by John Benteen
After that he was silent for a moment, as Sundance looked at him. Kelly smiled then, a little shyly. “I memorized it.” Then he was serious. “Jim, that was a war that should never have been fought. Of all the Indians out here, the Nez Percé, to me, have always seemed the greatest. And then, when they were double-crossed, when, instead of sending ’em back to Lapwai, Miles loaded them on the flat-boats …” He drew in a long breath. “Damn,” he said. “I felt dirty.”
Sundance only spread his hands.
“It can’t be undone, of course,” Kelly said, “and it’s made me a big man in these parts, a kind of hero. But I never have taken much to the hero role. Ever since that surrender, I’ve wished that there was something I could do to ... well, make up for what happened.” Then he took a swallow of beer. “By the way, did you know that the Army found a herd of Nez Percé horses hidden in the Absarokas two weeks ago?”
Sundance looked at Kelly without a flicker of expression. “Did they, now.”
“Yep.” Kelly drank again. “Six of the most magnificent stallions you ever saw and a bunch of mares and foals. Hidden in the damndest valley you ever saw. Two Nez Percé guarding them, but the Army rubbed them out.”
Sundance’s hands clamped hard around the beer glass.
Kelly went on, still carefully casual. “In fact, the trail in and out was so bad that they had to call in a civilian to get those horses out. Maybe you’ve heard of a man named Luke Drury. I’ll say this for him, he’s a master horseman. Me, I’d have sworn they needed wings to get out of there, but he managed it somehow. Lost one foal, that’s all.”
“So,” Sundance said. “Then what became of them?”
“They played the old Army game,” Kelly said. “The Army took title to them as spoils of war. Then, I understand, they sold them to Drury for some ridiculous price. He’s a remount contractor, you know. I understand he’s taking ’em back to Oregon.” His eyes narrowed. “Me, I’d have said they belonged to Chief Joseph. That the Army should have dickered with him and paid him a fair price. But, of course, you know how it works.”
“I know how it works,” Sundance said. “Drury passes money under the table, buys ’em for a song, some officer makes a big deposit. Then he breeds Appaloosas for remounts and the Army buys ’em from him and he gets rich. So do the purchasing officers. Yeah, I know exactly how it works.” He looked down at his beer. “To Oregon, eh? I wonder what trail he aims to follow.”
“Why, the easiest one, I’m sure,” Kelly said firmly.
Sundance considered. “That would be up through Bozeman to Helena, and then by Hellgate Pass over to Missoula.”
Kelly nodded. “Follow the wagon road to Walla-Walla, cut off to Pierce City across the Bitterroots in Idaho, then to Lapwai and on down the Wallowa Valley, Joseph’s old home, into Oregon. He’ll make good time, too.” Kelly’s eyes flicked to Sundance’s face and then away. “He left Bozeman three days ago. Four more and he’ll be deep in the Bitterroots.”
Sundance began to roll a cigarette. “With a big cavalry escort, I reckon.”
“No,” Kelly said. “They didn’t go that far. But he don’t need one. He’s got about twenty of the toughest gunslingers I’ve ever laid eyes on. He must have combed every hell camp in the Northwest for ’em. Said he wasn’t takin’ any chances of losin’ those spotted stallions. I don’t reckon he will. It would take a lot of fightin’ men to pry ’em loose from him.”
Sundance did not answer. “Me,” Kelly went on, “I’ve never taken much of a shine to Drury. I took even less of one when I saw what he did to one of those Nez Percé guardin’ the herd.”
“Which was?”
“Well, the Army killed one outright. Another one, named Dead Man Walking, took a bad wound. He was still alive when Drury reached the valley. And Drury had a notion that this Nez Percé had some information he wanted—about a man named Jim Sundance.” Kelly paused. “He wanted Dead Man Walking to admit that Jim Sundance had fought with the Nez Percé and that it was Sundance who’d brought the horses there. Seems like Drury had a big mad-on against you, Jim. Wanted some kind of leverage to get you slung in prison.”
“Go on,” Sundance said harshly. “About Dead Man Walking.”
“Well, he died,” Kelly answered. “The soldiers turned their heads and left him with Drury and he died hard. But he never talked. I wasn’t there when it happened, but I saw the body. What was left of it, I mean. He used fire. A lot of fire. It went all over me, and I started to look him up myself, but he was gone.”
“I see.” Sundance felt no grief, only white hot rage.
“But, like I said, it’ll take a lot of fightin’ men ever to git those horses away from Drury. If anybody does, me, I hope it’s somebody that can use ’em for Chief Joseph some way.” He drained his glass. “Anyhow, that’s the news, Jim.”
“Why, I appreciate you bringin’ me up to date, Luther. Let me buy you a drink.”
“One beer’s my limit. Anyhow, I got to ride south tomorrow. Just happenstance I took a break to come to Virginia City. Never expected to see you here, but I’m glad I did.” He shoved back his chair. “Real glad.”
Sundance arose and they shook hands. “One more thing, Luther. Am I wanted?”
“You were, before, for questioning. Now ... not officially. Still, I don’t know of anybody that more people would rather have his scalp than you. So watch yourself, Jim.”
“I aim to,” Sundance said. “See you, Luther. And thanks again.” He turned, strode from the saloon. There was no need to stay longer here. Mounting Eagle, he headed out of town. As soon as he was clear of Virginia City, he turned northwest, riding hard.
Chapter Eight
Eighteen hours later, Sundance found the Nez Percé where he had left them, in a lost canyon heavily wooded, jagged with rock outcroppings, threaded with streams, and with just enough grass to restore the strength of the spotted horses. Eagle stumbled as he went down the treacherous canyon floor; Sundance had asked the very maximum of the big horse, and the stallion had given it. But now his head hung low with weariness, his great flanks heaved, and he trembled with the chill of the thick lather drying on him. Sundance himself swayed in the saddle with weariness, and he had rubbed tobacco into his eyes to keep them open. But he had made it. Now, perhaps, there might just be barely time.
He was challenged at the canyon mouth by Drum and Far Looker. They steadied him with a hand on each arm and led him into an offshoot of the canyon, where the Nez Percé had their camp.
“Jim!” Doris’ voice rang out, and she jumped up from beside the fire and ran toward him.
“Somebody take care of Eagle,” Sundance said. “I’ll be all right.” He almost fell off the horse, and he swayed as Doris embraced him, then led him to the fire. Yellow Wolf and the others crowded up, as Sundance dropped on to spread robes and Doris handed him a chunk of roasted venison.
The Nez Percé were tense, but with instinctive courtesy asked no questions until he had eaten, the meat sending new strength through him. “What have you learned?” blurted Yellow Wolf at last.
Sundance told him, about the horses and about what Drury had done to Dead Man Walking. Yellow Wolf’s face seemed to turn to metal; it was like something molded out of hardened copper, but he did not speak. “And there it is,” Sundance said. “Drury’s taking the horses west and south down through Idaho to Oregon. He’s got the advantage; he can travel good roads and make good time. And there are twenty gunmen with him. Somehow, we have to stop him before he gets so far in Idaho that he’s under Army protection. The best time to hit him would be when he crosses the Bitterroots. He’ll be alone up on the Divide, then.”
Yellow Wolf closed his eyes, and Sundance knew that, behind them, he was seeing a map of the country. For a moment, an unmasked flicker of despair crossed the Nez Percé’s face. “Can we do it? If we were eagles, it would be an easy trip. But we are not eagles, and must stay off the main trails and climb many mountains.”
“We’ve got to do it,
” Sundance said. “Somehow.”
“Jim.” Doris took his hand. “Jim, maybe the horses aren’t worth it. He has so many gunmen, you said. Are they worth these men dying to get them back? They’ve cost so much already—John and …”
“They’re worth it,” Sundance said. “Without that second twenty thousand, a lot more Nez Percé will die in Kansas this winter than we’ll lose here. But that aside, it’s something else. Those aren’t Drury’s horses, they aren’t the Army’s horses, they’re the Nez Percé horses, and, by God, they’re entitled to have them back to dispose of as they see fit. Besides, you heard what he did to Dead Man Walking …”
“Yes,” she said.
“So it can’t be stopped. It’s a blood debt, one Drury has to pay. But you ... I can leave you in Virginia City or some such town now, and you’ll be safe. You can meet us in Utah at Brigham City and …”
“No!” she snapped. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Doris, you don’t know what kind of ride it’s gonna be— We’ve got to go full speed across country just as rough as what we’ve come through, dodge the soldiers, maybe fight ’em, get through somehow before he gets too deep in Idaho, and it’s gonna take everything every horse and man has got.”
“All the same, I’m going,” she said. She stood up. “I’m a good enough horsewoman to make it, you’ve seen that. And ... All right. If it comes down to blood debts, I’ve got one to collect, from Drury myself. More than one ...” And he knew she was thinking of what Drury must have done to her that night in the Deadwood cabin.
“All right,” Sundance said. “You’re sure entitled to it. And you say you can use a gun. We’ll need every gun we’ve got, even yours.” Then he broke off, for Yellow Wolf was speaking.
“There is a chance,” Yellow Wolf said. “It’s a long one, but—” He began to rattle off a route. Sundance listened closely; he knew this country, but not like Yellow Wolf. To the Nez Percé, every fold and wrinkle, peak and valley, lake and river, was as familiar as his own mother’s face. “It will push the horses to the very limit,” Yellow Wolf said. “Us, too. But maybe ... just maybe we can make the pass where the road crosses the Bitterroot Divide in time to catch him there. If we could, then it would be easy to fade into the mountains with the horses ... We’ll try it; we’ll leave at first light tomorrow, and anyone who can’t keep up must stay behind.” He looked at the girl.
“She’ll keep up,” said Sundance. “I’ll see to that. I’ll give her Eagle.”
~*~
The sun was still behind the mountains, mist hanging low in the canyon when they struck out the next morning, with Yellow Wolf in the lead. Their route would take them through such wild and rugged country that there was little fear of soldiers except in one or two crucial spots. A night’s rest had restored Eagle; he was fresh and strong under Doris, and Sundance knew he could get the most out of her previous mount, a smaller horse.
It was a wilderness, a jumbled, magnificent one. Ahead loomed the Continental Divide, which they had already crossed one time, slowly, a barrier running almost east-west here. They could not afford the time to go back the way they had come; this time they would take Lost Trail Pass and hope it was not blocked by soldiers. That would bring them out in the Bitterroots, with a good seventy miles of rugged mountains still to traverse.
The great spotted stallions were in their element, and they had to be, for they were pushed mercilessly, granted only enough rest to keep them going. Sundance had been on many a forced march with Indians and cavalry both, but never one like this. Without the Appaloosas, there would have been no chance at all.
The first day, they rode for twenty hours. Even after the sun went down, they kept on, for the Nez Percés and their horses could see in the dark almost like cats. By then, Doris was exhausted; sometimes Sundance steadied her in the saddle. Yet, she hung on, grimly, and he was full of admiration for her when, finally, Yellow Wolf called a halt. His judgment of her had been correct; she was a thoroughbred.
Four hours sleep, that much rest and graze for the spotted horses, and then they were on their way again, toiling up the Continental Divide, the Shining Mountains magnificent against the sky on their left flank, and ahead. Those mountains were both friend and enemy, shielding them from discovery by the Army, but every foot of steepness costing precious time and strength. Again the horses achieved the impossible, toward evening they broke out at Lost Trail Pass, carefully scouted in advance and found to be clear of soldiers. Despite her weariness, Doris made a sound of awe and delight at the spectacle spread out below them, a huge wilderness, shagged with timber, jeweled with green valleys, threaded with silver streams, all struck by the rays of the sinking sun.
But they wasted no time looking at the scenery. They went on, turning into the high country of the Bitterroots. Although it was only late summer, it was snowing when Yellow Wolf halted them again, long after dark. The Nez Percé made no comment, but Sundance sensed his apprehension. If this turned into one of the raw summer blizzards that sometimes came at this altitude ... But maybe if it did, it would slow down Drury, too.
Drury. At the thought, Sundance’s weariness vanished. He remembered that slugging boot toe in his ribs; he thought of Dead Man Walking, who had been his friend, and of Joseph waiting in Kansas for some word, wondering whether his people could survive the winter and buy their way home again in the spring. It was a while before, with Doris against him in the robes under the shelter of a cliff, he could get to sleep.
By dawn, the snow had stopped; not enough to slow their progress. The Nez Percé made their morning prayers of gratitude; Sundance joined them. Then they rode.
Now they traveled the very spine of the Bitterroots, following game trails through timber, dropping down when they could into easier valleys, crossing saddles and climbing peaks. The Appaloosas were not made of steel, and they showed the strain. Each man desperately needed a fresh mount, and, of course, there was none; there was no alternative save to ride them to death if it came to that to catch Drury before he got out of the mountains. There would be not only the Appaloosa breeding band but the mounts of Drury’s men to replace them. And yet, Sundance felt the agony of Eagle’s exhaustion as keenly as his own. He and his big warhorse had been together for a long time; it was more than mount, it was friend, companion, and guardian, and he loved the big stallion. But he would sacrifice it, if there were no other way.
The men were equally worn out, all riding in a fog. Some fell asleep in their saddles. Sundance and Yellow Wolf stayed awake, always out on the point, and somehow Doris managed to keep up with them.
When the sun was halfway down the sky, they rested. Yellow Wolf looked at it, then at the wilderness ahead, and his face was grave. “Tomorrow,” he said. “If your information was right, he could cross the pass tomorrow. And there’s no way we can make it before tomorrow night.”
Sundance said, “We can only do the best we can and hope. If he beats us to the pass, we’ll have to catch up with him and fight him down below, Army or no Army. Let’s ride on.”
They did, but it was absolutely necessary to stop at sundown, or there would have been no horses to mount on the following day. There had been no time to hunt, and their food had run out. But in their weariness, they ignored the pangs of hunger and slept like logs. In the morning, Sundance awakened to see a black-tailed deer not a hundred yards away, in full view, on a mountainside, staring at them curiously. He sat up slowly, reaching for his bow beside his robes; Doris and the Nez Percé were still sound asleep.
The deer’s ears flicked, it snorted. Sundance deftly strung the bow, found an arrow. The deer raised its head a little, tensed, as he pulled the feather to his cheek. Then it sprang high in the air, came down running. Sundance jumped up, ran after it, as it disappeared in heavy timber. Twenty yards farther on in the woods, he found it dead, the arrow almost buried behind its left foreleg. Fingers numb with cold, he dragged the carcass back to camp: the Nez Percé were already gobbling parts of it raw when h
e began to cook some for Doris and himself.
And they rode on; and the horses were fresher now, and the men no longer dozed; they were wide awake and alert, nerved up. For this was the last day, the day of decision. Late evening, if they pushed the horses to the limit, should bring them to where the road from Missoula crossed the Bitterroots, to the place of reckoning with Luke Drury. If only he had not beat them to it, if only he were not already halfway down the range into the more thickly settled parts of Idaho …
By three o’clock, the horses were worn out again, but every minute counted now. Their riders forced them through a stand of timber so thick there was hardly room for them to pass, and their flanks and chests were raw and bleeding when they emerged, but they went on, their gallantry, like their iron strength, bred into them by generations of men like Yellow Wolf, knowledgeable and loving and prepared to take infinite pains to improve the herd.
“Jim,” Doris gasped, swaying in the saddle. “Jim, for heaven’s sake, aren’t we almost there?”
“Almost,” Sundance said. “Maybe an hour more. Hang on.”
“Don’t worry. I’m hanging on.”
Sundance put his mount into a trot, came up alongside Yellow Wolf. “If we’re lucky, if they haven’t crossed the pass, we’ll wait and take them in the morning. They won’t cross at night.”
Yellow Wolf nodded.
“And remember,” Sundance said. “Drury, the tall white man with two guns and the broken nose. He is mine.” He paused. “I have told all of you. If at all possible, I want him alive.”
Yellow Wolf smiled. “To deal with him like he dealt with Dead Man Walking? I have some ideas that you can use.”
