Sundance 2

by John Benteen

  He and Sundance stared at one another.

  Sundance smiled faintly. “It’s good to see my brother again,” he said.

  Uklenni’s face did not change; his eyes, black, hard, intelligent, probed Sundance, then shifted to von Markau, seemed to cut through him with their intensity. Von Markau met them, held them bravely, and even managed a ghost of a smile, a nod.

  Uklenni looked back at Sundance. He drew in a breath, huge chest heaving. Then, suddenly, he laid down the gun, leaped forward, and embraced Jim Sundance.

  Sundance laughed and caught him up in the same manner. The Apache was hard as rock, smelled of sand and sweat and grease and smoke. Sundance thought of the cornered bear, of Uklenni and himself moving in on opposite sides, each challenging the grizzly, diverting him, so the other could sink in an arrow. It had been a great deed for two boys to kill such an animal. The camp had resounded with jubilation in their honor all night long. Nicholas Sundance had been very proud of his son, and so had Uklenni’s father.

  Then Uklenni broke away, stepped back, and now he was grinning, eyes shining. “Ah, Sundance, by the Mountain Gods, it’s really you! But you’ve grown up.”

  “You too.” Sundance laughed, clapped him on the shoulder. “How many women have you now?”

  “Two! And you?”

  “None, yet.” Then Sundance sobered. “Uklenni, you speak the Mexican language.”

  “Si.”

  “My white brother also speaks Spanish.” Changing to that language, he went on: “Uklenni, this is my white brother Walther. If you love me, you will love him, too. He is not an American white-eye nor a Spanish one, but from a different place across the water. His people have never made war against Apaches. My brother Walther, my brother Uklenni of the Chiricahuas.”

  The Indian turned to von Markau, saying in border Spanish, “Sundance’s brother is mine, if his heart is good.”

  Von Markau caught on quickly. “My heart is good,” he replied slowly, carefully, in Castilian. “I have many presents for the Apaches.”

  “We are not Apaches. We are Tenneh—The People.”

  “I am glad to be among the Tenneh.”

  Uklenni stared at him a moment longer. Then he smiled. “Bueno. Welcome to the country of the Chiricahua.” And he put out his hand.

  Sundance sighed with relief as the Austrian and the Apache vigorously sealed their friendship.

  Then Uklenni turned away. “It is good,” he called softly. “Come down, all. Except One-ear and Dreams-too-Much. The two of you keep watch at the canyon mouth.”

  And then the Apaches materialized. From behind rocks and clumps of brush that seemed too small to hide a rabbit, much less a human being, they arose. Von Markau gasped as one stood up not ten feet from where he had lain on watch. Then, they leaped nimbly down the hillsides, five, ten, fifteen of them, dislodging hardly a pebble in their progress to the canyon floor.

  For some time after that, there was confusion as Uklenni explained to those who had never heard of Sundance about the Indian with the yellow hair, proclaimed him his brother, and the white man from a strange country his brother also. One Indian climbed to the ledge, brought down von Markau’s weapons.

  “There are presents,” Sundance told the Apaches. He and von Markau went to the packs, returned with a knife, ax and pouch of tobacco for each brave. Then, after they had thanked him ceremoniously, as delighted as children with the Bowies and hatchets, Sundance said, “Uklenni. We must talk.”

  “I think the same. Will you eat with us?”

  “Yes,” Sundance said. “Have you seen any other white men in the Dragoons?”

  “No,” Uklenni said. “You are the first white-eyes we have seen in weeks.”

  “Then it should be all right to build a fire.” Sundance gestured. “If you would like a mule . . .”

  Uklenni’s eyes brightened. “Excellent!” He snapped an order. The men looked pleased. They examined the mules, chose the smallest and least prepossessing. Then von Markau let out a strangled sound as one leaped on the animal’s back and cut its throat. It fell, kicking, and the others swarmed over it like ants. It was dead at once. With magical speed, they butchered it and began to roast its flesh over fires of brush so dry it made hardly any smoke. Von Markau swallowed hard. “Roast mule.”

  “Eat it,” Sundance said. “The custom of the country—and one of the Apache’s favorite foods.” He grinned. “Don’t look so green. They feel the same way about fish and pork that you do about mule. The very thought of eating bacon would turn their stomachs inside out.”

  Von Markau nodded. “When in Rome, then ...” And he bravely ate his share. Then he turned, reached for his saddle bag. Sundance caught the gesture just in time.

  “Baron!” he snapped. “Don’t bring that bottle out where they can see it!” He spoke in English, softly, furiously.

  Von Markau blinked, then understood. “Yes, of course. I see the risk.” He masked the gesture by finding a scarf, wiping his mouth. Uklenni, stomach bulging, face smeared with grease, looked curiously from one to the other. “I think it is better if the two of you talk Mexican,” he said.

  Sundance nodded.

  Uklenni went on. “You are lucky I was with this band. It might have been different if no one had been here who knew you. I recognized you at once, but”—his face sobered— “one never knows nowadays who is his friend and who his enemy.” He fingered the bear-claw necklace around his throat. “You took a long risk. Even in Apache clothes, that yellow hair might have cost your life.” Now he was very serious. “Sundance, what brings you here?”

  “Big Medicine,” Sundance said. “I must see Cochise. Is he nearby?”

  “No,” said Uklenni. “He is far away.”

  “Bad luck. A matter of much importance. How far away?”

  “North, to the edge of Mescalero country. Food is scarce in the Dragoons. We band with the Mescaleros in cooking mescal, growing corn. After that, the sacred festivals.”

  Sundance considered. That would be two days’ good ride, maybe more and the same back, plus talking time. Five days lost, anyhow. And with people like Red Gannon in Tucson and rumors floating around an army post, five days was a lot of time.

  Before he could continue, Uklenni went on. “But while Cochise is away, I speak for him here. My men and I scout the country and wait for raiding parties who are off in Mexico. Otherwise, the Dragoons are for the moment empty of Chiricahua. That is why you were not found sooner yourself.”

  Sundance nodded. These were Cochise’s rear guard, to give alarm if soldiers or vigilantes entered his territory. Even though he talked peace with representatives from Washington, Cochise did not trust the Army or any other white men; and Sundance did not blame him. But maybe this was a break; Uklenni might be easier to deal with. “Then,” he said simply, “I will tell you what business I had with Cochise. After which, you will decide whether we must see him before we go on—or turn back.”

  “I listen,” Uklenni said, slicing off another chunk of mule with his knife.

  Slowly, carefully, Sundance explained about the jewels of Maximilian. From time to time, Uklenni asked questions; Sundance answered each painstakingly and with utter honesty; lying to Apaches was a dangerous business, for they seemed to have a sixth sense that told them when someone was trying to bamboozle them.

  When he was finished, Uklenni sat for several minutes without speaking. “I think,” he said at last, “that such things would be worth very much in trade to white men, or the Mexicans. I have seen such things in their churches and sometimes on their women. For the like, they would trade many cattle, lots of food, guns, knives, cloth”—his eyes glittered—“and whiskey.”

  “That is true,” Sundance said.

  “And these precious things you seek are in Apache country. Thus they belong to the Apaches. Why should you be free to take them out when we can trade them to the Americans ourselves?”

  “What you say is true and wise,” Sundance said. They spoke in Spanish a
nd von Markau sat straight up, shot a startled look at him. “Except for this. The Americans would not deal with the Apaches for things of such value. They would not recognize your right to them. They would say, ‘Why should an Indian have such things?’ And they would take them from you.”

  Uklenni laughed defiantly. “Hah! Take them from the Chiricahua?”

  Sundance nodded. “If you went to a fort with them, the soldiers would take them from you with their guns; if you asked white men in here to trade, they would bring an army to steal them from you, a big army, and you would have to fight and many of your tribe would die. I tell you, Uklenni, these are big medicine things, they would bring every fighting man in Arizona into the Dragoons if it were known that they were here. Just as gold has brought men into the territory of the Sioux so that they must fight a war.”

  “Hah! And we are not Sioux!” Then Uklenni sobered. “But I see what you mean. These are white men’s medicine and bad luck for Indians. If they were cows or horses . . . Yes, I see. They are like the kind of rock on the desert that draws down the lightning when the storms come. You are right, Sundance. This is a matter for Cochise to decide.”

  “Then,” Sundance said, “let’s do this. You and your men go with us to the place where the jewels are. When we find them, we will all go to Cochise together. Show them to him and he can decide. If he will let me take them out, I will pay the Chiricahua much white man’s money. The money they can safely trade, a little at a time. I will pay the Chiricahua enough to buy a cow for everyone in the tribe.”

  Uklenni’s eyes glittered. He picked his teeth with the point of his knife. Von Markau looked as if he would protest, then held his peace at Sundance’s gesture.

  Then the Apache nodded decisively. “It is good,” he said. “We will go with you, find this sacred treasure,and take it to Cochise for his decision. But San Simon Creek is a long way.” He jumped to his feet. “We should start at once.”

  “Fine!” Sundance arose. “Do you ride or run?”

  “We run. Food is too scarce to ride; we eat what horses we can get.”

  “Then I will run with you. But the white man must ride. And he must lead my stallion. That is my warhorse, and he is not to be eaten.”

  “Be it so,” Uklenni said. He squinted at the sun. “Then pack your things and let us go. We can make many miles by nightfall.”

  Sundance had almost forgotten what it was like to run with Apaches. They were not horsemen in the sense the Cheyennes were, although they could ride anything with hair on it. For them, horses were not property to be cherished, but food to fill their bellies. When they laid their hands on stolen mounts, they would ride them to death, then eat them. Otherwise, they traveled on foot, through country in which a horse was often a liability. Generations of such a life had produced a race with immensely powerful legs and lungs half again the size of those of ordinary men. Like wolves, they could lope for hours, uphill or down, without tiring.

  Sundance, on the other hand, had grown up, lived, on horseback. Yet, in his time, he had run with the Chiricahuas. He still remembered—indeed, would never forget passing one of the strictest tests of Apache boyhood: filling his mouth with water, running five miles across the desert, and returning to the starting point to spit it out and prove he had not swallowed it.

  But that had been long ago, and loping eastward beside Uklenni through sun-blasted valleys, up gravelly hillsides, over lava flats and across ridges, legs accustomed to the saddle knotted, lungs unused to such demands ached. But he was careful to betray no sign of distress. For what lay ahead, he must have the complete respect of the Chiricahuas. And it was worth the temporary discomfort to be assured of their protection and good will.

  It was no wonder, he thought, that American cavalry with all its gear and trappings had so little luck in running down Apaches. The Indians carried almost nothing except their weapons. A bit of dried meat, some pinole made from ground corn, perhaps water flasks made from reeds and sealed with pinon pitch, the little buckskin bag of Hoddentin, the sacred pollen for use in prayers at night and morning, and their various sacred amulets or medicine bags. With no more burden than that, they traveled at the speed of a trotting horse across brutal country.

  They made fifteen miles that afternoon; by then, Sundance, who kept himself always in superb shape, had got a second wind and was almost enjoying the run. Von Markau, however, trying to keep up on horseback, was nearly exhausted; more than once, Sundance saw him eyeing the saddlebag that held the cognac and warned him away from it with a glance.

  They camped that night in a cleft of rocks in which they and the animals were invisible to any creature without wings, dined off the remainder of the mule meat, which had been packed along. Afterward, while the other Indians laughed over a game of monte played with horsehide cards, Sundance and Uklenni talked, with von Markau listening drowsily. Once he put in, a little testily, in English: “Sundance, I can’t get all these Indians straight. Chiricahua, Tontos, Mescaleros, Yavapais, Gilas, what’s the difference?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sundance told him, speaking Spanish as Uklenni wanted him to. “It depends on the range they live on at any time, who their chief is. Sometimes they mix together, sometimes split off, but they’re all the Apache nation, and they work together.”

  “Yes,” Uklenni said, firelight glittering on his dark face. “We are all one people. And we will all fight the white-eyes together if they crowd us any more. They will find that out.” Then, without a blanket, he lay down in the lee of a rock, promptly went to sleep.

  Sundance spread his own blankets, and von Markau made his bed close by, as if for safety. Sundance was soon asleep; he awakened once, roused by von Markau stirring; except for the guards on the rim above, the rest of the Apaches also slept. Sundance heard the gurgling of liquid, von Markau swallow, sigh.

  He rolled over, put his mouth close to the Baron’s ear. “Listen,” he rasped. “Put that damned stuff up and keep it up or I’ll pour it out. You let the Chiricahuas see it, they’ll take it away from you and drink it, and then all bets are off. If I have to kill one to save your hair—Damn it, you don’t know what a drunken Indian’s like!”

  “I am sorry,” von Markau whispered. “But I was so exhausted.”

  “You’re going to be a hell of a lot tireder before this is over. Now keep that out of sight.”

  He rolled back in his blankets, wondering if it wouldn’t be smarter to steal the stuff from von Markau’s saddlebags, pour it out. But there was no opportunity to do that now; not without attracting the Chiricahuas’ attention. Von Markau didn’t have much, only a couple of bottles. But it didn’t take much for Indians, himself included. Two, three drinks around and there could be bad trouble. Well, he would keep an eye on those saddlebags.

  Anyhow, he thought, cramping his rifle closer to him beneath the blankets, so far all had gone better than he dared to hope. Maybe, if his luck held, they could get the jewels and get out of the Dragoons without having to fight at all. Two more days would see them at Dead Man’s Canyon, and another three afterward would bring them to Cochise, and with an escort from the great chief, their safety would be assured.

  The highest peaks of the Dragoons clawed up to nearly ten thousand feet. In the center of the range was the stronghold of the Chiricahuas, an impregnable fortress of broken country, deserted, now, Sundance knew from Uklenni, while the Indians sought food elsewhere. The journey through the mountains with the tireless Apaches was a nightmare, even for the whipcord-tough Sundance. They knew all the gaps and passes, but even these were rugged; moreover, they did not always use them. They never let down their guard, preferring sometimes to take the longer, harder way around rather than risk a passage where ambush was possible, even though there were supposed to be no white men in their range. Sometimes they split up, part of the band traveling by one route, part by another, meeting again at a prearranged point, to confuse anyone who might strike their trail.

  Tough as it was, Sundance ran on wi
th them. When they paused to hunt, the mule meat gone, he joined them. There was food enough on the remaining pack mules for himself and von Markau, but not for all the Indians; besides, he preferred to share their hunting and their rations to maintain his acceptance by them.

  He brought down quail and jackrabbits with arrows or helped the Apaches run them down on foot. But he could not match their fleetness. Trained from boyhood in running, they were all incredibly swift, could overtake a fleeing hare and kill it with a stick.

  They ate rats, too, flushing them out of burrows by closing the escape exits, breaking the rat’s neck with a deft movement of a curved stick when it popped out of the main hole. Gutted, roasted, the little animals were devoured eagerly. Von Markau tried not to watch, refused to sample them, though Sundance pointed out that they fed only on seeds and fruits, were cleaner than any pig or chicken.

  Indeed, everything was grist for the Apaches’ mill. Hardly a plant grew or living creature moved that they had not learned to eat. And when nothing was at hand, they fasted and ignored their hunger.

  Now they traveled down the eastern slopes of the Dragoons to the valley of San Simon Creek. Ahead loomed the rugged outline of the Peloncillos—and somewhere in there was Dead Man’s Canyon; and somewhere in Dead Man’s Canyon were the jewels of Maximilian.

  They crossed a furnace plain on which dust devils swirled and capered. Once a minor sandstorm halted them; they hunkered behind rocks until its gritty cloud had passed. They reached the creek; it was dry, but they dug deep enough in the sand to find water for themselves and animals. And they scouted, looking for the signs of passage of any strangers, found none.

  “I think we’re going to bring it off,” Sundance said. “That is, if Cochise will let us take them out of his country. And I believe he will. He’s smart enough to know that if word gets around that there’s a treasure like that in here, he’ll be overrun.”