Wildest Dreams Read online

  "How many are there?" Luke whispered gruffly.

  Lettie reached out her hand behind the rock where the men couldn't see and held up three fingers. "Please don't kill me," she called out, breaking into tears. It was an easy thing to do, for she was afraid her husband was dying. "Please! You've gotten your revenge. My husband is dead. Please let me go home to my children."

  She moved away from the rock, trembling with fear, praying she could get them close enough not to miss with her own gun. The condition Luke was in, he'd be lucky to shoot even one or two of them, let alone all three. If she missed, the third man might put another one of those huge buffalo slugs into her husband, this time in his chest. What a cruel, ugly weapon the guns were. They looked huge and menacing in the hands of the buffalo hunters, in spite of the size of the men themselves.

  "You want to go home, do you?" the toothless man spoke up. He stood to the right of the other two men. My left, Lettie thought. That one was for Luke. The one to her right was tall and skinny, his face bearded and his clothes stained from sweat and buffalo blood.

  "We'll see you get there, little lady, after we're through with you," the skinny one spoke up.

  "Please don't hurt me," she begged, tears streaming down her face. "You've already killed my husband."

  The one in the middle chewed on a weed. "And the old man who was supposed to be lookin' out for your fancy little ass," he spoke up. "Ain't it amazin' how quiet a knife can be?" He rubbed at himself, and Lettie remembered all the horror of her rape. "We ain't gonna hurt you, lady," he added. "We're just gonna make you feel real good. Then we'll take you home... or maybe not. Maybe we'll just keep you with us for a while and slit your tits off later. Jugs like yours make good tobaccy pouches."

  The others laughed, and Lettie stepped farther away from the rock. "Why are you doing this?" She wept, shivering, all the while watching them step a little closer. "I've never done anything to you!"

  The toothless one stepped even closer. "Let's just say it's part of your husband's payment for takin' my brother from me and knockin' out my teeth."

  Lettie backed away even more, gripping the six-gun behind her. She moved to her right, closer to the tall, skinny one, who had moved around in that direction. She waited, not daring to glance at Luke for fear the men would realize he was alive. She could only pray he had not already passed out. All three men came even closer, and she quickly whipped out the gun, aiming and firing at the skinny one to her right. His body jerked backward. He stared at her in surprise before collapsing with a bloody wound in his gut. Lettie did not even have a chance to look toward Luke before she heard the two shots that thundered from his own repeater, catching both the other men. The toothless one had run for cover, but screamed out, falling to his knees when Luke's bullet slammed into his back. He crouched there a moment before sprawling onto his face.

  Lettie stared dumbfounded. The man she had shot was writhing on the ground, his knees drawn up, horrible gurgling sounds coming from his throat. Before she even realized Luke had crawled near her, he was grasping her hand. She sucked in her breath in surprise and fear until realizing it was Luke.

  "Give me the gun!" he demanded.

  "Luke! You shouldn't be—"

  "Give me the goddamn gun!"

  He was horribly pale. She knew his pain must be excruciating. She handed him the gun, and he dragged himself over to the one man who was still alive. "Turn around!" he growled at her.

  Lettie blinked, then realized what he was going to do. She turned away. In the next second she heard the gunshot.

  The skinny man no longer moved or made any sound when she looked back. Luke was laid flat out beside him, and she ran to him, forcing herself to ignore the hole in the skinny man's head when she went to her knees beside her husband. "Luke!"

  "You've got... to get help." He said. "I can't last much longer."

  Lettie looked around, realized she was a good four or five miles from the homestead, with no one to help her. She was not even sure how to get back. Luke grasped her hand.

  "Follow the path... the way we came... maybe find Ben's horse. Horses... have a nose for finding home. The horse... can take you." He squeezed her arm. "Take... my rifle... the six-gun."

  "No! Not both! You'll need something," she answered. "Keep the rifle." She unbuckled his gun belt. "I'll take this with me. I'll get your ammunition pouch off your horse and bring it to you. You might need the rifle to keep wolves away tonight; and I'll bring you water and some blankets."

  She hurried off before he could answer, her mind reeling with the horror of what life would be like without Luke. She had no idea if she could find Ben's horse or find her way back. The longer Luke lay out here with no help, the worse it would be for him. She scrambled and crawled up the embankment, got the ammunition pouch, a canteen of water, and a blanket from Luke's horse. She unstrapped his saddlebags, which contained some food, and threw them over her shoulder. The black gelding whinnied and groaned as she started to rise, and she realized the poor animal was still alive. She knew what Luke would do in such a situation. She cocked the six-gun and held it close to the top of the animal's head, then pulled the trigger. There was no time to weep over what she'd had to do, or over the loss of such a beautiful animal.

  She grasped the supplies then and slid back down the embankment on her rump. She laid the supplies next to Luke. "I'll get my own canteen and a blanket when I go back up," she told him, not even sure he was comprehending what she was saying. She covered him with two blankets. "Luke?"

  His only reply was to moan, and his eyes drifted shut.

  "Luke, don't you die on me! Don't you leave me alone with five babies and no father!" She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Luke," she said gently near his ear. "Hang on for me. Please don't die, Luke."

  She wiped at her tears, and breathed deeply to stay in control. This was no time to fall to pieces. Somehow she had to find her way back to the house and get help, and if she couldn't find Ben's horse, she'd have to walk the whole way. That part wasn't so bad, if only she was certain just which way to go... and if only there was more daylight left. With the night would come more difficulty finding her way, and it would be harder to see rocks and holes in her way. Worse than that, with the night came the wolves. Would the men return to find Luke torn apart by them? Maybe she would die the same way and they'd both be found with buzzards floating above them, picking over what the wolves left for them.

  Lettie crouched under a huge pine, taking a moment to get her breath and her bearings. She vowed to herself that if she and Luke lived through this, she was going to learn more about this vast piece of land her husband owned, become more familiar with its boundaries and landmarks, ride out with Luke at least twice a year when he checked the line shacks, so that she would never get lost like this again on her own land. She struggled not to think about poor Luke lying out there somewhere in terrible pain, maybe dead.

  Every bone and muscle in her body ached from walking, climbing, running, falling. Her clothes were ripped and her hands and arms covered with cuts and scratches. The darkness had distorted things and confused her as to which way to go, and the constant howling of wolves made her feel crazy. She thought after all these years she had grown used to the sound, but to be out here in the darkness alone, vulnerable to the animals, made their howling seem more threatening again.

  Wolves were not her only concern. Why was it that most wild animals did their prowling at night? She reminded herself of what Luke had told her many times, that most wild animals were much more afraid of humans than the other way around. Right now she wasn't so sure. It made little difference. She had no choice but to keep going, or Luke was going to die. No one would be looking for them. The men would think they were at the line shack by now, and that Ben was keeping guard.

  Poor Ben! She had found him on the return pathway, stabbed to death. His horse was nowhere in sight. Apparently it had been run off by the buffalo hunters, and probably all the gunfire had spooked the
buffalo hunters' horses. Maybe they had just tied them farther away so they could sneak up on Luke and her on foot. Whatever the answer, she had found no horses. She had walked for what seemed miles, unsure which way to go once the pathway along the ridge had ended. She followed what she thought were their own tracks, but by dusk nothing looked the same, and now in the darkness it was impossible to see any tracks at all.

  She uncorked her canteen and took a swallow of water, then got to her feet, which were badly blistered. She slung the canteen around her neck, wishing it and Luke's gunbelt were not so heavy around her shoulders, but both were necessary to her survival. She rubbed at her neck and shoulders for a moment, then started out again, forcing herself to ignore her own pain, reminding herself that she had five children waiting for their mother to come back to them. She wrapped the blanket she had brought with her around her shoulders, worrying that Luke might not be warm enough lying on the cold ground. She prayed he was alert enough to keep the blankets she had left him pulled up around himself.

  She shivered at the thought of him lying out there alone and hurt. He was depending on her to get help, and she didn't even know where she was. She realized she had come up against some kind of steep bank. When she looked away from it, she saw nothing but total darkness. The moon was just a sliver tonight. She couldn't even see the shadows of any mountains in the distance, nothing to give her some idea where she was. She started up the bank then, feeling her way, not sure how steep it was. She thought that if she could just get to the top, maybe she would see something on the other side.

  She grasped rocks, tree trunks, anything she could find to help her climb, as the bank grew so steep that her feet kept slipping on pine needles and grass. Her hands were so sore she wanted to cry, and she chastised herself for leaving a perfectly good pair of leather gloves behind. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have lived out here this long and still be so inept? It infuriated her to realize how she had neglected to familiarize herself with the Double L and with survival in this kind of situation.

  "Never again," she muttered, teeth gritted. "This will never happen—" Before she could finish, her hand slipped on a moss-covered rock, and she went sliding and crashing back down the embankment, screaming all the way. She landed hard against the trunk of a pine tree, felt its sap sticking to her shirt as she pulled away from it. She cried out with the pain of what she was sure must be a cracked rib, maybe several cracked ribs, and she realized that on the way down she had lost her blanket. She felt for her gun and canteen, thanking God they were still draped around her shoulders.

  She sat there a moment to get her breath, and she could not help breaking into tears, which only angered her more. She took several deep breaths and wiped at her tears with hands sticky with dirt and sap. She looked up into darkness. Somehow she had to get up that ridge. She started up again, thought she heard something growl not far away. Everything turned cold inside, and her heart pounded wildly. She took the six-gun from its holster. She waited a moment, listening to the snarling and barking somewhere below. In a moment of terror she fired the weapon three times, the shots roaring in her ears, the gun kicking in her hand. She heard a yelp, heard what sounded like animals running, then nothing. She hoped the noise had frightened away whatever was there, probably wolves.

  "Dear God, help me," she muttered. She wasn't sure she could even reload the gun in the dark, and she shoved it back into its holster, reminding herself there were only three bullets left. After that she would have to try to reload it. "There's another thing you should have learned, Lettie Fontaine," she scolded herself. If she lived through this, she was going to get back to practicing with a rifle and learn how to load and shoot a six-gun. Ever since Luke had hired more help, she had never bothered to practice with her rifle again, and she had never shot a six-gun until tonight.

  She stopped climbing for a moment, realizing she had shot the gun, earlier today! She'd shot that tall, skinny buffalo hunter, but she hadn't killed him. Luke had taken the gun and shot him dead. Later she had used the gun to shoot Luke's horse. That made three more shots! She pulled the six-gun from its holster, realizing that it must be empty now after all. She held it in the air and pulled the trigger, and it only clicked. "Damn," she muttered. Why hadn't she loaded in the other three bullets before she left Luke? She felt along the gun belt and pulled out more bullets one by one, shoving them into the gun's chambers by feeling for the holes. She prayed she was loading the weapon correctly as she locked the cartridge chamber and put it back into the holster. She started climbing again, whimpering with the pain in her ribs. Her hands were so cut and sore that they were almost numb, and she suspected her feet were bleeding inside her leather boots.

  She fought and struggled and crawled and grunted her way close to the top of the ridge, then heard something that was music to her ears.

  "Hello out there!" someone called.

  She clambered to the top. Far off in the distance she saw a dim light. The house! It must be the house! The children! Home! "Help!" she screamed. "Help me!" She drew the six-gun and fired it twice more, realizing the shots she had fired at the wolves must have drawn someone's attention. "It's Lettie! Luke's hurt. Somebody! I'm up here!" She fired again.

  "Stay there!" someone yelled. It sounded like Tex. She waited, breaking into tears and thanking God she had made it this far. She couldn't tell what was happening, couldn't even hear a horse at first. Finally she saw a small light. Someone was lighting a match. "Can you see me? Tell me which way to go," came the shouted voice again.

  "Here! To your left," she yelled back. "I'm at the top of the ridge, a couple of hundred yards up."

  "Stay put and keep talking," the voice answered. "It's me, Tex!"

  Lettie kept yelling, explaining what had happened with the buffalo hunters, that Ben was dead, the horses killed, and Luke was badly hurt somewhere along the road to the northern line shack. Finally, when Tex lit yet another match, she realized he was only about fifty feet away. These men knew the land almost as well as Luke, could find their way in the dark. Oh, how she hated this helpless feeling. She was not going to let this happen again. "Up here," she shouted. "Watch for the flash from my gun." She fired the six-gun into the air again, and moments later Tex was there. "Mrs. Fontaine! Are you hurt?"

  "Mostly bruises and cuts." She grimaced with pain. "I think I might have cracked a rib. I fell down the other side of the ridge."

  Tex helped her up. "My horse is a few feet below. Be careful. This last stretch is pretty steep." He helped her down to his horse, and she gasped with the pain in her ribs when he lifted her up and put her in the saddle. He climbed up behind her. "I was out riding guard when I heard three gunshots, kind of muffled," he explained.

  "I thought I heard wolves. I fired into the darkness to scare them away," she told him.

  "Well, it's a good thing, or I never would have known anybody was out there. Hang on. I'll get you to the house and gather some men to go find Luke."

  Lettie grasped at her middle as the man rode at a gentle gallop toward the house. As they got closer, she realized more men had come alert at the sound of all the gunfire in the distance. Already, Fontaine men had formed a small posse ready to head out.

  "Tex! What's happened?" Billy asked.

  "Those goddamn buffalo hunters came back. Killed Ben and shot down Luke and Mrs. Fontaine's horses. Luke's wounded bad. Mrs. Fontaine had to leave him along the trail to the north line shack. Somebody's going to have to ride into Billings and get the doc for Luke."

  "I'll go!" Sven Hansen volunteered. He turned and rode off into the night, and Anne Sacks came running out of Lettie's house, awakened by all the shouting outside.

  "Lettie! What happened!"

  "Try not to wake the children," Lettie answered as Tex helped her down from his horse. He climbed on again and rode out with the others, all of them determined to find Luke as soon as possible, in spite of the danger of darkness. "Please don't let Luke die," Lettie whispered in prayer.
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  Anne, herself with child, helped Lettie into the house, leading her to the bedroom. She left to heat some water, and Lettie removed the canteen and gun belt from around her shoulders and sat down wearily on the bed. She looked down at her hands, so bloody and scratched she hardly recognized them as her own. Pain jabbed at her ribs, and she closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to look at the bed she had shared with Luke Fontaine for so many years now. They had talked about making love tonight, just the two of them alone at the line shack. Their little trip to be alone had turned to disaster, and again the land and the lawless had risen up like beasts to try to devour them. She had survived many things, but she was not so sure she could survive anything happening to Luke. If he died, she would finally have to give up. The land would win after all.

  Luke felt the ground vibrate. Horses were coming. He could not move to see who it was. Hard as he tried, he could not even raise his head. Had help come? Would they find him down here? He was well off the pathway. Maybe Lettie had not given a good enough description of where to find him. Maybe she had never even reached help and was dead herself. What he heard could be nothing more than a herd of buffalo somewhere.

  Then again, maybe he had died already. He was in so much pain he felt as though he were in a trance. When he opened his eyes, he saw everything as though looking through a haze. He realized it was light, and he could hear a bird singing somewhere nearby. Dawn. He had lain here all night. How much longer could he hold on to the bit of life left in him? How much longer could he bear this sickening pain? He couldn't even move his arm to drink something from the canteen he remembered Lettie saying she'd left for him, yet he was so thirsty he felt as if he might choke.

  He moved his head just slightly to see the body of the man he'd shot in the head still lying close by. The other two bodies couldn't be far away. He looked past the foot of the closest one and saw them coming, horses, painted horses. They came closer, and he blinked to see better. The sun was behind them, making it difficult to see their faces, but it was obvious the riders he'd heard coming were painted warriors, not the help he had expected. They slowed their ponies, stared at him a moment. Then a couple of them dismounted, and from what he could tell, they were young—a group of fresh young warriors out hunting, probably, out to prove their worth to the elders. Would they try to take his scalp as a trophy? He wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop them.