Tall Bear nodded. “I thank you for your honesty.”
“And I wish you luck, Tall Bear. I’m sure glad to see you again, glad you’re all right, and like I said, I’m right sorry about your pa. He was a good man.”
Tall Bear nodded. “Aye. And how is it you are into the trading business?”
Jess glanced at the wagons. “Well, when it got so there wasn’t no more demand for beaver, I started in guidin’ wagon trains out here, then got into this tradin’ business. I make enough to keep a horse, have plenty of whiskey and tobacco, and to afford to do some gamblin’ now and then. That’s all I care about.”
Tall Bear grinned. “My father also never wanted much. You remind me of him.” He put out his hand. “Whatever happens, I will always call you friend.”
“Same here, Tall Bear.” Jess shook his hand firmly.
They walked back to the trade wagons, and Tall Bear thought how good it felt to see someone from his father’s past. To this day he missed Alexander Beaumont, the closeness they had shared. By now the Sioux were laughing and enjoying the trading, some getting a little drunk on whiskey they had bought. Tall Bear wished it could always be this way for white and Indian alike, but Jess was right. This could not last. The days of friendly trading with men like Jess Willett were nearly gone.
Faith thought how beautiful this country would be if she was truly settled here. How much nicer it would have been if they could have traveled by stagecoach. At times their path had crossed a stage route, and although it looked like a bouncing, dusty ride, at least those inside were seated and someone else was responsible for the coach and the horses. They could stop at way stations and eat and refresh themselves. They were with other people for conversation.
There was hardly any conversation now between her and Johnny. It was all between Johnny and Clete, who was filling Johnny’s head with dreams of gold. Talk of settling under the Homestead Act had turned to talk of getting rich quick by digging for gold. Faith suspected there was a lot more to it than dipping a pan into a stream and coming up with golden nuggets, but that was how Clete made it sound.
The trip had been miserable, the heat and mosquitoes unbearable as they made their way through the Nebraska plains. Clete claimed it was best to travel as lightly as possible, which meant she had to walk most of the way rather than ride in the wagon. It didn’t seem to bother Johnny much, but she had begun feeling sick the last two weeks, and she feared she was pregnant. Every step was an effort in physical stamina, and her fears were mounting, not just over when and if Johnny would truly settle, but where she would be when she had the baby. Would there be a doctor or anyone to help? How would that baby be provided for? She couldn’t care for a newborn and also work, but if Johnny kept up his ways, she would be the one who would have to bring home money.
This was all Johnny’s fault—the trip, the baby, her misery. If he had not squandered their money, they might have had enough, with what she had earned, to take a stagecoach part of the way rather than plod along with a wagon and four oxen. If Johnny had not insisted on mating practically every night, she might not be pregnant. The worst part about that was the realization that Clete knew what they were doing in the wagon at night. Often she could hear him and Johnny laughing about it over the campfire afterward. In the mornings Clete would look at her as though she were a whore, and his hungry eyes gave her the shivers.
They had been traveling for close to three months now, and Clete had made no move toward her, yet his presence made her uneasy. It was mostly the way he stared at her. Johnny trusted the man completely, admired his skills with gun and knife, which Clete had gladly demonstrated. Clete was “the most experienced man I’ve ever known,” Johnny would say. He had at least proved he was not lying about getting along with the Indians. They had encountered a few Cheyenne in Nebraska, and although the Indians had frightened her to death with their war whoops and fancy riding around the wagon, as though to take their lives and perhaps take her captive, Clete seemed to calm the situation. He had spoken to them in their own tongue, and he had presented them with gifts of tobacco and cloth. They had brought supplies along for just such an encounter, and Clete had been right that they would need them.
Faith feared more Indian trouble. They were nearing the area where Clete said the Sioux had been making trouble for most travelers. Because of the Civil War, there were few soldiers out here for protection. The war, they had learned in a town called Julesberg, was still raging on. She would not have minded settling there, but Johnny insisted on going up to Montana, and now they were in rugged, mountainous country, peppered with a mixture of red-rock canyons and valleys green with grass and pine trees. They had encountered two rattlers, one bobcat, and a grizzly. Clete had “saved the day” on all counts, proving he was just as skilled as he’d promised, but each time he had looked at her as though to see if he had impressed her.
She was bone weary, and she felt more and more as though she was along only so Johnny would have someone to paw over at night and both of them would have someone to cook for them by day. Her disappointment in Johnny only added to her exhaustion, and now…now the baby. She had not told him yet.
Johnny didn’t even seem to mind that while he and she walked most of the journey, Clete rode his big roan gelding, sitting with chest puffed out, wearing those soiled buckskins and sporting many weapons, putting on a show of the brave frontier scout. Faith couldn’t help wondering how long he would have lasted if the Indians they had encountered had chosen to fight. And if Johnny was killed, how long would Cletus Brown fight for her honor? He would probably trade her for his life.
It was almost dusk, and Clete hollered for them to “hole up here.” There was only a little grass nearby, but Clete claimed this was the best place to make camp. The oxen would have to forage as they could. Faith proceeded to stack some wood they had gathered earlier in the day when passing through an area of pine trees, and Johnny got a fire going, ordering her to heat some coffee and “cook us up some of that jackrabbit Clete skinned and cleaned for us yesterday.”
Faith quietly obeyed. This was no place or time to argue. She would save that for when they finally reached civilization. There had been only hints of people and settlements here and there as they had passed by a couple of forts, even tagged along with a wagon train a time or two, until Clete told them of another “shortcut” that would save them time.
If only they had traveled with a wagon train, she would have other women to talk to, especially about babies. They would have companionship, more help in case of trouble. There might be a little music at night, the sound of children laughing, stories about settling that might help Johnny know for sure what he wanted to do. There might have been other men along who would have been a better influence on Johnny than Clete.
She heated some old coffee, used a spoon to dig the fresh rabbit meat out of a tub of thick lard used to preserve it, then placed a heavy black fry pan over the fire. It was the same tedious routine every night. She felt like an old hag, her skin dry, her hands looking too old for her age, her fingernails broken and dirty. It was slightly cooler here in Wyoming Territory, or at least that was where Clete said they were. But because of the heat she still wore no slips or even a camisole under her dress, and although she worried what this revealed to Clete’s searching eyes, she was too hot and uncomfortable to really care.
The sun, which blazed hot and ornery by day, began to settle behind the mountains to the west, and both men ate voraciously. Faith had no appetite. She told herself this was still better than Pennsylvania. Once they reached wherever they were to land in Montana, she could clean up. Maybe they would have a little cabin somewhere. Clete could go his merry way and leave them alone. Clete said wherever there was a gold camp, there were usually little settlements, supply posts and such. They would have neighbors, a chance to make a normal life in a house without wheels. She would work if she had to, make money for herself just as she had back in Chicago. She had decided that if Johnny showed no hope
of changing, she would divorce him. She would do whatever was necessary to live the life she’d always dreamed about even if she had to create it for herself and give up Johnny, who had so far broken every promise he had made to her.
The men finished eating, leaning against boulders that were scattered around the campfire. Johnny patted his belly, and Clete pulled his six-gun from a holster at his waist. He whirled the chamber, checking the bullets. “You might have to use your own gun a time or two to protect a gold claim,” he told Johnny. “Sometimes men try to steal claims, but if they’re caught, they’re hanged for it.”
Johnny lit a pipe, glancing at his own gun, which hung on a branch nearby. “You think we’ll have much trouble getting through? They told us at the last fort that the Bozeman Trail is pretty much closed because of the Sioux.”
Clete shrugged. “I’ve got a pretty good way with Indians. They won’t mess with just three people, and we’ve got more tobacco and such to trade.” He still held the gun, studying it almost lovingly. “Besides, I know another way to get up there. We’ll head on west and go up through Yellowstone and the Tetons. It’s a longer route, but way away from the Powder River country and the Bozeman. I got me some friends waitin’ up there. They went on ahead of me to start diggin’, but I told them I’d lost that bet with you and had to guide you myself. Said I’d be along behind ’em.”
Johnny laughed. “That will teach you to bet something besides money.”
Clete leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, still holding the six-gun in his hand. “Well, Johnny, some things is worth more than money to a man—like a pretty woman, you know?”
Faith could feel him looking at her, but she refused to meet his eyes.
“Heck, yes, I know,” Johnny answered. “I got me a pretty one, and she feels right good in a man’s bed.”
He laughed, and Faith cast him a look of bitter anger. Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, and she was tempted to throw her coffee at him.
Clete chuckled. “I can tell by the noises you two make at night.” He shook his head. “Mighty hard on a man, havin’ to travel this far listenin’ to that, no relief for himself.”
Faith felt an eerie warning in the words, and all nerve ends came alert. Pure instinct made her rise and walk toward the wagon. She wanted the men to think she was just climbing inside to get something—and she was…a small handgun she had bought in Chicago. She had never shown it to Johnny, because he would only laugh at her for not trusting Clete Brown. Now, in this one quick moment, she suspected she would need it, after all, and dread began to filter through her blood.
“I expect so,” an innocent, trusting Johnny replied. “Sorry about that, Clete.” He laughed, but suddenly the laughing stopped. Faith heard the click of a gun.
“Well, Johnny, I let you come this far and brought you up here on this out-of-the-way trail because out here we ain’t likely to run into other travelers, and there’s nobody around to hear a gunshot.”
Faith scrambled to her trunk, dug inside for the pistol. She had never even had a chance to try using it, but the man she’d bought it from had loaded it for her. All you have to do is cock the hammer here and pull the trigger. Might not actually kill a big animal, but it’ll sure as hell stop it…or a man. She prayed he was right. She found the gun.
“What the—”
Those were the last words Johnny Sommers spoke. Faith jumped when she heard the gunshot, knew instantly Clete Brown had just murdered her husband in cold blood.
Johnny! She ordered herself not to let panic or terror and grief get in the way. Clete himself had said that out in this country a man—or woman—had to be ruthless. Never more so than now.
“Come on out of that wagon, woman,” Clete called to her. “Got somethin’ to show you.”
Faith knelt in a corner, waiting. Let Cletus Brown come to her. She had something to show him!
Chapter Nine
Terror so engulfed Faith she could feel nothing but the gun in her hand. She could not think about Johnny, or the fact that she was entirely alone and lost in Indian country. She concentrated only on the back of the wagon, watching, waiting, saying nothing.
“Come on, now, little lady,” Clete taunted. “It’s just you and me now. You’re goin’ to Montana with me as my woman, and if you try to tell folks what happened to Johnny, I’ll make you suffer like you ain’t never suffered. You was gettin’ tired of him, anyway, I could tell. You let me have a little fun, and I’ll take you to Montana like I promised and set you up real good. I know people there who can help you, make you a rich lady.”
The voice was getting closer.
“Ain’t that what you really want? To be rich? You’re pretty, spirited, full of sass. Let me tell you, in a mining town you can make more money than any of them prospectors diggin’ for gold. The real treasure is in the men themselves. You give them a pretty smile and let ’em have at you, and you’ll be linin’ your own purse with their gold.”
He was almost at the back of the wagon now.
“Now, I know you ain’t got no gun in there because Johnny’s only handgun is still hangin’ out here, and his rifle is propped outside the wagon. So why don’t you make this easy on yourself? There’s nobody to help you, nobody to hear you scream, and I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to. I been listenin’ to Johnny go at you till my balls hurt. Now it’s my turn, whether you like it or not. Take my advice and make it easy and let me take you to Montana, and you’ll be a rich woman—and free to live however you want, wear fancy clothes, hire people to cook and clean for you.”
There he was, his ugly bearded face peering at her from the back of the wagon. A lit lantern hung from above, so he could see her well enough…and she could see him well enough.
Clete grinned. “You look like a scared little rabbit. You don’t have to be scared of me. I just got rid of somebody who’d be nothin’ but a burden to you. You ought to be grateful. Come on, now. I’m givin’ you a chance to do this the easy way.” He started to climb into the wagon.
“Wait,” she said.
He hesitated, looking surprised.
Faith scooted a little closer, keeping the hand holding the pistol behind her skirt. She had to get closer. The gun was small. Maybe at close range it would do more damage. She had to be sure to put him down, or he might shoot her, too.
“I…I want to bury Johnny first. It only seems proper.”
He grinned again. “Oh, he’ll keep for a little while. I promise to bury him right off, come mornin’.”
To think that he could not only shoot Johnny with no warning whatsoever, then spend the night with the man’s wife while his dead body lay stiffening made Faith want to vomit. It was all she needed to give her courage to do what she had to do.
“All right,” she answered. “As long as you promise to bury him first light. And keep his body close to the fire so the wolves won’t get to him.”
Clete nodded. “Sure enough.”
She scooted a little closer, and Clete put his gun back into its holster and climbed a little higher. It was all done calmly, and Faith felt as though she were dreaming the whole thing. She reached out to him, held his eyes with her own gaze so he wouldn’t even notice her raise her other hand.
She placed the pistol against his chest and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked slightly in her hand. At first Clete just stood there on the wagon step, staring at her, his eyes widening. Suddenly Faith feared the bullet had not done its job. She fired again.
Clete’s mouth fell open as though he could not believe what was happening. He said nothing. He grabbed her wrist, terrifying her with his strength. Had the bullets done any harm at all? He was like a bear, hard to put down. Before he could push her hand away, she fired a third time. The sound reminded her of a firecracker.
Finally she felt his grip weakening. He began gasping for breath. She prayed one of the bullets had found his heart. Surely at least one of them had found a lung. He finally let go of her wrist, and she f
ired a fourth time. He clung to the wagon gate a moment longer. “You…bitch!” he muttered before finally letting go and landing on the ground with a thud. He began groaning and rolling on the ground.
Faith fought the panic that tried to grip her. Afraid he might still be able to grab her or shoot her if she climbed out the back, she went out through the front. She realized then that Johnny had never even unhitched the oxen yet. She knew how to drive them, had helped several times. She had to get away. Away from Clete Brown. She couldn’t stay around there and watch him die slowly, nor could she bring herself to walk up and shoot him in the head and end it all, even though that was what he deserved.
She felt sick when she saw Johnny slumped over near the fire. “Johnny!” she groaned. She walked over to him and laid him out on the ground. “Oh, Johnny! Johnny! Johnny!” The reality of the horror began to take hold. Johnny was dead. She had just shot a man four times, and he lay groaning and dying. She was alone in country full of wild things, including Indians, and she had no idea where she was, which way to go. Wolves howled in the distance. Johnny’s body was already stiffening and had to be buried.
She tried to think. There was still a very tiny bit of light left, enough that she could at least drive the wagon a little farther on, get it away from Clete Brown. The trouble was, she had no way to pick up Johnny and put his body inside, and she couldn’t leave it there for the wolves. She had to find a way to take it with her. She ran to the side of the wagon, where several feet of rope hung wrapped around a peg. She took it and went back to Johnny, tying it tightly around his ankles.
Tame the Wild Wind Page 10
