The crisp mountain air bit at Wyatt's cheeks as he helped pack supplies onto the horses. Morning mist still hung low over the trees, curling through branches like ghostly fingers. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried out. It was quiet this far north—peaceful, almost. But the peace was never more than skin deep.
Arthur swung a saddlebag shut and tightened the straps. "You sure about this, old man?" he said, glancing at Hosea with half a grin. "Ain't exactly a leisurely fishin' trip, huntin' a bear."
"Legendary bear," Hosea corrected, adjusting his hat. "And yes, I'm sure. You saw the tracks too."
Wyatt adjusted his coat collar, eyes narrowing. "I don't care if it's legendary or a ghost—something big's been tearing through these woods. We're not goin' up there for sport."
Arthur looked over, amused. "You gettin' soft, Wyatt?"
"Just cautious," he replied. "When you've seen what I've seen…"
Arthur's smirk faded a little, but he didn't press further. Hosea mounted his horse with a grunt.
"Well then, let's see who the beast really is—us or it."
They rode out from camp, following the path north toward the hills where Hosea had seen the massive paw prints. Wyatt's horse, the same giant black beast he'd tamed as a kid, carried him steadily through the snow-dusted forest. The air turned colder the farther they climbed, the trees denser, the silence more complete.
They made camp just before dusk. Arthur cooked some game they'd bagged along the way while Hosea reviewed the map he'd sketched from memory.
"Here," he pointed to a river bend. "We track from there at first light."
Wyatt nodded but said little. The coin in his pocket felt heavy, humming faintly again. He ignored it.
After dinner, they took shifts for watch, but nothing disturbed them through the night save the occasional howl in the distance. Come dawn, they were already saddled and moving.
Within an hour, Hosea found the tracks again—massive clawed prints in the mud and snow, bigger than any bear Wyatt had ever seen. The trail led through thick underbrush and up toward a rocky ridge.
They dismounted, moving slow and quiet now. Arthur had his repeater ready; Hosea carried a long rifle. Wyatt gripped the hilt of Mercy, one of his twin handguns, keeping the other—Judgement—holstered.
"Here," Hosea whispered, crouching low by a half-eaten deer carcass. "See that?"
Wyatt knelt beside him. Whatever had killed the deer had torn it clean in half.
"Jesus," Arthur muttered. "You really wanna keep goin'?"
"You can turn back," Hosea offered with a grin.
"Hell no."
They pressed forward another twenty minutes before the forest opened into a clearing. And there he was.
The bear.
A behemoth of fur and muscle, its coat a dark brown against the green forest. It moved with a slow, deliberate power, sniffing the air, unaware—or uncaring—of the men nearby.
Hosea moved to signal them to circle, but Arthur's boot snapped a branch. The bear's head jerked up.
"Shit."
It charged.
Arthur fired first—two rounds into its shoulder. Hosea followed. The bullets slowed it down, but not by much. Wyatt didn't hesitate. He slid to the side, drew both Mercy and Judgement, and opened fire. The air cracked with each shot, the twin pistols roaring like thunder.
The bear swerved, injured but enraged. It barreled toward Wyatt now.
"Move!" Arthur shouted.
Wyatt rolled just in time, skidding through the mud. He rose to a knee, heart pounding, and fired again—straight into the beast's eye. The bear stumbled, roared, and then collapsed into the brush with a thunderous crash.
Silence.
Arthur exhaled and stepped closer to the corpse. "Damn thing almost got you."
Wyatt holstered his guns slowly. "Wouldn't be the first time death came close."
Hosea studied the body with a mix of awe and sadness. "He was beautiful. Dangerous, yes—but majestic."
Wyatt crouched beside the bear, brushing snow from its coat. "A legend. Like all things that live too long, it met something hungrier."
Arthur turned to Wyatt, nodding. "Nice shootin'. That was somethin' else."
Wyatt gave a quiet nod. "They call 'em legends. But they're just beasts—same as us. If we don't watch ourselves, we'll die just like 'em."
They skinned the bear carefully, Hosea guiding the process. It would fetch a good price—Dutch would be pleased. The sun was rising high by the time they returned to their horses.
As they rode back to camp, Hosea's laughter cut through the chill.
"You two are a damn good team," he said. "Maybe next time we'll take on something a little smaller, eh?"
Arthur grinned. "Like what? A moose?"
Wyatt smirked but didn't answer. His eyes wandered back to the trail, to the place where the bear had fallen. He thought of legends, of death, and the pull of that strange coin in his pocket.
And somewhere, deep down, he felt the world shift—just a little