Sundance 2

by John Benteen

  The woman came forward. She had dark hair, enormous dark eyes set in an oval face. Von Markau was perhaps forty-five and she was not more than half his age. She was one of the most beautiful women Sundance had ever seen. Her skin was ivory white, her mouth full and red, her throat a smooth curve. Beneath her tight black dress, her breasts were high and neither large nor small, but separately outlined; her waist was tiny. She put out a small, white hand, lifting it instinctively, but looked surprised when Sundance took it and kissed it quite correctly.

  When he raised his head, her eyes met his boldly and quite without reserve. She ran them over him, taking in the blond hair, the coppery hawk’s face, the beaded buckskin shirt, the gun and knife and ax, the denim pants and moccasins; something moved in her eyes and her lips parted slightly, and Sundance knew now why Crook had said to be careful of her. He released her hand, took a step backward.

  Crook motioned them all to chairs. “Captain Bourke, will you bring us brandy?” He sat down behind his desk. The woman kept flicking her eyes to Sundance and away again. “Now, Baron von Markau. Sundance is the only one I know of who might possibly be able to help you. I warn you, though, he comes dear. But he’s worth his hire.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Herta von Markau murmured.

  Her husband looked quickly at her, then away, stroked his beard. “Very well,” he said, addressing Sundance. “Then suppose I come straight to the point.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “As the General has told you, I come from the Court of Franz Joseph, Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, one of the mightiest of Europe.”

  Sundance nodded. “Not quite mighty enough,” he said, “to set Franz Joseph’s brother up as Emperor of Mexico.”

  “Ah, I see you’re well informed. Yes, that was very unfortunate.” Von Markau hesitated, looking a little embarrassed. “Still, international politics may sometimes be risky. You know the story of Maximilian.”

  “I know it. There was Civil War in Mexico, the Constitutionalists led by Juarez won. The big landholders’ estates were being broken up. They turned to Napoleon III, Emperor of France, asked him for help, offered him the crown of Emperor of Mexico in return.”

  He waited as Bourke brought brandy, sipped it and found it excellent. “So Napoleon III sent help, a French army and the Austrian archduke, Ferdinand Maximilian, to be his figurehead emperor, rule Mexico for him. Thought he could get away with taking over Mexico while the American Civil War was on; thought they might even make an alliance with the Confederacy. Of course, Lincoln fought the whole idea, and when the North won, that changed the picture. The United States put pressure on the French, and Juarez was still fighting and winning against Maximilian, who’d crowned himself Maximilian the First. After the Civil War ended, Washington sent a big army to the Mexican border. There were troubles in Europe, too, and Napoleon and Franz Joseph couldn’t help Maximilian any more. The French pulled out, leaving him stranded. Juarez beat what Mexican forces Maximilian had and executed Maximilian by firing squad at Queretaro. Maximilian was brave, what they call in Mexico, muy hombre. But it didn’t help him after his backers deserted him.”

  Von Markau was silent for a moment. “A rather brutal summary,” he said presently, “but perhaps accurate. Yes, the whole thing was an unfortunate episode. The only bright spot was that Maximilian’s wife, Carlotta, managed to escape, returned to Europe before the collapse came. Unfortunately, her mind broke under the strain.” He finished his brandy. “Well, be that as it may, Maximilian died three years ago; now Juarez rules Mexico, the episode is ended. Except for one matter, which, Mr. Sundance, brought me to Washington, on orders from the Emperor of Austria. Washington in turn sent me to General Crook, and the General has brought you to me.”

  “And this one matter is—?”

  Von Markau set down his glass. “A matter of certain royal jewels belonging to the House of Hapsburg, which were in possession of Maximilian when he was besieged in Queretaro by Juarez, and which, after his capture and execution, were never found. Jewels worth a fortune, Mr. Sundance. And I have reason to believe they are hidden in the territory of the Chiricahua Apaches of southern Arizona. If you can help me find them and gain possession of them for their rightful owner, the Emperor of Austria, I am prepared to pay you very well indeed.”

  For a moment, Crook’s office was silent. Then Sundance said, “Go on.” He felt a flame of excitement which had nothing to do with the brandy.

  “You understand, of course, that the House of Hapsburg has ruled Austria for centuries. In addition, at various times, Hapsburgs have been Kings of Spain, the Netherlands, and—well, gold, silver, precious stones: these are the trappings with which kings and emperors impress their subjects.

  The House of Hapsburg has long been rich in them, and as a prince of royal blood, Maximilian inherited his share of these family jewels.”

  He arose, went to the brandy, poured. “Unless one has seen them, one cannot conceive of their richness and splendor. In terms of American dollars, they are worth hundreds of thousands; perhaps millions. In terms of historical value and traditions, they are worth even more.”

  He turned to face Sundance. “Maximilian brought these jewels with him to Mexico. In the last days, he was besieged, then executed by Juarez. And those jewels, Mr. Sundance, disappeared. They were not returned to Europe with Maximilian’s other possessions, which he dispatched on the last French ship to leave Mexico. Secret agents have convinced us that Juarez and the Mexicans did not get them. They simply vanished, and no one knew their whereabouts—until recently.”

  He sat down. “Now, the mystery is solved. I have in my possession a map which shows their location. As I said, it’s in southern Arizona, in territory dominated by the Apaches. I cannot tell you more, of course, until we reach an agreement that you will help me. What I propose to do is go after them, Mr. Sundance, find their hiding place, and reclaim them for the Emperor of Austria. To do that, I need a man who knows the country and the Apaches, a man who can bargain or fight against the Indians as necessary. One whom I can trust completely. General Crook tells me you are that man. He also tells me that it’s certain death to attempt this venture without your help—and, quite possibly, even with it. Still, I have my orders from the Emperor and I obey. Mr. Sundance, if you will assist me, I’ll pay you five thousand American dollars in advance. If we retrieve the jewels and return them to the Emperor’s Court safely, you’ll get another ten thousand. Well, sir, I await your answer with eagerness.”

  Sundance smiled faintly. Then he said, “My answer, Baron, is no.”

  Von Markau stared at him, face reddening. “Mr. Sundance, I understood from General Crook—”

  “You understood right,” Sundance said. “I’m for hire, and I can fight. Southern Arizona: I know it like the back of my hand, and I’ve lived among the Chiricahuas, speak their language, know their customs. If anybody could get you in there and back out again, I could do it. And as for the risk—well, danger is my business, risk my stock in trade.” He got up, went to the brandy himself. “But not at the price you’re talking, Baron.”

  Von Markau made a strangled sound. “Fifteen thousand dollars? A fortune.”

  “Not to me,” Sundance said. “Those jewels are worth millions, you said. Fifteen thousand’s a pretty puny sum when you figure that. Not enough, anyhow, to make me want to risk my hair.”

  He took a sip of brandy, rolled it on his tongue. Crook had mentioned twenty thousand; von Markau was horse-trading. Sundance said, “I want fifteen thousand down, twenty more when the jewels are delivered in Vienna.”

  Von Markau’s jaw dropped.“Thirty-five thousand dollars?”

  “That’s the way I add it up,” Sundance said. He shot a sidelong glance at Crook; even the General sat stunned.

  Sundance drained the glass, put it down. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t know where they’re hidden. But if they’re in Chiricahua territory, there are three ways to get them out. Get General Crook to give you an escor
t of maybe five hundred men—”

  “I have requested of your War Department, and they have refused.”

  “Hire an army of your own—another five hundred—which would cost you more than the thirty-five thousand I’m asking by half. And if you can find five hundred men in Arizona who’ll ride into Apache country with you and not cut your throat for the jewels once you have ’em, good luck. The third way is to hire me and pay me what I ask. If I get killed, you’re out fifteen thousand. If I live, you get the jewels and you’re out twenty more. It’s your decision, Baron.”

  “I do not have such sums with me.”

  “You’ve got the fifteen thousand, I’m pretty sure. As for the rest, the credit of the Emperor of Austria’s good with me. After you sign my contract, of course.”

  Von Markau’s jaw dropped further. “Your contract?”

  “Certainly,” Sundance said. “I’m a businessman. I never work without a contract— unless the Indians hire me to do a job. Them, I don’t worry about; they keep their word. But white men—well, there’s something about this red skin of mine that makes ’em careless. As if a bargain with a halfbreed doesn’t count. So I never work for a white man without a paper that’ll stand up, ironclad, in court.”

  Von Markau stood up suddenly, sputtering. “You dare question my word, the Emperor’s word—? You, an ignorant frontiersman?”

  Crook cut in. “Careful, von Markau. You’re talking to a man who could probably match whatever standing you’ve got in Austria, if he cared to claim his heritage in England.” He stood up. “The price is a matter between the two of you. All I’ll say is what I’ve told you before, Baron. I don’t have the soldiers to help you. Sundance is the only man I know of who can. But you’re welcome to try to find another.” He paused. “I will point out one thing: The Apaches still remember Sundance and respect him; I’ve learned that much since coming to Arizona. He may be able to find those jewels for you and bring them out without your having to fight at all. Nobody else can do that.”

  Von Markau stood tensely, looking from Sundance to Crook. Then he sighed. “Very well. It seems there is no alternative. Draw up your contract, Mr. Sundance. After we have signed it, I shall pay you your fifteen thousand and tell you where we have to go and what we must do to find the jewels of Maximilian.,,

  Sundance turned to Crook. “General,” he said, “May I borrow paper and a pen?”

  Chapter Four

  The Arizona desert was made for dying. A vast space without water, any water, just dry creek and river beds-dry except for once, twice a year when they turn into conduits carrying roaring, deadly flash floods that vanish as quickly as they come; floods that can drown a man who, seconds before, was dying of thirst.

  The terrain itself is almost incapable of supporting life—it is made up of titanic quantities of sand and jagged rock; lava, black, pitted with razor-sharp projections; alkali sprinkled in every crevice. But this land does indeed support life, a grisly life of thorns and spikes—saguaro, prickly pear, pita, ocotillo, yucca; and cholla, from which the thorns seem to leap out at human flesh, in which, once lodged, they leave wounds that fester for days.

  If all this does not kill the white man who foolishly ventures into these endless miles of merciless sun, the inhabitants probably will—the rattlesnakes, Gila monsters, scorpions, and the Apache, the only man who can survive in the murderous Dragoon Mountains. And the Apache does not like company.

  Four days after the conference in Crook’s office, Sundance, like a gigantic lizard, sprawled on a ledge above the mouth of a narrow canyon deep in the Dragoons, watching his backtrail, while, below, Walther von Markau slept.

  The Baron, Sundance thought, was either a very ignorant man or a very brave one. Either way, he was not one to waste time. He had put his signature to the contract Sundance had drawn up, after reading it very carefully. Then he had strode out; ten minutes later, he returned bearing two large canvas bags; they chinked as he dropped them on the table. “Fifteen thousand in gold, Mr. Sundance. And so ... we are bound to each other. My copy of the contract, if you please.”

  Sundance gave it to him, and the Baron thrust it into his coat. “Now, the remainder of the story. Maximilian knew he was doomed, but the Hapsburgs are brave men, and he made up his mind to go down fighting, as befits a prince. He took his Austrian jewels with him as emblems of his heritage, and they were with him at Queretaro. When he saw the end was near, he determined to get them back to Vienna somehow, rather than let them fall into Juarez’s hands. He gave them to a trusted priest, a Mexican, Father Tomas Hernando.”

  “Go on,” Sundance said.

  “Father Tomas disguised himself, managed to get through Juarez’s lines with the jewels. He feared to go north because of the American Army camped on the Rio Grande. Instead, he turned west to Sonora, where a French and Austrian colony yet remained. But before he reached it, it too came under attack; and he swung north into Arizona, enduring dreadful hardships, traveling across the mountains and the desert on foot.”

  “With a heavy load,” Sundance said.

  “On a burro, which he led. He reached Arizona; then, near a stream called San Simon Creek, the Apaches caught him. He managed to elude them long enough to hide the jewels, memorize the necessary landmarks. Then he was taken by Indians, tortured and abused most dreadfully.”

  “They don’t like Mexicans,” Sundance said. “The Mexican government used to pay a bounty for Chiricahua scalps.”

  “I understand. At any rate. Father Tomas finally managed to escape, at last reached refuge here in Tucson. Unfortunately, his ordeal had erased his memory, affected his mind. He lived in the Mission here, virtually an idiot, until he sickened. Then, somehow, his mind cleared and it all came back. He drew a most detailed map of the jewels’ hiding place, sent it with a letter to the Emperor of Austria. His Majesty immediately dispatched me to Tucson to contact Father Tomas. Malaria, on top of the effects of his ordeal, carried the priest off, but not before I had conferred with him, convincing myself of the authenticity of his story and of the map. The jewels are there, Mr. Sundance, well hidden. Now you and I together will go to reclaim them.” He took out a wallet, unfolded a sheet of paper it contained. “Here is the map.” He spread it out. “San Simon Creek. This huge mountain which I have identified as Chiricahua Peak.”

  Sundance nodded. “Right smack in the middle of Apache country.”

  “And here,” von Markau said, finger moving along, “is where the jewels are hidden in a crevice in a mountainside. A wall of what, I believe, is here called a canyon. General Crook’s experts have been kind enough to identify the canyon for me. It is, I understand, called by the Mexicans Canon del Muerto. Or, in English, Dead Man’s Canyon.”

  “I know it,” Sundance said, and he let out a low, whistling breath. “Right in the middle of the Peloncillos, some of the worst country in Arizona and every bit of it swarming with Apaches.”

  “Precisely.” Von Markau laughed bitterly. “I think you shall earn your exorbitant fee before we come out with the jewels.”

  Sundance raised his head. “We? This is a job for me to do alone.”

  “Nein,” von Markau said flatly. “For the two of us. As the Emperor’s Representative, I go with you.”

  “Baron, that’s no place for an amateur!” Sundance stood up straight, voice crackling.

  Von Markau smiled. “I assure you, I am not an amateur. I am a soldier and a hunter, Mr. Sundance. I have fought in many battles, have stalked chamois in the Alps, brown bear in Bohemia, wild boar in the Vienna Woods. I’ve traversed the barren Russian steppes and journeyed through bleak Siberia. I do not fear either the landscape or the inhabitants of Arizona.” Sundance looked at him, saw he meant it.

  “And you want to make sure I don’t doublecross you and take off with the jewels.”

  “I think that is my responsibility.”

  “All right,” Sundance said. “Then you go along. But under my orders all the way.”

  “Very well
,” von Markau said. “It is decided. When do we leave?”

  “I’ll go into Tucson tonight, start to get an outfit together. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. As soon as possible.” Sundance was struck by a thought. He looked at the woman. “What about the Baroness?”

  “She remains here, under the protection of General Crook.”

  Herta von Markau stood up, spoke for the first time. “Walther! I want to go along. Please! I can ride and shoot!”

  “My dear, you stay here.”

  She came to Sundance. “Mr. Sundance, please.” She stood very close to him, almost close enough for the tips of her breasts to touch him. There was a kind of glow in her eyes as they met his, deep, sultry, persuasive.

  “It will be such an adventure, and I love adventure. I beg you—”

  “No,” Sundance said. “No women. This is no job for women.”

  Her mouth thinned, now her eyes glittered. “I am not an ordinary woman.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Sundance said. “All the same, you follow your husband’s orders. You stay here, where General Crook can see to you.”

  His voice was flat, unyielding, though he could feel the effect of her closeness. She was, he thought, as dangerous as Crook had implied, young, vital, married to a man twice her age, like a bomb, pent-up power ready to explode. She was the last thing he wanted on such an expedition. He looked back at her coldly; and under his gaze, her eyes lowered; she bit her lip.

  “Very well,” she murmured. “You men—” Back straight, she turned away.

  Von Markau was looking from Sundance to his wife. He let out a long breath. “My wife is young, Mr. Sundance, and easily bored. She does not understand that such an expedition is not an afternoon tea.”