Bittner, Rosanne (25 page)

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.

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.

The two who had dismounted stooped down and leaned closer. Luke blinked, trying to focus. He was sure one of them had light hair and blue eyes. Damn the sun, and damn his pain! It was so hard to see. They said something in the Sioux tongue, looked him over. The one with the light hair pointed to the other dead bodies. Luke licked his lips, trying to speak.

"Nathan," he whispered, but the one with the light hair either did not hear him or simply did not respond to the name. He tried to speak it again, but the word stuck in his throat because of his miserably dry mouth. He started to cough, and the light-haired one knelt near him again. Luke wasn't sure what he was doing until he saw the canteen. The young man poured some water over his face and into his mouth, then corked the canteen and left it.

Luke blinked more, struggling to see better, to talk.

From what he could determine, the warriors were wary of what they had found, probably didn't want to get mixed up in what was apparently white man's business. Another came riding in, shouting something at the others, and quickly they all remounted and rode off at a gallop. Minutes later Luke heard more horses.

"There he is!" someone shouted. He recognized Runner's voice.

"Jesus, I hope he's still alive."

That one was Tex.

Someone knelt over him, another Indian. This time it was Runner. "He's still alive."

"Mrs. Fontaine will be glad to hear that," Tex said.

So, Lettie was all right, thank God. Everything became a blur then. He wanted to ask them about the Indians. Hadn't they seen them riding away? Had it all been a dream or some kind of hallucination after all? No one said anything about them. Someone picked him up to place him on a makeshift travois, and it was then the pain hit him full force. Who was that screaming? It sounded like someone far away.

"Watch his leg," Tex was saying. "Jesus, I never saw something that looked that bad. We'd better wrap it some more. I can't believe he's still alive."

Billy Sacks spoke up. "Takes a lot to kill somebody like Luke. What about these other bodies, Tex?"

"You and Runner go back and bury Ben first, and get the gear off the dead horses and bury them, too. Leave the goddamn buffalo hunters for last, if the buzzards pick at them, so be it. I'll start back with Luke and send you some help in burying them soon as I get back."

Luke felt someone wrapping his leg, then felt himself being tied to something. Someone else put a blanket over him. He wanted to thank them, and he wanted to ask them about the Indians. Surely if one of them had light hair, the men would notice. He tried to ask, but every time he opened his mouth, he could do nothing but groan. He felt the travois begin to move then, and he cried out with pain at every jolt and bounce. The way home was going to be a miserable trip, but there was no other way to get him there.

Thank God Lettie was okay. He'd be home soon. He could hang on now, for Lettie and the kids. His leg would mend in no time, and everything would be back to normal, except that every time he closed his eyes he remembered being carried another time, on a stretcher, to a medical tent. He remembered the smell of blood, the blood on the doctor's apron. He remembered the ugly saw and how it felt when he realized the doctor was thinking about cutting off his leg. He thought about the Indians, and suddenly the vision of them was blurred by another vision, soldiers bending over him, blue uniforms, the hideous saw.

"Don't let them... take off my leg," he finally managed to mutter, but no one heard.

In the distance, from a thick clump of trees where they hid, the band of young Indian boys watched the white men pick up the wounded one. The one called White Bear had considered taking the wounded one's scalp, but something had stopped him. When the man had looked at him, his eyes were the bluest he had ever seen, blue like his own. That fascinated him, and there was something familiar about the man, but he wasn't quite sure what it was that stirred this wonder in his soul. He would tell his father, Half Nose, about what had happened today, about finding the white man badly wounded, other dead white men around him. The dead ones were the evil buffalo hunters they had seen other times. It was good that they were dead. But something told him that the wounded one was different. He was not evil like the buffalo hunters, and the way the man had looked at him... it gave him a strange feeling.