Wildest Dreams Page 13

  It seemed that life out here was nothing but a succession of joy and sorrow. For the moment she was just glad she had hung on to her baby despite watching her husband's agony. Horace had planted the potatoes for her, as well as a few vegetable seeds. He and Zeb had retrieved a good share of the bear and deer meat and most of it had been smoked for preservation and was hanging inside the stone smokehouse.

  Life went on. Spring wildflowers bloomed everywhere, the children were fine, and Luke was sleeping peacefully by her side. Just yesterday Luke had mentioned that Perry Ward should be back from Oregon any time to let him know what kind of deal he could get on cattle from there. Next spring he would start building a herd, and the thought of it was helping him heal and get back on his feet. She hoped he would hear something from his father, prayed the man would show at least a little interest. That would make Luke so happy.

  The thought made her realize she owed her own parents a letter. One thing was certain, her letters to them must be food for wonderful entertainment, describing what life was like here in Montana. Now she would be telling them about how Luke had been attacked by a grizzly. At least Paint had not been hurt or killed. Luke loved that horse.

  She quietly rose, walking into the main room and getting some paper and ink from the drawer of a fine pine desk Jim had built for her. She thought how Will had done a good job of finding help for them. He was a good friend. She would tell her parents about Jim and Zeb and Horace... and the fact that a third grandchild was on the way.

  She sat down at the desk and dipped a pen into an ink well. "Dear Mother and Father," she wrote. She paused, a strange feeling of alarm rippling through her. Something was wrong, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. Quiet. Yes, it was awfully quiet tonight. Almost too quiet. She strained to listen, heard a couple of horses whinny somewhere down by the barn. She decided not to worry about it. After all, Zeb was keeping watch tonight, and Horace and Jim were close by in the bunkhouse. She returned to her letter, but she could not concentrate. Her chest tightened in fear then when she thought she heard a man cry out. It was such a short, quick cry, and so distant, she couldn't be sure.

  She got up from the desk, looked in on Luke. She hated to disturb him. It was midnight, and he'd been sleeping well since about eight o'clock. This was the best he'd slept since being hurt. There was no sense in waking him up without knowing there really was something wrong. She walked to where Luke's rifle hung in a rack above the door and took it down. She cocked it, went to look out a front window, pushing lace curtains aside.

  At first she saw nothing. There was just a sliver of a moon tonight, not enough light to see much. She set the rifle aside and cupped her hands at the glass to get a better view, wondering why, if Pup was out there, he had not barked at the strange noises she had heard. She thought she saw shadowy figures darting silently about. She remembered Will saying how quiet and stealthy Indians could be, and instinct told her it was not white men moving about out there. "My God!" she whispered. Where were Zeb and Horace and Jim? What was going on?

  She leaped to her feet and quickly closed the wooden shutters over the window, then ran to another window to do the same, but too late. A log came crashing through it, wielded by a painted warrior who quickly jumped inside, cutting his leg on the way in but paying no attention to the wound. Lettie screamed and ran for the rifle, but just as she reached it a tomahawk swished past her, narrowly missing her and landing in the wall beside the rifle. She gasped at the thud, whirled to see three more warriors had come inside, wielding an array of weapons ranging from rifles to knives. She decided that to fight them could only end in death, and with Luke helpless, what would happen to her children then?

  She stared wide-eyed at the wild-looking intruders, petrified, not for herself but for the children and Luke. Were Zeb and Horace and Jim already all dead? "What... do you want?" she squeaked, feeling ridiculous asking the question. From the look in their wild eyes, they wanted blood. Maybe they were here to carry her off and do horrible things to her, or to kill Luke for killing one of their own. One of them stepped forward, his face disfigured, part of his nose gone.

  Half Nose! This was the one Will had told them about, a warrior feared by all whites and even some of his own kind.

  "Lettie? What's going on?"

  Luke! She could not find her voice when he appeared in the bedroom doorway. Surely Half Nose wanted him dead!

  Everything happened in a matter of seconds then. Luke lunged for the rifle, but quickly three warriors were on him, beating him. At the same time Nathan and Katie came out of their bedroom, awakened by Lettie's screams and Half Nose's loudly barked orders. Lettie started to run to the children, but by then three more braves had come inside, and two of them grabbed her and held her back. Nathan ran to her, grabbing the skirt of her dress and beginning to cry, keeping his stuffed horse, which he still slept with, enclosed tightly in one arm. Katie began crawling across the floor to her mother, also crying.

  Half Nose shouted another command in the clipped Sioux tongue, and Luke's attackers let go of him and let him slump to the floor, still too weak from his injuries and now from the reopening of some of his wounds, to put up any real resistance. One of the warriors grabbed the rifle out of Lettie's hands and Half Nose stepped closer to Lettie, his dark eyes drilling into her. She waited in frozen terror, sure he was here to murder all four of them. He looked down at Luke then, knelt in front of him and grasped hold of his hair, jerking his head up to study his bloody face. He said something to him then in the Sioux tongue, the words spit out bitterly. Lettie waited for the man to take out a knife and lift Luke's scalp, but instead he let go of him. He said something to one of the other warriors, who came over and shoved a rifle against Luke's throat.

  Half Nose looked at Lettie once more, then down at little Nathan, who stared back up at him with tear-filled blue eyes. By then Katie had reached her mother and was trying to pull herself up by hanging on to Lettie's dress, but Lettie could not reach down to lift her because two warriors continued to hold her arms. She kept her eyes on Half Nose, feeling sick at the way he was watching Nathan. She kicked at him, not knowing what else to do to make him get away from Nathan. The man only grinned wickedly, then grabbed Nathan, who wiggled and screamed as the fierce warrior carried him to the door.

  "No! No!" Lettie screamed. "Take me! Take me, not my son!"

  In an instant Half Nose had unbolted the door and walked out with Nathan under his arm. Luke tried to get to his feet to stop him. The warrior who stood over him with the rifle whacked him on the side of the head and he fell helplessly to the floor. Lettie struggled to get free of the two braves who still held her arms. Katie was screaming in terror, hanging on to her mother's dress.

  When Lettie was finally released, she grabbed Katie and ran to the door, screaming Nathan's name. Outside, the rest of the Indians rushed past her, one of them shoving her out of the way. They mounted up and rode off. In the distance Lettie could hear war whoops and the sound of many horses —Luke's horses, being stolen. Half Nose had already ridden off with Nathan, and Lettie sank to the ground at the fading sound of her son's screaming as he disappeared into the night.

  A cold spring rain fell as Lettie drove the buckboard through the muddy main street of Billings, past people who stared curiously at the woman who drove the wagon with a blank stare on her face, letting the rain soak her wool jacket. Syd Martin, the owner of the general store, realized first that something was wrong. Luke had already been to town once this spring, and he'd mentioned his wife was carrying again, due in only a couple of months. He had left her home because he didn't think it would be good for her to be riding in a bouncing, jolting wagon at this stage of her pregnancy, yet here was Lettie Fontaine, driving the wagon herself.

  "Mrs. Fontaine!" The man ran out to catch the mules, realizing the woman hardly seemed to know where she was. "Is something wrong?" He managed to slow the mules enough to climb up into the wagon while it was still rolling and take the reins from Lettie. "M
rs. Fontaine?"

  "Syd." The man's name came in a groan from the back of the wagon. Syd looked back to see Luke lying in the wagon bed, also getting rain soaked. Little Katie sat beside her father, who was holding a rain slicker over the child to keep her dry. Syd could see Luke's face was bruised and swollen, and there were long, scabbed streaks down one side of his face.

  "Luke! What the hell has happened?"

  "Get us to Will Doolan's," Luke answered, grimacing as he struggled to sit up. "I've got... to get a posse together... go after... Half Nose. He took our son... Nathan."

  Syd closed his eyes, hardly feeling the rain that began running off the brim of his hat and dripping into his lap. "Jesus," he whispered. He looked at Lettie, his heart aching at the look on her face. She seemed almost to be in a trance. He took the reins from her and slapped them against the rumps of the mules, heading them out of town to Will's place. "Indians!" he called out to several people who had gathered to stare. "They took Luke Fontaine's boy! Get some men together and come on out to Will Doolan's!"

  Lettie almost vomited at the words. They took Luke Fontaine's boy. Where was her precious little Nathan? Would Half Nose kill him? Keep him to raise as his own? If he let him live, would he be allowed to keep his stuffed horse? She had made that horse for him with her own two hands. As long as he had it with him, he could have a little piece of her heart with him also, and he might be all right, be a little bit comforted. There was so much to grieve over, she couldn't bear to think about any of it. Zeb, Horace, Jim... all dead... butchered. Because of her condition and the need to get help for Luke and find someone who might be able to go after Nathan, she couldn't stop to bury the three men whom she had grown to care for very much. Even poor Pup was dead. Most of the horses had been stolen. Luke's beating had surely set back his recovery, yet he was determined to join whatever posse could be gathered to go after Nathan. Would the beating and his insistence on joining a search party kill him? He was not well enough for this, but she knew how badly he was suffering on the inside, blaming himself.

  Who was to blame? Luke, for coming here in the first place? The savage Indians? Half Nose had lost a son. He wanted revenge. At the moment she could understand the feeling. Maybe she was to blame, for not realizing what was going on outside last night... or maybe for a deeper reason. Maybe this was some kind of punishment from God. Maybe she was somehow responsible for her rape after all, and she was supposed to suffer for it.

  She touched her swollen abdomen. Somehow, through finding Zeb and Horace and Jim's bodies, through stumbling over poor Pup, through struggling to hitch a team of mules to the wagon and helping Luke into it, then through the long, jolting, almost day-long ride into town, she had hung on to the new life in her womb. At the moment she didn't really want to live at all, but poor little terrified Katie needed her mother, as did the new baby growing inside her. The one called Half Nose well knew how to get his revenge. Killing all of them would have been the easy way. They would not really have suffered at all. He probably thought Nathan was Luke's son by blood, figured taking the boy was the best way of punishing Luke and her for what had happened to his own son. For all his savagery, he was a wise man, and he was probably hurting as much inside as she was right now.

  What was the sense in all this bloodletting? If Half Nose and his people had come to her house hungry, she would have fed them. If they had needed blankets, she would have given them some. Luke would probably even have traded them some horses for some buffalo robes—anything to keep the peace. Instead, the Indians had tried to steal Luke's precious horses, the only thing he had to make money on last summer. That led to killing Half Nose's son, and now all this. It could all so easily have been avoided.

  Nathan! She could hear his screams. The terror in his eyes as Half Nose carried him off would haunt her the rest of her life. How was she ever supposed to sleep again? Eat again? If Luke and the others could not find her son...

  She was hardly aware of arriving at Will's, or of Will lifting her down from the wagon and carrying her inside the house and laying her on a bed. She said nothing, for if she opened her mouth, she would start screaming and never stop. Someone began removing her wet clothes then, and she heard Henny talking to her, but the words did not make any sense to her. Someone laid a sobbing Katie on the bed beside her. She could hear men talking in another room, loud voices, heard Luke cussing, groaning. Luke... He couldn't go riding off with a search party in that cold rain. It would kill him.

  Anguish was evident in Luke's voice as he explained what had happened. Will exclaimed when he heard about Luke's grizzly attack, and she remembered that Will and Henny hadn't even known about that yet. Immediately talk turned to gathering men together to go out and find Nathan. Then someone mentioned sending men out to bury Zeb, Horace, and Jim. Good. That was good. She hoped they would bury Pup, too, so the wolves could not get to him. Wolves. Howling wolves. Constant wind. Fierce grizzlies. Screaming, bloodthirsty Indians. This was a cruel land in which Luke Fontaine had chosen to settle. She could bear all the hardships, anything the land and the elements wanted to throw at her. But she could not bear having her son taken from her. She could see his sweet smile, see the ever-present stuffed horse in his arms. His smile faded, and he began shrieking. "Mommy! Mommy!"

  She should be with him. The horror of it made her gasp, and she looked up at Henny. "I... I didn't finish my letter," she told the woman, who looked at her with deep concern in her eyes.

  "What letter, dear?"

  "I was... writing a letter... to my parents in Denver. I was going to tell them how well things were going. I had my garden planted... another grandchild on the way... Luke's pregnant mares. Everything was so good. The letter and ink... are still sitting on my desk... at home. Jim made the desk for me. You really... should come and visit, Henny... see the desk." What was she jabbering about? Nothing but nonsense came out of her mouth. Nathan! No! She couldn't think about that. "What should I say, Henny... in the letter?"

  Henny leaned over her, stroking some of her damp hair away from her face. Yes, Henny knew why she was talking about nothing. "They'll find him, Lettie," the woman told her gently. "God will help them find him."

  Tears began to spill out of Lettie's eyes. She had to believe that, didn't she? If she didn't believe that, there would be little reason to go on living. Henny helped her put on a warm, dry flannel gown, and Katie curled up beside her. Luke came into the room then, looking like a wild man. His blue eyes blazed with determination, but he looked pale and bruised. One side of his face was still puffy from the grizzly scratches, and he had lost weight from being sick. He half stumbled to the bed, a mixture of horror and guilt and sorrow on his face.

  "I'm so goddamn sorry, Lettie," he groaned, his own eyes tearing. "We'll find him. I'm not coming back without him. I don't care how long it takes."

  "You can't... go out there, Luke. You'll die. I can't lose you, too."

  "If I can't find Nathan, I deserve to die! This is my fault, for bringing you here, for not understanding how in hell to deal with Indians. If I had known this was going to happen, I would have let Half Nose's son come at me and bury an arrow in my chest. Right now I feel like that's exactly what he did anyway!"

  He turned and limped out of the room. Lettie heard men's voices again, someone telling Luke to get into some dry clothes, to get some rest. They would get organized and head out in the morning.

  CHAPTER 10

  Luke rode to the crest of the hill with Will, two Shoshone scouts, and the handful of soldiers he had been able to convince to help him. He had found them camped near Last Chance Gulch, where the last of the original posse who had ridden out with him from Billings two months ago finally had given up and gone home. They had families, businesses, farms to tend to. Luke couldn't blame them, wondered himself if he would ever be able to get back on his feet after this setback. Was anyone taking care of the ranch? Was there anything left to go home to?

  There was only one thing that kept him going, and t
hat was the realization that Lettie and Katie needed him... if Lettie even still loved him. And by now there was probably another child, maybe the son he'd wanted. He had promised Lettie he'd be with her the next time she gave birth. It was just one of many promises he'd had to break. He didn't mean to break any of them, especially his promise to Lettie and her parents that nothing would happen to her or Nathan.

  He felt so guilty now for wishing for another son. Little Nathan was all the son he needed, and now he was gone. For sixty days he had ridden in a good hundred-mile radius of

  Billings, sometimes farther, searching, sleeping in a tent at night or under the stars, asking questions, chasing the wind. That was what finding Half Nose was like. This was his country, his and his father's and his grandfather's. The man knew every creek and mountain, every ravine and forest. He was as elusive as a puff of smoke. Several men had helped him those first few weeks, then had fallen away one by one. Only Will remained at his side now, and these two new Indian scouts and the few soldiers they had picked up.

  It was June, and surprisingly hot for so early in the summer. The scouts had been sure Half Nose was probably camped deep in these mountains, and now, at last, they had come upon an encampment of tepees nestled below them at the dip of two rolling hills. A hundred times Luke had got his hopes up, but until now their search had turned up nothing. Yet all the while they had felt watched. Luke did not doubt that at any time an army of Sioux Indians could have come swooping down on them from out of nowhere to massacre them all. But no. Half Nose wanted him to live. He wanted him to suffer this agony of a lost child.

  Only a few days after they had begun their search, they had found a few of Luke's horses, then Nathan's little fur slippers he'd been wearing the night he was taken. They were tossed beside a river. Farther downstream they had found the flannel nightshirt the boy had on when he was stolen away. It was soggy, caught on a stump along the other side of the river.