Free Faithful by Janet Fox Page A

road, no more than twenty feet away, staring at the coach with leaden eyes. Its head was massive—too massive for its tiny, round ears. Its sand-colored coat ruffled in the wind, and it sprouted an enormous hump on its shoulders, like a growth.
    “Grizzly,” said the man sitting opposite me, in a quiet undertone.
    Grizzly! I might have been at the edge of a cliff, my legs were so wobbly, yet I did not feel paralyzed, as I did when encountering a precipice. The bear and I locked eyes. I shrank back. It sat up, lifting its nose into the air in tiny, quick jerks. Its eyes were surprisingly small, and flat brown. We stared at each other for a long moment. I searched its eyes, but they were a void.
    The animal was not like Ghost, whose thoughts I could read. There was nothing behind the bear’s gaze but raw instinct. It had no soul. It watched me with those tiny, flat, animal eyes, with a deep malice that I could feel in my gut. The bear waited for me and me alone. I knew that it was chasing the air for my scent.
    “Ah!” The sound escaped me almost involuntarily, and as if in response to my cry, the bear grunted. It swung its massive head back and forth and took a step forward. Its eyes met mine; sure as sure, it read my thoughts. I knew I was reading the bear as well—torn between fear and a desire to know more, to probe deep into its psyche.
    The driver strained to control the terrified horses and he urged them forward. They pulled off at last and the carriage started with a jolt. We moved away, leaving the bear behind as it followed us—me—with its eyes.
    I craned out the window, looking back.
    “What you do,” said the man opposite, “is lie down and remain still.”
    The bear stood on its hind legs. I felt its call as if I were a wild thing. The taste of fear rose into my mouth but I still wanted to see the bear.
    The man repeated himself, leaning toward me and blocking the window to catch my attention. “Did you hear? Completely still.”
    “Excuse me?” What did this irritating man want? I tried to look past him but it was too late. I leaned back in frustration, breathing as if I’d been running.
    “If you are out in the bush and come upon a bear,” he said, flicking his hand, impatient. “You lie still and play dead. The bear sees you as a threat, but if you play dead, it will merely sniff at you and move on.” His cultivated English accent matched his bearing.
    I goggled at him, wondering why I would need this piece of trivia.
    He smiled, revealing a gap between his front teeth, beneath the curve of his mustache. “Unless, of course, it’s hungry.” He extended his hand. “George Graybull.” I shook it and then withdrew, gazing out the window.
    The bear’s eyes burned in my memory; something about it had imprinted my soul. I tried to slow my breathing. I spoke in a whisper, to myself. “It looked right at me.”
    “What? The bear?” He had heard me, that Graybull. “Nonsense. Bears have dreadful eyesight. Couldn’t have seen you at that distance. Just sniffing the air.” He caught my skeptical glance. “Been on a number of safaris. Hunted throughout the west. I know animals.”
    I smiled politely. Uncle John leaned over. “Exciting to see a bear this early in Yellowstone, eh, Margaret? Unusual!”
    The coach climbed higher, and then the landscape opened into a series of rolling hills, until the road wound in tight spirals. I leaned with the coach as it swayed, and thought about the bear.
    I knew animals. I knew animals well. I closed my eyes and remembered the feel of Ghost’s shoulder beneath my hand, the ripple of his muscle when I pressed my cheek against his neck. The bond I shared with him, the way he knew me. I thought again about the bear reading my thoughts and knew there was a difference.
    I opened my eyes again and looked out over the high mountains into which we climbed with a steady pace. Soon I’d be back with Ghost; soon I’d be back with Mama.
    My thoughts were