Sundance 7

by John Benteen

  “Maybe that. But first I have to have a paper from him before I can ship the horses.”

  Yellow Wolf looked at him in surprise. “A paper?”

  “Saying that he sells them to the woman. That the Nez Percé horses belong to her. One that the white men will honor. Otherwise, the Mormons will not help us.”

  “That they belong to her. Yes, I see.” Yellow Wolf’s face shadowed. “I had forgotten. But this is true. After the fight, they will belong to her.”

  “And Joseph’s people will stay alive.”

  Yellow Wolf nodded, but he rode on ahead in silence.

  Sundance kept pace behind him, watching him with foreboding. And yet, he could not believe Yellow Wolf would break a promise to him …

  Then the Nez Percé reined in. “There,” he said. “Beyond that rise. The road runs there.”

  Ahead, the ground humped itself, thickly furred with lodgepole pines. Sundance nodded. “Tell the others to stay here; you and I will go down and scout.”

  They faded into the lodgepoles and Sundance and Yellow Wolf rode on. Just below the crest, Sundance pulled up. “I think we’d better go ahead on foot.”

  He slid off the Appaloosa, rifle in hand, bow and quiver over his shoulder. Yellow Wolf followed suit, and they ran silently through the timber, taking to cover. They edged over the rise, looked down the slope, and below they could see the road.

  In the East, it would have been no road at all. It was merely a wide trail, showing the old ruts of occasional wagon passage, winding through a clearing in the timber where the mountains fell away to a gap. It appeared to be deserted, and then Sundance and Yellow Wolf looked at one another and went carefully down the hill in leaps and bounds, each covering the other. They reached the edge of the timber, and they halted there in the shelter of the trees.

  There was no sound save the wind in the pines, and if there had been a herd of horses with twenty outriders on either side of the pass, Sundance and Yellow Wolf would have heard them. All the same, Sundance took no chances. “Cover me,” he said.

  Yellow Wolf nodded, gun up. Sundance eased down the gentle, wooded slope, took another good look, stepped out into the road. His heart hammered with suspense as he bent to examine the narrow track. Like a questing hound, he ran, hunched over, a few yards in either direction. Then he let out a long breath and came back to where Yellow Wolf waited tensely, a question in his eyes.

  “They haven’t crossed yet,” Sundance said.

  “They had time to. Maybe your white friend lied.”

  “Kelly didn’t lie, I’ll swear to that. He made damned sure I knew exactly what route Drury would take. More likely Drury got hung up in some town along the way. But he’ll be along, unless he’s changed his plans without Kelly’s knowledge. He’s probably already camped farther down the pass, in better shelter.”

  “Maybe we should go after him and take him tonight. It would be easier in the dark.”

  Sundance shook his head. “Our horses aren’t in shape, and neither are we, after that ride. Besides, some of ’em might get away in the dark. We don’t want that.” He gestured. “This is as good a place to set up our ambush as any. Plenty of cover on both sides of the road, and high ground. We’ll post men on each side, right away and send outposts down the trail to warn us when he comes. We’ll have no fire tonight, and we want to leave our horses further back and on the forward slope, so the herd Drury drives can’t get their wind and alert him. Doris can bring them up when the shooting starts in case we need ’em.”

  Yellow Wolf nodded, but, an experienced fighting man himself, withheld judgment until he had also looked over the ground once more. Then he said, “You’re right. It shall be as you say.”

  ~*~

  The night before a battle was always the same, Sundance thought, whether the combatants were white or red. There was a grim tension, each man wondering inwardly whether he would be alive at sundown tomorrow and each dealing with his fear in his own way. White solders would have been writing home, but even if the Nez Percé had been able to write, they no longer had a home. Their families were scattered all across the West, those whose families had not been killed. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters—some lay in unmarked graves or were only gnawed bones in the wilderness. Others were in Canada or at Lapwai in Idaho, or in Kansas with Chief Joseph, or maybe wandering still somewhere else. So they dealt with their tensions in their own way. Some laughed, joked; others were moodily silent, and many, exhausted, slept.

  For Sundance, however, there was no sleep for a long while. He and Yellow Wolf disposed the men on either side of the road with meticulous care and made sure each knew what he was to do. They sent scouts down the pass, eastward, to watch and give them warning.

  “Jim,” Doris said. “You need to rest.”

  “Later.”

  “Jim, what’s wrong? You’ve come this far—”

  Sundance hesitated, and then he voiced his fear. “This far. And suppose it’s a wild goose chase? Suppose Kelly was wrong, or he did lie to me?”

  “You said he wouldn’t do that.”

  “I thought he wouldn’t. But there have been so many betrayals …” Sundance sat down on the robes beside her, drawing a blanket around him against the night chill. “For the Nez Percé, it’s been one big betrayal after another. And they haven’t deserved any of them.”

  He paused. “I’m half Cheyenne, and I think the Cheyennes are the greatest people in the world. But if I weren’t Cheyenne, I would want to be Nez Percé. The high country they have always lived in is a kind of paradise. Plenty of game, plenty of food plants, the camas, the bitterroot, the cowish; they had no reason to make war or hate anybody until the white men came. In fact, they have always lived more like white men than most other Indians, and have always dealt with them on more equal terms, and have understood them better. They took to the missionaries when they came, and old Joseph, young Joseph’s father, didn’t split away until the first treaty they made was broken. Then he got disgusted, went back to the old religion, took his band to the Wallowa valley. All he wanted was to be left alone—”

  Sundance looked toward the band of Appaloosas, which she must bring up when the shooting started, if it ever did. “They were breeding horses by the kind of methods you used in England when Lewis and Clark first came. And as soon as they could buy cattle from the emigrants, they started herds of their own. They made no war on whites, and they warred against the other tribes only to defend their land. If there ever was a tribe of Indians who could have lived in peace with the whites, it was the Nez Percé. But the white people wouldn’t let them.”

  He paused. “Year before last, they found gold in the Wallowa valley, Joseph’s country. White settlers came in. They laid on the political pressure. Then the Government told the Nez Percé the treaty had to be rewritten. They designated one of the Christian chiefs as spokesman for the whole tribe and pressured his signature on the paper. Then they told Joseph he had to give up his land and come in to Lapwai. He hated that, but finally he consented. He took his people back into the mountains to round up their horses and cattle for the move.”

  Sundance’s voice was bitter. “The young men weren’t happy. Two of them had lost relatives, shot down by white men as if they were deer or some other kind of game. A few of them went on a raid and killed the men who had shot their people. That tore it. Joseph knew there’d be trouble. He gathered his people and decided to go east and seek refuge with the Crows, who were also friends of the white men and old friends of the Nez Percé. The Army went out against them, and the Nez Percé outran the Army and outfought it. They traveled halfway across Montana, and mostly there was no trouble with the whites, they even traded with them. Some white men got killed, yes, the young men are always hard to hold. They sought help from the Flatheads, who were nearer, but the Flatheads, also old friends, betrayed them, wouldn’t take them in. Neither would the Crows. So they decided to do what Sitting Bull had done and go to Canada. They thought they were across the
line when Nelson Miles hit them with artillery. He blew the hell out of them, killed an awful lot because he wanted complete credit for the victory, wanted to make sure Joseph surrendered before General Howard could come up to take the surrender and the credit. Joseph surrendered because he thought they would be sent back to Lapwai to join the others. Instead of that, Sheridan wired Miles to send them to Kansas. Miles took their horses and loaded them on flatboats and sent ’em down the river. Believe it or not, in Bismarck, Dakota Territory, the whites gave a testimonial dinner for Joseph. They admired him that much. He had a lot of white people on his side, but that cut no ice with the Army. The whole Indian problem is in their hands now, and they’ve got their own rough way of handling it. So …” He spread his palms.

  “The Government betrayed Joseph. The Army betrayed him. The Flatheads and the Crows, whom he thought were his friends, betrayed him. Only Sitting Bull and the Sioux, who used to be the bitter enemy of the Nez Percé, took them in, gave them refuge. Now, they trust no one. Why should they? They’re not savages, they’re intelligent human beings, but even so— You can only ask a man to stand for so much.”

  He looked toward the road. “They’re waiting for that now—their revenge for all they’ve endured. I’ve promised it to them. And I’ve promised them that they’ll regain their horses. Only for a little while, yes; you’ll take them to England. But at least they’ll dispose of them themselves. But—”

  He stood up.

  “I’ve led them back and forth across the mountains. I’ve made them promises. And then ... suppose Drury doesn’t come? All that pent-up rage, that hatred ... I’m not afraid for myself. But, you — If they don’t have Drury to explode on, they’ll turn against you and me. And ...”

  “And I wouldn’t blame them,” Doris said. She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “It was all a game with us, you see? Just another of John’s hobbies. It would be so interesting to come to America, meet red Indians, buy their horses. We didn’t know what was behind it, what the horses meant to these people. All we knew was that we were rich, and that we wanted something they had and we could afford to buy it …” She clasped her hands. “John was that way. He used money the way he used a sword when he was in the cavalry. But it was all a game to him, war, polo, the Nez Percé horses ... Entertainment, amusement. He did not feel deeply about them.”

  Suddenly, she stood up. “Excuse me, Jim.”

  Sundance stared at her. “Where are you going?”

  “Yellow Wolf speaks a little English, doesn’t he?”

  “More than a little.”

  “And I speak a little Nez Percé. All right. I’ll be back after a while. I want to see him. Don’t try to follow me.”

  Sundance said, “Doris—”

  But she had already swung up on Eagle, bareback, gathering his picket rope in her hand for a rein. She was a superb rider, and before Sundance could stop her, she had put the spotted stallion into a gallop. He watched her disappear into the woods, headed toward the ambush at the pass, where Yellow Wolf was, for the night, in command. Sundance stood there for a moment, and then, to relieve the tension, he took the marijuana from his parfleche and made a cigarette and smoked it.

  He lay in the robes when she came back.

  “Doris—”

  “Don’t ask me any questions, Jim.” She climbed into the robes beside him. “Just, for now, make love to me.”

  Sundance rolled over. “Yes,” he said.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun was high, the sky clear, the mountains shining in its light. It was a fine day, a magnificent day, and at ten o’clock in the morning a scout came in with the news that Drury was on his way.

  It was Drum, and his eyes were shining with excitement, as he found Sundance. “Our horses! You were right! They come! They are a half hour down the pass, all the stallions, all the mares, and the young foals! They come very slowly because of the foals.”

  “I should have thought of that.” Now Sundance knew how they had gained the extra time. But a great knot within him seemed to unloose itself: he had been right, the gamble had paid off.

  “There are twenty men, about, exactly as you said,” Drum went on, lying beside Sundance in the pines. “They are fighters, too. Many guns, many, many guns. Six of them ride ahead to scout the pass and draw our fire if we are here.”

  “All right,” Sundance said. “Go across the road and tell Yellow Wolf. And say I will cut the throat of any man who shoots at those six. Tell them that, Drum.”

  Drum grinned wickedly. “Don’t worry.” Then, silently, he was gone.

  Sundance lay there watching the road, Nez Percé all around him in the woods. His Winchester was beside him, but the weapon he intended to use, at least at first, was the taut-strung bow. His quiver was at hand, his arrows laid out neatly. He remembered the slugging boot toe in his ribs, and he thought about what Drury had done to Dead Man Walking; and he had to remind himself that he must somehow take Drury alive and get a signed bill of sale from him. That was hard to think about; what he wanted to do was to kill Luke Drury.

  He fitted an arrow to his bow. Then he heard the hoof beats, as the riders came up the pass.

  They approached in single file, the man in the lead bent low, reading sign, and it was Drury. And the horse he rode—Sundance sucked in his breath.

  The stallion was huge, its hide white, but splattered from rump to forelock with varicolored spots, mostly black and roan. Its jaws were bloody, as Drury kept it on a tight rein with a Spanish bit, and there was blood on its flanks, for Drury wore sharp-roweled Spanish spurs. A long quirt dangled from one wrist. He rode Cold Wind Blowing, the best horse the Nez Percé had ever produced, an animal that made even Eagle look awkward by comparison, and he had mastered it with every brutal aid a horseman could use. Even so, Cold Wind Blowing still had fight left in him, great crested neck bowed, quarters gathered, and, as Sundance watched, he lunged against the bit, and Drury ruthlessly tightened rein. The stallion swung and curveted and Drury lashed it to a standstill with the quirt, jerking in hard on the reins. It took all of Sundance’s self-control not to loose the arrow in his bow.

  The five men behind Luke Drury were cut from the same tough pattern. Hard, bearded professionals from the mining camps, they rode watchfully, eyes sweeping the pines on either side, Winchesters in their hands and ready, most had two guns strapped around their waists. A lot of firepower, Sundance thought, praying that no Nez Percé would let go a premature bullet or arrow. Against superior numbers and superior weapons, all they had on their side was the element of surprise.

  But in the pines, everything was absolutely still. Sundance, like all the Indians, lay with head down, not moving a muscle.

  Now, at the crest of the pass, Drury swung off the stallion. Holding its reins tight under its jaw, he bent, examined the road. Sundance had erased all sign of his own presence on it, and after a long moment, Drury straightened up. It was obvious that he was satisfied. He fought the big Appaloosa stallion for a half minute, got his foot in stirrup, then swung back up. He spoke to his men. They wheeled and galloped back down the pass, Drury following. When they had disappeared down the eastern slope, Sundance let out breath. It was all right; soon they would come back and bring the horses.

  The wind whispered in the lodgepoles. A few yellowjackets buzzed around Sundance, then flew away. Fifteen minutes passed, and then he smelled them, even before he heard them, caught, on the favorable breeze, the rank odor of sweating horseflesh, mingled with the even ranker one of unwashed white men. Then a mare’s whinny and a colt’s high-pitched braying nicker, and the sound of hoof beats, and suddenly the horses were there, filing through the pass.

  Luke Drury rode in the lead on Cold Wind Blowing, Winchester across his saddle bow. Three more outriders came behind to back him up, their rifles also at the ready. Behind them, a lovely roan-spotted mare led the band, the other mares and foals following and the big stallions in their natural positions on the flanks and in the rear. Hemming
them in were seventeen men by Sundance’s count, lashing them along with quirts, but all with rifles at the ready.

  Everything was as Sundance had hoped it would be, except for the fact that Drury rode Cold Wind Blowing. That presented a problem, for Cold Wind was the most valuable stallion of the herd. Whatever happened, he must not be harmed. Well, Luke Drury was his personal meat, Sundance thought, and he would see to that. He waited, drawing a bow.

  Drury’s head turned from side to side, eyes sweeping the pines. His face was unbandaged now, but permanently altered by Sundance’s fists, the nose smeared across his craggy countenance, his lips puffed with scar tissue.

  The woods seemed to Sundance to vibrate with tension. Every Nez Percé waited for his signal. But he wanted Drury and Cold Wind Blowing across the pass before he gave it.

  Then Drury had topped the rise and started down the other side. Sundance lifted the bow and aimed it. The rest of the herd and its outriders were cramped in the pass. He aimed the bow and let the arrow go. A bearded man in a red shirt gasped with astonishment as it passed clean through his chest and out the other side, and then he simply fell off his horse’s rump in the path of the oncoming band of Appaloosas.

  It was so clean and silent that only the men hard by him even noticed it. One blinked, said: “Hey, what the hell—” They were the last words he ever uttered. Sundance already had another arrow in his bow, and more shafts slotted from the trees, swift and silent and deadly.

  Seven men went down under that sheet of arrows. Others yelled, reined in, and suddenly the mountains howled with sound. Sundance threw back his head, shrieked a Cheyenne war whoop, and now he was on his feet, the bow laid aside, the Winchester in his hand, and the Nez Percé were plunging down both hills, firing guns or arrows as they came. Before Drury’s men knew what was happening, the Indians leaped from the hillsides, and then each man swung up on a barebacked Appaloosa.