by John Benteen
“You musta been glad to see Geronimo make a fool of him. It cost him his command.”
“I want to see him make a fool of Miles, too, that blue-bellied son of a bitch,” Sundance rasped.
“He has, so far. But it looks like Miles is wising up. He’s set up a network of heliograph stations all along the border. Those mirror contraptions work damn near as good as a telegraph, and the Indians can’t cut the lines. Now he can flash warnings all along the frontier the minute Indians are spotted. And he’s strung a chain of troops behind ’em to reinforce ’em. He’s got Geronimo pretty well penned up in Mexico. And now the word is that he’s using Apache scouts again, like Crook did, to hunt ’em down in the Sierra. The latest news I get—and believe me, I get it all—is that he’s sent Captain Lawton with a strong force of cavalry and scouts to scour Mexico. Meanwhile, he’s sent out Gatewood in another direction to try to contact Geronimo and talk peace to him. You know Lieutenant Gatewood?”
“I know ‘Beak’ Gatewood,” Sundance said. “So does Geronimo. He trusts Gatewood. Gatewood knows Indians and he ain’t afraid of the devil himself. If anybody can talk Geronimo in, he can.”
Gil Tanner was silent for a moment. Then he said, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Sundance stared at him. “Do you know,” he said softly, “those words could get you hanged.”
Tanner’s grin was easy. “Sure. If anybody believed you. But who would? You’re a half-breed renegade. And me, I’m one of the richest, best respected men in Arizona.” His grin vanished. “So I promise you this, you spill a word about what’s said here tonight and you’ll be at a rope’s end so fast you won’t believe it—and I’ll be first man haulin’ on the hemp.”
Sundance said, “Don’t threaten me, Tanner. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.” Their eyes met for seconds. Then Tanner shrugged. “Let’s get down to business. I had to find out where you stood. I was pretty sure when I heard about your fight with Sieber, and I’m surer now. Enough to take a chance, anyhow.” He reached inside the jacket again; then the thick packet of greenbacks landed on the table. “There it is. Five thousand down payment. And if you meet my terms and do your job, plenty more to come.”
Sundance said, “Your terms. Your job.”
“Right.” Tanner paused. Then he asked: “You know northern Mexico and the Sierra Madre?”
“Thoroughly,” Sundance answered.
Tanner grinned. “Good.” Then he was businesslike again. “Okay, here’s the set-up. Geronimo and his hostiles ... I’ve had certain information through the grapevine. They’re holed up in the Sierra Madre near Fronteras. In the past, they’ve been able to trade a little with the Mexicans, steal stuff in Arizona and sell it off down there for what they need. Now they can’t do that anymore. They can’t get through the screen Miles has laid down along the border, or past his heliograph stations. On top of which, the Mexican Army’s mounting an expedition to go after them. Meanwhile, Lawton, Gatewood and a mess of Apache scouts are after him, and they’ll find him sooner or later. He’s getting worried, discouraged. Talking about giving himself up. What I want you to do is take Bob Tribolet, five men, and a pack train of whiskey and ammo down there, find Geronimo and turn it over to him. That’ll keep him out for a spell longer.”
He broke off, and Sundance looked down at the money. It was a long moment before he spoke. Then he said, wryly, “Tall order.”
“Supposed to be the kind of job you’re best at.” Tanner fingered the packet of bills. “Tribolet’s a top gunman and he ain’t scared of nothing. But that pack string’ll have to get past the United, States Army, the Mexicans and the Apache scouts. Bob might be able to manage the troopers and the Mexes, but the Apache scouts would get him sure. That’s where you come in. You’re supposed to be the equal of any Apache. Get that stuff to Geronimo, pep him up and talk him into staying out. Then filter back through, meet me here. Next move’s for you to go on the reservation, see if you can’t talk more Apaches into hittin’ the bronco trail and joinin’ Geronimo. Anyhow, way I see it is, you get five thousand now, five thousand when you come back and Bob certifies that the stuff got delivered, and five hundred a week for every week Geronimo stays out from then on. Plus fifty a head for every other Apache who goes off the reservation and on the warpath.”
Sundance whistled. “Big money.”
“You’re damned right. For the past five years, the Army and the Indian Bureau been at each other’s throats over control of the Reservation. And it’s hell on businessmen—they got to choose sides. You sell to the Army, the Bureau won’t buy a nickel’s worth from you and vice versa. Well, I made my choice a long time ago—the soldiers.”
“I see.” Sundance nodded. “And if Geronimo comes in and there’s peace at last, the Bureau wins the fight, takes full control, and you’re frozen out.”
“That’s the size of it. The longer Geronimo holds out, the more soldiers campaign against him, the better off I am. The bigger the Indian war, the fatter my orders. I’ve built a pyramid, Sundance, a big financial pyramid; and my Army contracts are what hold the whole thing up. So it’s damned important to me and my associates, worth big money to keep Geronimo out.”
“Yeah,” Sundance said. “But not quite enough.”
Tanner gaped. “What? What do you mean?”
“The price. Too low.”
“Judas Priest, man!” Tanner exploded. “I’m talking about a fortune.”
Sundance grinned. “So am I. You want me to take Tribolet and all that stuff through five thousand American troops, maybe half that many Mexicans, and, worst of all, Al Sieber’s Apache scouts.”
“Sieber’s not leading them. He’s staying on the Reservation. Tom Horn’s in charge.”
“No better. Tom’s every bit as tough as Sieber and a lot faster on the draw. On top of which I got to find and dicker with thirty bronco Indians in the roughest country in the world.”
“You don’t have to find ’em. Tribolet knows where they are. All you got to do is get him there.”
Sundance shrugged. “Anyhow, I want the whole ten thousand up front. That or no deal.”
Tanner’s jaw set. “Why, you damned—”
“Careful,” Sundance said, in a voice like iron.
Tanner checked himself. “It’s out of the question.”
“Suit yourself. I just collected a wad up in Utah for killin’ the Fenner gang. I’m not exactly hungry.”
“Sundance,” Tanner said, in a low, swift, persuasive voice. “Look at it this way. You’re doing what you came here to do anyhow and getting paid for it.”
“Ten thousand up front,” Sundance said. “Take it or leave it. You know whether you can afford it or not.” He turned away.
Tanner was silent for a moment. “All right,” he growled. “Damn it, you got a deal. But you try to double-cross me—”
“How can I with Tribolet and five gunslingers lookin’ down my throat?”
Tanner nodded. “Don’t think they won’t eat you up, too, if you try any tricks. Okay. There’s five thousand. Jan’ll bring you another five in an hour or two. You stay here ’til then, then ride for my ranch north of Globe—she’ll tell you how to get there. Tribolet’ll have an outfit together and waiting and you’re to leave at once. Every day counts.”
“Right,” Sundance said. He picked up the money, counted it, and stowed it in his pants. “But one more thing. Jan Farnum. Where does she fit into this and how much does she know? I’m not much for having women mixed up in my business.”
Tanner relaxed, laughing shortly. “Me, neither. But Jan you don’t have to worry about. I’ll tell you about her: Six years ago she came out here from the East with her folks. Her daddy was a mining engineer, had a job here in Globe, and they took one of my stages from Tucson. The coach got hit by a bunch of Tontos—they rubbed out everybody on it but her, and what they did to her parents wasn’t pretty. We still don’t know how she escaped. First thing she remembers is when me and a bunch
of my men found her in some rocks about three miles from where it happened—and she’s damned lucky I just happened to cut her sign. Anyhow, she was out of her head completely ... for weeks. But I saw that there was a lot of woman there, and I made it my business to take care of her ’til she was well. Broke, no relatives, she had nobody but me. You get the picture?”
“I get the picture,” Sundance said thinly. “Be your whore or starve.”
Tanner’s face clouded. “You can put it that way,” he said harshly. “But that ain’t the way she sees it. I’m the man that saved her. If it wasn’t for me, she’d be dead on the desert or in a crazy house somewhere. Whatever I want, she’s happy to get it for me. And when ... I got a little tired of her and sent her up here to run this place for me, get her off my neck, she didn’t complain. The minute she heard Sieber yellin’ at you, she knew you were the man I needed. She sent for me and bailed you out of jail. Yeah, she knows the deal, but you don’t have to worry. She’d be burned alive before she’d do anything to hurt me. You don’t have to worry about her, I promise that.” Then he grinned lewdly. “And if she happens to offer you anything you like, go ahead and help yourself; I don’t begrudge it. I got more than I can handle down in Tucson.”
He turned to go, then paused with his hand on the knob. “Sundance.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m payin’ you big money because you’re the only one I know can outfox those Apache scouts and Horn and Sieber. You stick with me, you’ll be rich.” He hesitated. “You go against me, you’ll be dead.” Then he went out and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Six
Eagle, the big Appaloosa stallion, tired of being penned, moved effortlessly through the darkness, his long strides devouring ground. Sundance rode with a rifle across his saddle, the morning wind, freshening just before dawn, blowing in his face. He knew this country well, knew most of Arizona like the back of his hand, and there was no problem in finding Tanner’s ranch. But he kept off the trail that led to it directly, wound through the rugged high country to the east. Instead of keeping north, he turned dead east and soon crossed the border of the Apache reservation.
It was fine country, dark with timber, laced with clear, cold, swift-running mountain streams, inset with cienagas, long, marshy meadows that made fine graze for cattle. No wonder whites had already got the itch for it; Crook had chosen well and compassionately in giving the Apaches a new homeland, and there was every difference in the world between this place and the barren reservations given the Cheyenne, the Sioux, and the other defeated tribes farther north. If the Apaches could hold this, not be driven from it, they had a chance—a bare chance— of prosperity.
Presently he struck a narrow valley, and when he reached a place where an enormous rock shelved out into a foaming creek, he pulled up the Appaloosa, got it under cover, and then gave a perfect imitation of a bobcat’s yowl. Three times he called eerily like that, and then, above the rush of water, he heard an answer. He waited, and presently Sieber was there, riding up on a big sorrel, coming out of darkness with no more noise than if he were made of fog.
“Jim.” Sieber leaned forward out of the saddle to shake hands. Then he laughed ruefully. “That was a hell of a fight. My eye’s still swole shut. Martine didn’t hit you too hard, did he?”
“Hard enough. But it worked. That and the fight made things go the way Crook figured.” Sundance told Sieber what had happened.
When he was through, Sieber whistled softly. “Tanner? Hell, he and General Miles are thick as thieves. I wonder if he’s right about knowing where Geronimo is?”
“Likely,” Sundance said. “Tribolet sells booze to the Apaches. Some pay off in information ... and you know how word travels on the wind among the tribes.”
“It hasn’t traveled to me,” Sieber said angrily.
“You don’t buy it with whiskey and ammunition.”
“No.” Sieber spat. “No, I reckon not. Well, what do you aim to do?”
“Take him up on it,” Sundance said. “Let Tribolet lead me to Geronimo.”
Sieber stiffened. “Jim, Geronimo can’t be allowed to get his hands on that stuff.”
Sundance smiled, and the way his lips pulled back from his teeth was exactly like a wolf’s snarl. “I don’t aim to let him.”
Sieber was silent for a moment. “Six against one, don’t forget that.”
“I’ve faced longer odds. Anyhow, it’s got to be. Tribolet can take me to the Apaches, that’s one thing. Second is, I’ve got to time this thing right. If Tanner’s information’s good, if Geronimo’s ready to come in, I’ve got to play for time. Let Tanner think he’s got it locked until it’s too late for him to do anything about it.”
“I could pick up Tribolet and his bunch on some sort of charge.”
“That’s what I mean. Blow this expedition too quick, he’d just send another one. No, I’ll take this one, and when it’s too late for him to send another do what I can to pinch it off.” He paused. “Any chance of you gettin’ the soldiers to make a hole for us to slip through? And gettin’ word to Tom Horn to have his scouts lay off if we run into ’em?”
“Not a chance. Miles wouldn’t stand for it—on top of which, word might get back to Tanner.”
“Then I’ll have to do it the hard way and take my chances. One more thing, Al. Here.” He dug in his pocket, took out two thick packets of bills. “Ten thousand dollars. Send it east for me, will you? The address is there.”
“Right. Consider it done. God—” Sieber’s voice was wistful. “God, I wish the Old Man was back here. He’d come down on Tanner like a ton of bricks. Miles, all he’ll do is pussyfoot and dither.”
Sundance shrugged. “Just see to my money, Al. And for God’s sake, keep the rest of the Apaches tamed down.” He gestured, encompassing the magnificent country that surrounded them. “We’ve got to hold this for ’em.”
Sieber nodded. “Yeah. And if you can find Geronimo before Gatewood does, see if you can talk him in.”
“I’ll try,” Sundance said.
Sieber was silent for a moment. Then he punched Sundance lightly on the shoulder. “Luck, old son,” he said and wheeled his horse and rode away soundlessly as he had come. Sundance waited until he’d vanished, then turned Eagle and put him at a dead run through a valley that led northwest.
~*~
Tanner’s brand was Circle T. Sundance saw that mark on scrubby cattle grazing in mountain pastures as the sun came up. Saw, too, that Tanner’d made no attempt to upgrade his herd with blooded stock. There was no reason for him to; neither Indians nor soldiers had any choice in what was issued to them. Tanner, through his connections, could sell these stringy animals to the Army for as much or more than a commercial buyer would pay for good, fat whitefaces.
Presently he saw the home ranch ahead, a layout as unimpressive as the herd—only a shack and a few corrals in the shadow of a cliff that towered over a long valley. As he galloped down the slope, a string of riders filed out across the valley floor leading pack-horses. When they saw him they came to meet him. As they neared each other he recognized Bob Tribolet in the lead.
Reining in, Tribolet gave the signal to halt. His snakelike head moved restlessly on the end of that long neck, and his dark beads of eyes were narrowed and suspicious. “You’re late,” he rasped.
He was right about that; the detour to talk to Sieber, who had been waiting in that spot for two nights to receive Sundance’s report, had taken more time than Sundance had counted on. But Sundance only shrugged. “Not much.”
“Me,” Tribolet said, “I don’t like to wait. You’ll find that out.”
“You’ll wait a while longer,” Sundance said, “until I inspect this outfit.”
Tribolet straightened in the saddle. “The hell we will. We got a lot of ground to cover and we got to do it in a hurry. I put this outfit together myself; it’s all right.”
“Maybe,” Sundance said calmly. “But I was hired to take you a hell of a long way through
rough country, with a lot of guns against us—the Army, Mexicans, Indians, too. Until we get where we’re going, this column travels the way I say, under my orders. You go along with that, I’ll get you there. Otherwise, try it yourself and take your chances. You might get through the Army and bypass the Mexicans. But Apache scouts are on patrol, too, and you’ll never make it by them.”
Tribolet’s face reddened. “Damn it, I don’t take orders from a half-breed.”
“Go tell that to Tanner,” Sundance said carelessly. He gathered rein to turn his horse and ride away.
“Hold it!” Tribolet snapped. Sundance pulled Eagle around on his hind legs, came down facing him. Tribolet’s head was moving faster, jerkier now than before. He looked at Sundance, then spat a stream of tobacco juice. “All right,” he growled. “Since it’s what Tanner wants.”
“Now you’re getting smart,” Sundance said. “Line up these men. I want to look ’em over.”
Tribolet stared at him a moment more, then wordlessly wheeled his mount. “All right, you all. Fall into line, let our guide—” he emphasized the word “—look you over.”
They did, lining up like a cavalry patrol. Sundance and Tribolet rode along their front. Sundance could not remember seeing a harder crew. There were two Swede brothers, flaxen-haired, built like oxen—Pete and Sven Johannsen—with enormous muscles rippling under dirty flannel shirts and tied-down Colts. Manuel Chavez was an Anglo-Mexican half-breed, affecting the leather clothes of a vaquero. Sundance did not miss the hilt of the knife protruding from the sash around his waist. His eyes were black slits in a flat, pockmarked face, his mouth a slash. Lon Fielding was tall, skinny, and carried a double-barreled shotgun across his saddle. Dade Warfield had the look of a cowhand gone wrong, a young, rangy man who could smile without snarling. But his smile never got as high as his cold blue eyes. He also wore two guns.
Having sized them up, Sundance reined in his horse. “Well,” he said to the gathered horsemen, “we got a long way to go. You heard what I told Tribolet—I give the orders while we’re travelin’, and anybody that don’t follow ’em deals with me. We’re gonna have to dodge fights, not blunder into ’em. So we stay off the skyline, stick to cover. Nobody builds a fire unless I give permission; and above everything else, nobody shoots a gun unless I say so. Now, anybody here thinks he can’t ride that way, he’d better turn around.”
