger and fiercer than he was by nature. But Duncan knew that the bear was acting out of love, for him and for his family, for the entire town. Fallon was under Banjo’s jurisdiction, and he was going to defend it against all comers, no matter how big, how dangerous, how deadly.

In that moment, Banjo won Duncan’s affection and respect once again. And in another way Banjo had saved his life, because Duncan hadn’t had to shoot him, he hadn’t had to kill that part of himself.

Banjo roared at the grizzly and the big grizzly roared right back, the sheep desperate to escape as the two titans charged each other. Duncan said to Beevis, “Let’s go,” before leading them closer. They’d have to join the fight, and they’d need to be closer to do it.

The big grizzly swatted at Banjo, driving him back with a series of flashes, those black claws cutting the air between them. The grizzly struck Banjo hard on the side of the head, the poor bear yelping as he backed up. The grizzly kept driving Banjo back with its superior size, strength, and natural-born outrage.

Banjo had more at stake, and it propelled him into a flurry of strikes against the grizzly. The bigger bear seemed shocked at the unnatural willingness to attack, and that was all that kept the bigger bear from resuming his forward charge.

That time quick and the grizzly reversed the course of battle and charged again. It got in a few more good blows to Banjo’s bloodied head, the animal crying out as Duncan lined up his Winchester, close enough to ensure he wouldn’t hit Banjo by mistake.

Bang!

The grizzly took the shot in the side.

Duncan advanced as the two big bears fought it out, lining up another shot as the grizzly turned on him.

Bang!

The grizzly took the shot, Banjo charging one final time with a series of brutal swipes to the face and throat, the grizzly screaming as it toppled back.

Beevis lined up his own rifle, and he shot before Duncan could stop him.

“No, Beevis, don’t!”

Bang!

Duncan could only look over, his stomach dropping to see the two big ursine beasts, the one finally falling to the ground.

Duncan exhaled to see the grizzly fall. He looked over and Beevis gave him a little wink. Duncan ran across the little ranch to Banjo, laying with panted breath, blood all over his black hide. Duncan set down the rifle and knelt by his old friend, gently petting the big bear. Banjo flinched at first, reaching up with his big mouth gaping before laying it down again, growling and grunting, his last breaths wheezing out.

Beevis stood there, sniffing. “I… I didn’t know, I… I’m so sorry. I shot the grizzly; I know I did.”

There were no gunshots on Banjo, just the mortal blows of his natural adversary. But Banjo’s eyes seemed to be at peace as he lay his head down and let Duncan pet him a few final times.

“Goodbye, old friend,” Duncan said. “You’re a good ol’ fella. Say hi to Gus, tell him… tell him we’ll see him again… you, too, my friend.”

Banjo whined out his last and his big, black body finally came to a rest. Duncan felt hollow, the eyeless sockets of death peering at him from just over his shoulder, though Duncan didn’t dare turn around to see, as if to meet the face of that specter at long last would be the last act of his life.

And Duncan still had a loving wife to return to, a happy and healthy son. He’d hear stories of their friend, Banjo and Gus, reunited to roam the wilds, dear old friends together at last.

Duncan and Beevis both set about to dig Banjo’s grave. The old soldier would be treated with every respect any human would. He’d been every bit a match for almost any human Duncan had ever known. And his death had been more noble, more sacrificial, than any Duncan had ever witnessed among humans, since Banjo’s first and dearest friend. They’d shared more than Duncan could ever have shared with Banjo, and he’d shared more with his wife and child than poor Gus could ever have shared with the rest of the human race.

The circles had closed, life and death acting as one, two sides of the same coin. Life went on in Fallon, Nevada, though children would tell stories of the mountain man and his pet bear until it was Yvonne herself who wrote them as a novel for children, becoming famous for them across the entire nation. In that way, they all shared a kind of immortality, and that was more than any of them had ever hoped to achieve.

What mattered to them all most remained their most treasured blessings: peace, life, liberty, family, love. Nothing else mattered or would ever matter, though the name Hale would ring through Nevada history, leading the southwest into the next century and beyond that. It would be a place of dreams, of legends. That desert was slowly becoming a beacon to travelers from all over the country, all over the world, and that era had only begun. The American Century was upon them, forged by men like Duncan Hale and women like his wife, the amazing Yvonne Mahler. Together they’d reshaped the nation and allowed the folk heroes Gus and Banjo to live forever.

That was the power of legend. That was the power of the West.

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