by John Benteen
Then he was off Eagle, snapping orders for the stud to stand. “Andre!” he bawled. “It’s Sundance! Andre!”
“Here!” the deep voice roared from one of the shelter-halves.
Sundance plunged beneath the canvas. A vast form lay there on the ground, struggling helplessly. “Hands ... feet ... all tied.” White teeth showed in the black curly beard. “Sundance—glad to see you.”
Sundance sheathed his Colt and drew his Bowie. Andre rolled over, and Sundance slashed his wrist bindings, then those at his ankles, Andre stood up, knocking the canvas fly aside, but when he tried to walk he lurched and almost fell, and Sundance caught him just in time. “Stiff,” he mumbled, massive weight bearing down on Sundance. “Hands, feet ... tied too long. Won’t work.”
“Can you ride?”
Andre cursed. “The devil! When couldn’t a Romanov ride?”
Sundance whistled. Eagle was there immediately. He gave the Duke a boost up, and Andre hit the saddle heavily. Sundance was up behind him in an instant, seizing the reins. Eagle whirled, grunting under the double load. But Sundance only put him to a row of tethered, saddled horses nearby, handed his reins to Andre, and mounted a big sorrel that looked strong and fast. Kneeing it alongside Romanov’s, he thrust a pistol into Andre’s waistband. “All right,” he rasped, “we’ve got to ride. Those are Sioux coming yonder, and we’ve got to outrun ’em. We don’t, they’ll torture you to death. Head for that broken country over yonder. If anything happens to me, don’t stop, don’t look back, you understand? Ride on out, southeast, try to get to Laramie, Fort Laramie. You have to. Now—” He slapped Eagle on the rump. The big horse stretched itself in a dead run from a standing start. Sundance lashed the sorrel and sent it after the Appaloosa. The Indians were barely a mile away now, not much lead. It was going to be one hell of a close race, with more lives than Sundance could count at stake.
Eagle leaped the creek, the sorrel right on his heels. Dawn was peeling back the darkness now, and the Indians saw Sundance and the Duke, and that red tunic of Andre’s stood out all too clearly. The war-whooping increased in volume as the two bands of pursuing Sioux merged together, struck out across the valley after Sundance and Andre, and meanwhile, from the direction of the Hole, the firing increased in volume, and the war-cries up there sounded a triumphant note. Sundance’s throat tightened. Crazy Horse had forced an entrance too, and his band would be pounding up the valley to catch them in a pincers. He lashed the sorrel and made it give its last ounce of speed, and that barely brought it even with Eagle.
And then it fell.
Sundance heard the leg bone pop as it stepped into a badger hole. He went flying as the horse went down, skidded across the earth on chest and face. Dazed, he tried to rise. Ahead, Andre checked Eagle and turned him. “No!” Sundance bellowed. “No! Go on!”
But Andre let out a deep whoop, a mad war-cry of his own, and as Sundance clambered to his feet, Eagle was racing back toward him. Andre bent low from the saddle and put out an arm. Sundance seized it, and only a superb rider could have held his seat as Sundance’s weight hit him full, picked up from the ground by the momentum of Eagle’s rush. Andre twisted in the saddle, his arm giving a mighty wrench, and at the same time Sundance had leaped, body whirling, and came down on Eagle’s rump behind the Duke. “Hang on!” Andre roared, and turned the horse again and sent it racing toward the hills once more, but they had lost precious time. Now three Indians were strung out ahead of the pack, racing to cut them off, the leader mounted on a big roan.
Drawing ahead of his companions by a hundred yards or so, he opened fire with a Winchester. Sundance heard the rasp of a passing bullet. Then the Indian on the roan was fully in their path, whirling his mount and checking it. As it steadied he lined his rifle squarely at Andre, with a point-blank shot at fifty yards.
But as the gun went off, Andre was not there: he had dropped behind Eagle’s neck. Sundance, clinging to the cantle, ducked in the opposite direction. The bullet passed between them with a sullen crack, and then Andre was straight in the saddle once more, guiding Eagle directly for the man on the roan in a collision course.
The Indian saw him coming and tried to line the Winchester for another shot, but he was too late. Eagle, responsive to Andre’s masterly touch on the reins, changed course only slightly as the Sioux tried to knee the roan around. Then the two horses slammed together with terrific impact. The roan went over, its rider hurtling through the air to land unmoving on the hard-packed earth. “Sundance!” Andre yelled, and then he had left the saddle. As the big roan struggled up, Andre seized its jaw bridle, Lightly, deftly as any Indian, he mounted the barebacked animal, body coming up in an amazing leap. He whirled the startled animal, drummed his heels into its barrel and the roan broke into a run. Freed of the double burden, Eagle shot forward like an arrow from a bow as Sundance came over the cantle into the saddle. Then, both men hanging behind their mounts’ necks as the Indians opened fire, they drove on toward the hills. Exultation leaped in Sundance as he realized that the two superb horses were widening the gap, increasing their lead. He pulled his Colt, turned and fired beneath Eagle’s neck, and one Sioux horse went down and three others piled into it as it fell, and that confusion slowed pursuit. And now ahead an arroyo beckoned and Andre disappeared into its mouth and Eagle followed. Their horses grunted, pounding uphill now, and Sundance turned in the saddle, with three rounds left in his Colt. He fired them blindly toward the oncoming Sioux, as the first warriors crowded into the arroyo. Another horse went down, blocking the narrow, steep-walled wash. Then Andre had turned into another one debouching from the first at right angles. Up that and then another turn, and now they were winding deep into the breaks. The Sioux war cries were not as close, now. Here riders could only come by twos or in single file. Moreover, they knew ambush could wait at any turning, the leaders risking taking point-blank fire. Caution slowed them down a bit. But mostly what slowed them down was the fact that their horses were undersized and poorly bred, compared to Eagle and the roan, which had obviously been taken from some rancher. That dash across the valley had taken the edge from them; this uphill scramble through sand and rock was wearing them down further. Not, of course, that they were in the clear yet, Sundance knew. Far from it. Their own mounts were also tiring.
Still they kept on climbing, working through the ferocious country that rimmed the Hole-in-the-Wall, and behind them the shooting tapered off and faded, and the sounds of pursuit slipped farther and farther behind. At least there was a chance, now, a fighting chance, if they did not run into a box canyon or cul-de-sac and trap themselves.
Sundance took the lead, and though his heart bled for Eagle, the big stallion’s barrel pumping, its breath coming in whistling snorts, he still could not afford to show it mercy. This whole range of hills would be swarming with Sioux by now, and Crazy Horse would be in a fury, and what he would do to Sundance if they were taken would probably match his plans for Andre. He would dump both of them, dead and mutilated, on General Crook’s doorstep.
And then Eagle could go no farther without being ruined and wind-broken, which would mean suicide, and Sundance reined him in as Andre halted the roan. They were in a narrow ravine that led upward toward a ridge crest: behind them the Sioux, perhaps half a mile or a mile distant, would be on their trail, probably moving more slowly now as they threaded the labyrinth of washes and breaks Sundance and Andre had negotiated. Maybe, Sundance thought, they should make a stand. They had guns and he had ammo, and if they could drop half a dozen warriors it might slow the others. Yet he hated for it to come to that, hated to shed Sioux blood if he could help it. But unless there was a miracle ...
Then it happened from nearly a mile behind them, gunfire exploded in thunderous outbreak. There were whoops of surprise, cries of pain. Four or five guns, Sundance judged, laying down taut, disciplined fire, and then the sound of Sioux weapons returning it, and he and Andre looked at one another. “What—?” the Russian blurted.
“
I don’t know, but somethin’s happened back there, somethin’ to buy us time.” Eagle’s breathing was more regular now. They had to risk it. “Come on,” Sundance snapped. As the shooting swelled to a greater crescendo, he put the big horse up the slope once more, and it went gallantly. And then at last, blessedly, they crested out.
Descent into the raw valley that lay beneath gave the horses something of a rest. Back there in the distance, now two or three miles away, the firing continued, but with less intensity. They reached the valley floor, another sun baked waste, but ahead the half-breed saw a notch that might lead them out of it without another climb. He made for that, they entered it, and then, walking, leading the exhausted horses, followed a narrow canyon that was like a corridor through the hills. And now, with this much leeway, Sundance knew what his strategy must be.
There was time now to begin to hide their tracks. Nobody could cover his trail completely from a Sioux tracker, but Sundance could do it well enough to slow down the Sioux and buy more time. It was a delicate equation, that balancing the time it would take to hide their trail against the time it would gain them, but it was in their favor. And if, until darkness came, they could keep ahead of the Indians—well, not even a Sioux could follow a trail after sundown, and then, if their horses lasted, they would have a chance to get clean away.
Now they steered clear of the sandy washes and kept to the sheets of rock that floored the canyon here and there, and sometimes halted while Sundance went back and carefully erased their sign, restoring some overturned rock to its original position, bending back a limb of sage that had been displaced. Once or twice he laid false trails up side canyons and washes, and presently they had luck, coming out into one gorge where the arrangement of rocks and shale and rubble on the walls made Sundance halt, staring thoughtfully. Yes, he thought, it would take time, but it was worth it.
“Andre,” he said. “Take Eagle’s reins and lead him up the canyon. Then wait.”
“What—?”
But Sundance was already gone. He’d picked a route, was scaling the canyon wall, going up with the speed and agility of a lizard. He made a hundred feet up the steep slope, then moved along it. When he was sure that Andre and the horses were well out of the way, he leaned his weight against a boulder. It rolled more quickly than he’d thought it would, and he almost went with it, falling back and digging in his heels just in time. It bounced down the slope, struck another, hit an outcropping ledge of shale, and that gave way and more rocks slid, and suddenly the whole wall was seething with the dust-roiling thunder of a landslide. Tons of rock and shale and gravel slid down into the narrow gorge, and the impact of its landing dislodged more from the other wall, and that piled down on top of it, and for a moment the earth seemed to tremble. Panting, Sundance worked back along the slope and downward. When he rejoined Andre on the floor of the gorge, he was grinning with satisfaction.
The gorge was blocked by a sheer wall of rubble fifteen feet high, a barrier that would take hours to clear before horses could get over it. And there was still plenty of rock balanced above that might come tumbling down at any moment on anyone who tried to move away that barrier.
“By Jove,” Andre said admiringly, “clever!”
“That whole wall was a landslide waitin’ to happen,” Sundance said. “Well I made it happen, and we’ve bought more time.”
They rode on another mile, and gave the horses a good rest now where they found a water seepage. In lieu of food, Sundance produced tobacco; he and Andre smoked. He finally explained the situation to Andre. The Russian’s face darkened. “Yes,” he said, “I was a fool. I see that, now. A fool to hire Sam Dillon. A fool to become so fascinated with that white buffalo. And a fool to charge ahead when you told me to stay back that morning Steelman took us. And there is nothing I can say, Sundance. Perhaps it would have served me right if you had turned me over to the Indians and let them punish me.”
“No. The one thing we’ve got to do now is make sure the Sioux don’t get hold of you. Like I told you back there, no matter what happens to me, you’ve got to get back to Laramie. Then you can use some of that Russian fortune of yours to buy presents for the Sioux, and when the dust has settled and they’ve quieted down a little, either me or Crook will take the gifts to them and make peace again, but you’re not going. Your days of hunting in Sioux territory are over.”
“And I will never see the white buffalo,” said Andre heavily.
“If you ever do,” Sundance said, “it will be the last thing you’ll ever see.”
Andre stroked his beard. “Well, I have my heart set on another trophy anyhow. Steelman. He is the one I would like to get in my rifle sights now. What do you suppose has happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Sundance said. “But my hunch is that shooting we heard back there was Steelman and his raiders. When they saw they couldn’t stop Crazy Horse, they must have fallen back to the hills, too. Probably they and those Sioux chasin’ us bumped into each other and they had one hell of a fight. Whether Steelman survived or not—” He shrugged. “The son of a bitch is tough. Tough and smart.”
He stood up. “Now we’ve got to go on. That canyon’s not the only way through these hills, and we don’t want Indians getting around in front of us.”
For the next five days, they lived the lives of hunted animals, Sundance and Andre. All the bands of the Teton Sioux, Sundance knew, would be alerted and on the hunt for them, and they had about used up all the miracles that were due them. Simply staying ahead of their pursuers until darkness fell on that first day was miracle enough.
Both men were dead tired, especially Sundance, and the horses were not in much better shape. But by summoning the last reserves of endurance of man and animal alike, traveling through the night, they gained the head start that for them meant the difference between survival and destruction.
Out of the worst of the hills, they nevertheless kept to broken country for concealment, pushing on and making good time. Once they surprised a small band of buffalo in a coulee; Sundance had unpacked his bow and arrows and dropped one without a rifle shot to betray their whereabouts. Not daring to risk a fire, he and Andre ate the liver, raw, sprinkled with gall, as well as other parts of the intestines considered delicacies by the Indians. To Sundance’s surprise, Andre did not flinch at that sort of fare. He had lived among wild tribes of Asia, who he said had much the same sort of tastes.
And indeed, Sundance thought, the West had lost a fine frontiersman when Andre had been born a Russian. Sundance had never met a better horseman, and although Andre was not allowed to fire a gun, he knew what the Grand Duke could do with one. Moreover, he had acquired from long years of hunting and warfare, the indispensable talent of the scout: a sharpness of observation, the ability to see what he looked at, not what he hoped was there or thought should be there, but what really was there. And he had endurance to spare, that great body all steel and whipcord. In camp he had been quick to take offense or show displeasure at the slightest inefficiency or inconvenience; now he bore every hardship patiently, uncomplainingly. “It is very strange,” he told Sundance once as they nooned in a willow thicket along a stream, “but I feel as if something has happened to me out here. As if ... as if I am much older than when I left Russia. As if, somehow, I have grown up.” He paused thoughtfully. “You do not know what it is like to be a man of my station in Russia. Everything is done for you, your slightest wish obeyed at once. You have the power of life and death over your servants, indeed, over almost everyone of common rank. It is sometimes hard to remember that you are human and not a ... God of some kind. But—” he smiled wryly “—when you are bound hand and foot, a prisoner, waiting to be killed, or being chased by Indians, or going hungry and without sleep, and you must depend only on yourself, the powers of your own body, the cleverness of your own brain, the watchfulness of your own eyes ... then somehow you become human once more. I have lost much and had many disappointments on this journey. But I have gained much, too, I t
hink. When I came, I was a very big, spoiled child. I hope that when I go home, it will be as a man.”
“Let’s just hope you get home at all,” Sundance said.
Andre chuckled, then sobered. “And that poor girl, the one whose relatives Steelman murdered. What do you think the Sioux will do with her?”
“She’ll be all right,” Sundance said. “Sooner or later, Crook or I will see about her. Meanwhile, she knows Indians and is not afraid of them. They’ll take good care of her. She came as a guest, not an enemy.”
“And Dillon—”
Sundance did not answer.
“Whatever they give him he will deserve,” Andre said finally. “All along, he deliberately plotted murder and robbery. How could I have been so blind?” He spat. “I must learn to be a better judge of men and not so easily flattered. Now, while you sleep, I will take the first watch.”
That was how they managed it, traveling at night, holing up during the day, standing guard in shifts, Sundance killing meat noiselessly with the bow. Twice they saw, at a distance, sizeable bands of Sioux, and they knew Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull had not given up, but the Indians failed to pick up their trail. That was sheer luck, and Sundance wondered how much longer it would hold. Because they’d had to circle, double, they were still a good two nights’ hard travelling from Laramie, as on the morning of the sixth day, they once again holed up in brush along a stream well south of the Big Horn Mountains. This was open country, rolling plains, and the scrub along the waterway was the only concealment available. It was not a situation Sundance liked, but it was the best they could do. With the horses thoroughly hidden in the willows, he stood his guard and then tried to catch some sleep while Andre kept watch. But he was restless, slept only lightly. And he had not been stretched out an hour when suddenly he came alert. “Andre?”
“What’s wrong?”
Sundance shook his head. “I don’t know, but something. See or hear anything?”
