Sundance 4

by John Benteen

  “Tell your men to cut him loose,” Sundance said.

  “Not before I know—”

  “Roane, you tell your men to cut him loose or I’ll put a slug in you.”

  Roane let out a long breath. “All right. I think I’m beginning to understand. I saw you ride into the lava yesterday ... and you’re half Injun yourself. And those missin’ cattle of mine ... disappearin’ without a trace. Maybe I’ve been miscallin’ my shots.” His voice suddenly harshened. “Gun or no gun, I’m not leavin’ here, Sundance, until I get the straight of this. Sure, you can chop me down, but my men’ll burn that Injun the same time you pull the trigger. And burn you, too. You may be good, but you can’t fight five of ‘em.”

  He paused. “I’m not after trouble. Especially where Mrs. Wade might get caught in the middle. But I want to know the truth of this. I’ve lost enough cattle and risked enough to be entitled to it. If it’s Injuns instead of Wade that have been rustlin’, I want to know that, too.”

  There was no fear in Roane, and Sundance felt admiration for the man. “Maybe we could declare a truce,” he said.

  “There is one, far as I’m concerned.”

  Sundance lowered the rifle. “Tell ‘em to turn him loose, and you come on in the house.”

  “Right.” Roane lowered his hands. “Boys, no gunplay. Cut loose that Modoc.” When they protested, he snapped: “I said, cut him loose!”

  Nehlo’s hands were freed. The Indian shot a ferocious glance at Roane’s punchers, then ran for the house, dodged inside. Roane and Sundance followed, and Wade stepped aside to let them in, keeping his rifle ready.

  The place was a wreck. The barrage laid down by the Hell, Yes! men had broken out all glass, splintered the walls, punctured everything lead could pierce. Roane sucked in an audible breath. “My God. I don’t see how—” He broke off as Susan Wade stepped out of the kitchen. Roane was silent for a moment, looking at her. Then he said in a different voice, one full of unmasked relief, “You’re all right. Thank the Lord.”

  “Yes,” Susan murmured, looking back at him. “I’m all right, thanks to you.”

  Wade cut in, harshly. “Susan, get back in the kitchen and try to clean up some of this mess. Roane, I hate to admit it, but I guess I’m indebted to you.”

  “The hell with that! I want to know how many Injuns you got here and—” He strode past Wade to the kitchen, Sundance following. Halting in the doorway, he said: “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Nehlo, Chachisi, and Beneko stood there with rifles leveled at him, their women huddled behind them. Beneko’s left arm was wrapped with a bloody bandage. Roane rasped, “Sundance, tell ‘em to put up those guns.”

  “No,” Nehlo said. “We’re not gonna be took by you and hung.”

  “I forgot, you speak English.” Roane’s mouth quirked. “Five of you, Jimmy; that all?”

  “All left,” Nehlo said bitterly. “All Modocs left...”

  “And you five hid out in the lava, never surrendered. And ate my cattle—”

  “I’ll pay you for your cattle,” Sundance said.

  “That’s not the point.” Roane coolly turned his back on the Indians’ guns. “The point is, what now? What you aim to do with them?”

  “Get them out of the country,” Sundance said.

  “To where? East, Indian Territory, with the others?”

  “No,” Sundance said. “But a long way from here. So far you’ll never see ‘em again. We’re gonna do that, Roane, and if you or any of the other ranchers try to stop us, we’ll fight you. And if you tip off the Army, I’ll come and get you myself.”

  Roane stood, thumbs hooked in gunbelt, looking at Sundance, mouth still twisted in a grin, rough-hewn face sardonic. “You’re plumb bad medicine, ain’t you?”

  “Ask Archie.”

  “I saw his body.” Roane’s grin faded. “You did that?”

  “I did it,” Sundance said.

  “Good. He was long overdue.” Roane was silent for a moment, looking from Wade to Sundance. “I ain’t tippin’ off the Army,” he said, “nor anybody else. But I’m tellin’ you this, Sundance. You get those Injuns out of the Lost River country. And you do it fast. I’ll write off the cattle I’ve lost, but if I lose any more, there’s gonna be hell to pay and no pitch hot for you and the Injuns or anybody else that lays his hands on my stock. I’ll stay clear of you—and apologize to Wade for wrongin’ him—but I want those Injuns gone, and no time lost.”

  “There won’t be,” Sundance said. “By tomorrow, they’ll be gone.”

  “Then I’ve no quarrel with anybody.” He strode past Sundance, to the door, looked out. “Day’s a-breakin’,” he said, “and there’s a lot of corpses out yonder in the woods along the river that needs to be disposed of. The more completely they disappear, the less trouble we’ll all have. A few big rocks on ‘em, and the lake will hold ‘em all. My men and I’ll see to it. Then we’ll be on our way. And I don’t want to know how you’re takin’ the Injuns out or which way they’re goin’. If anything happens to ‘em, I don’t want anybody sayin’ it was me.”

  Sundance was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Roane, I owe you some apologies myself. I misjudged you.”

  “Let it ride,” Roane said. He turned. Susan stood in the doorway of the kitchen. They looked at one another for a moment, and then Roane took off his hat. “Mrs. Wade,” he said, “I wish I’d got here sooner, so you wouldn’t have had to go through all this.”

  “We ... owe you thanks,” Susan murmured.

  “De nada,” Roane said, put his hat back on and went out. They heard his yell. “All right, Lazy R! Let’s turn to! We got work to do, and plenty of it!”

  Sundance turned from the door just in time to see Wade and Susan looking at one another. Wade’s face was hard, set; and Susan’s was pale, then red. A silence stretched between them. Sundance broke it. “We’ve got work, too. Let’s get everything together and load up the Modocs and roll.”

  Wade stared at Susan a moment longer, then turned away. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s do that. I’ll go and hitch the team.”

  It took all his persuasiveness to convince the Indians not to make a break for the lava. At last, however, he managed to reassure them, and when Wade backed the wagon close to the door, they crawled in, burrowed beneath the hay, became invisible.

  Sundance had retrieved his bow, finding that the string had indeed been nipped by a bullet. He replaced it with a spare from his gear, then stowed his equipment in the panniers, lashed them behind Eagle’s saddle. He rounded up the string of five horses and held them by the wagon as Wade embraced Susan. “You’ll be all right,” Wade reassured her. “Nothing to fear from Hell, Yes! now. Roane’s the only one to look out for, you understand?”

  “I’m not afraid of Don Roane,” she said.

  “Four days.” Wade kissed her. “Sundance and I’ll be back in four days.” Then he turned away, mounted to the wagon, lashed the horses. “All right, jug-heads! Let’s roll!”

  Susan stood on the bullet-shattered steps amidst the wreckage and waved goodbye.

  Wade knew the country. They traveled by back ways, deserted ways, and met no one as they rode out of the fertile Lost River Valley, bound northeast. Sundance scouted ahead warily and checked their back trail. Only once did they have cause for alarm. They encountered another Lost River rancher, but he only passed the time of day, accepting Wade’s explanation of going north to sell his hay and horses, then rode on, unaware that the guns of three Modocs were covering him from inside the haystack.

  They reached the high, arid plateau that stretched endlessly across central Oregon, rolled on through semi desert country. It was deserted, too, except for occasional cows and a band or two of wild mustangs. For two days, they rolled hard and fast, pushing the team for all it was worth. Then they made camp in a narrow canyon. The next morning, the Indians were up before dawn, and the sound they made leading in the horses woke Sundance.

  He came out of his blankets, and so did
Wade. Nehlo, Chachisi, and Beneko, with their women, confronted him, rifles in hand, each Modoc holding a horse by a rope jaw bridle. Squat, shabby in their old, riddled, dirty clothes, they would have been unimpressive figures to anyone who did not know what mighty warriors they were. They looked at Sundance gravely. “Now, we ride on our own,” Nehlo said. “Chachisi knows the way, and we have your letter to Joseph. You have done enough for us. We take responsibility for ourselves from here on. We promise you that we will cause no trouble between here and the Wallowa.”

  “Good,” Sundance said. “Stay with Joseph, and I will bring your woman to you. It may be a few months.”

  “I will wait for her,” Nehlo said. “She is a woman worth the waiting for.” Then he stuck out his hand. Sundance took it, shook hands with all of them; Wade followed suit. As Nehlo released Wade’s hand, he said: “At least I have met one good white man. When I find myself hating, I will remember that.” Wade only smiled, seeking words and finding none.

  Then the farewells were over. The Modocs swung aboard their horses. The three men lifted their guns in salute; then they kicked their mounts. The horses broke into a run, headed east. Sundance and Glenn Wade watched them go until they had almost vanished in the brilliance of the rising sun. The last they saw of the Modocs was when Nehlo reined his horse around so hard it reared. As the animal teetered on its hind legs, pawing the air, Nehlo lifted high his rifle, waved it once more. Then the horse came down and Nehlo turned it and rode on, vanishing across the horizon into the flaring, yellow light of daybreak.

  Wade let out a long breath. “Well,” he said softly, “that’s that.” He turned, kicked the embers of the fire into flame. “Maybe Captain Jack will sleep a little better now. Come on, Sundance. Let’s have some breakfast and head for home.”

  Chapter Nine

  By the time they got back to the ranch, Susan Wade had done wonders. The glass had been replaced in all the broken windows, the bullet holes in the wall chinked with clay, the bullet-ripped mattress patched, even the water bucket replaced. Wade, after he and his wife embraced, stared. “How’d you manage all this?”

  Her face pinkened a little. “I didn’t do it all by myself. Don Roane brought over the new glass and helped me put it in.”

  “Oh,” Wade said, and his face went hard, and something swirled in his eyes. As Sundance watched, frozen with surprise, Wade drew his pistol. Then, quite methodically, he went to the windows and smashed out each new pane with his gun barrel. His face was furious when he turned on Susan. “I’ll buy my own glass,” he said thinly.

  “Glenn, for heaven’s sake! Roane was only trying to be neighborly.”

  “I said I’d buy my own glass!” Wade snapped. He pointed to the shards on the floor. “Sweep that up.” Then he went to a shelf, got down a bottle. “Sundance, we’ve earned a drink.”

  “No, thanks,” Sundance said.

  Susan turned to him, face pale, and he saw how her lip trembled, her eyes were full. “Jim, you’re not leaving. You’ll stay with us awhile.” There was a peculiar urgency in her voice.

  “A few days, anyhow,” Sundance said. “If you don’t mind.”

  Susan visibly relaxed. “Good,” she said.

  “What’ll you be doing, Jim?” Wade tossed off a drink.

  “Just killing time,” Sundance said. “I’ll probably ride out and do some hunting.” He tried to make his voice casual. “Been a long time since I’ve hunted—I was in Washington for so long.”

  Wade laughed and poured again. “Yeah, I guess hunting’s in an Indian’s blood. Well, make yourself at home and come and go as you please.”

  “I’ll do that,” Sundance said. Then he picked up his bedroll; night was coming on. “I guess you two would like a little privacy. I’ll go spread my blankets in the usual place.”

  He did that, then returned to the house for supper. It was a strangely uncomfortable meal. Wade was a little drunk—the first time Sundance had ever seen him so—and exuberant. “All my worries over. Got Roane’s mortgage payment, got him off my neck about that rustlin’, can spit in his damned eye, now, I take a notion.”

  “You go easy with Don Roane,” Sundance said. “He’s not a man to be trifled with. Besides, if it hadn’t been for him and his riders, those Hell, Yes! men might have taken us.”

  “Not a chance! You saw how I stood ‘em down that night! I don’t owe Roane a damned thing!”

  Susan did not speak through the entire meal. When it was over, Sundance was glad to get away. He smoked his marijuana cigarette, turned in. Once, just after midnight, he awakened, coming bolt upright in his blankets. He thought he had heard a woman cry out. He listened, staring toward the house. The sound did not come again, and presently Sundance lay down. Maybe it had only been a night bird, or a jackrabbit caught by a coyote. Still, it was some time before he drifted off to sleep. The next morning, when he went into the house for breakfast, Wade was still asleep. Susan was up, though, and she fixed the meal without speaking, nor would she meet Sundance’s eyes. Only when he prepared to leave did she break the silence. “You’ll be back tonight?”

  “Sure,” Sundance said.

  “Good,” she said. For a moment, it appeared she’d add something to that, but she didn’t, only turned away.

  Sundance knew where he had emerged from the lava, where they had stripped his blindfold, and it was to that point that he rode Eagle, swiftly, directly, yet cautiously, keeping to cover and making sure that no one was on his back trail or watching him from a ridge or bluff. Once at the edge of the lava bed, he eased in the saddle and gave Eagle loose rein. He let the big appaloosa stallion pick its own way into that black hell. He did not know what route had been taken from the Cave of Ancient Pictures to the edge of the lava, but Eagle did. It was a long gamble, but there was just a chance that if he forced the horse back into the lava, then let it pick its own way, it would follow the known route instinctively, even though it had traveled it only once. Besides, he himself had left a lot of blood on the lava in that tortuous journey that had cut his feet and legs; since it had not rained, that scent might still linger, at least enough for Eagle’s keen nostrils to pick it up and guide by it. Anyhow, it was a way to start.

  So he sat slack, let the horse wander. Eagle went at a slow, very cautious walk, and Sundance began to wonder if this would work. He could see the ax-shaped butte, and Eagle, traversing labyrinthine corridors through the lava, was wending away from it. Still, Sundance’s patience did not lapse; patience was his stock in trade, along with bullets and arrows. Whether today’s journey was successful or not, he would learn something from it, get the geography of the lava beds better fixed in detail in his mind.

  Eagle rambled cautiously on. The morning slid by, and they were deep in the lava now, and more than once Eagle, surefooted as he was, had stumbled, gone to his knees. His forelegs were cut and bleeding, but he went on, uncomplaining.

  Noon came, and the sun, even this late in the year, was like a hammer. All at once, Sundance reined Eagle in. Holding the lines, he swung down, crouched over a clump of sage. One of its twigs had been broken, dangled. Sundance worked it back and forth. It had been brushed against by someone or something going in the opposite direction. Heartened, he mounted up, let Eagle take his own way.

  At two, the big horse swung sharply north. Now it was headed back toward the ax-shaped butte. Sundance felt his pulse quicken.

  Another hour, another one after that; and now Eagle kept working closer and closer to the butte. Sundance watched the terrain narrowly. The entrance to the cave was nothing more than a slit, and he did not want to miss it.

  He would have, though, if it had not been for the coyote.

  A flicker of motion on a craggy, black hillside caught his eye. Whipping his head around, he was just in time to see a flash of yellow fur materialize from nowhere, run into the scant brush and disappear. His gaze traced its origin; and then he saw it, almost veiled by scraggly weeds that had got a toehold in the dusty crevices. The slit r
an straight up and down in the wall; and somehow before he even dismounted in the narrow valley below it, he knew that he had found the place.

  He halted Eagle, pulled his Winchester, dropped to the ground and told the horse to stand. Then he clambered up the black, rugged slope until he reached the slit. Unhesitatingly, he entered, and then he was in cool darkness.

  Sundance pressed against the wall, fished in the pocket of his buckskin shirt for the candle he had brought. He snapped a match, lit the candle, and immediately yellow pictures on the cave walls flickered into view. On the cave floor before him were the remnants of a cowhide—the skin of the last yearling the Modocs had butchered and lacked time to tan. The coyote had been feeding on it, then had taken flight at the sound of an approaching horse.

  Sundance grinned. There was no doubt that this was the place. He edged deeper into the darkness of the vaulted chamber, with its ancient decorations. There were the ashes of the Modocs’ campfire, and a stack of wood, neatly arranged in accordance with the Indian custom that dry fuel must always be left for the next comer—even though here it might be centuries before any of their kind found this place again. Sundance pushed on past that, farther into blackness.

  The cave floor slanted beneath his feet, he edged downward. Now the passage narrowed. There were no more pictures. He watched the right-hand wall carefully. Water trickled down it, forming ice pools in the hollows of the floor. It was freezing cold in here, and he shivered. He went on another twenty yards, step by step, and now the cave’s roof closed in on him, and he had to crouch. Presently, he was on his knees.