Sundance 16

by John Benteen

  There was a moment, then, when the two men looked at each other across the fire, and Garvey saw that Sundance had understood; and Sundance read that knowledge on his face. Then Garvey laughed tightly and shook his head. “No, half-breed. It’s you that ride out. I’m givin’ you two minutes to saddle and be gone.”

  Sundance looked at the men behind him. They still were mounted, but sensing trouble, they had spread out. He saw hands dropping to gun butts. There was a coldness in him; if he had misread the signs, he was a dead man now. But he did not think he had misread them.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly. “You are. In the saddle or feet first. You didn’t come to hire on for McCaig. You came to take his sheep.”

  Garvey was silent for a long moment. Then he roared, suddenly: “Ear-cutter, take out McCaig!”

  And the rifle was in his hands, pointed, and Sundance threw himself sideways out of the firelight, hand swooping to his Colt as the Winchester barked. He heard the roar of his own six-gun hard on its heels as a slug whined meanly past him, felt the revolver buck in his palm. He saw Garvey sit down hard, jaw gaping and Sundance pivoted and even as McCaig stood blankly and Ear-cutter Jack lined a Colt, squeezed off another round. The slug caught Jack in the head just in time to save McCaig’s life. Jack’s skull blew apart and his corpse limply dropped from saddle, and as the rest of Garvey’s men pulled their guns, the darkness of night around the fire came alive with gun-flashes and something else—the whisper of arrows, driven hard from Navajo bows.

  Sundance saw one arrow go clear through a man, come out the other side and plant itself in the ribs of another gunman just behind him. He threw himself flat, rolling well into darkness, and squeezed off the last three rounds in his own Colt. Men screamed and horses bucked and whinnied and from outside the firelight, there arose all at once a wild, exuberant whooping. Of his own three shots, one missed, two scored, and then he dragged the tomahawk from its sheath and held it ready—

  But did not need it. McCaig himself had gone into action after one paralyzed second, and he, too, had jumped out of firelight and his rifle spurted flame. Sheep blatted, dogs barked, as the night seemed to explode. It seemed forever, yet it was a matter of seconds only. McCaig had blown two men from their saddle himself, and the Navajos who had come up silently as wolves in the darkness had done the rest. Sundance’s glance swung again to Garvey. His bullet had taken the man in the gut, slammed him down with shock. Now Garvey was trying to get to his feet, blood drooling from his mouth, Winchester still gripped in his hands. Sundance threw the hatchet.

  Turning in the air, it glinted in the firelight. Its keen-honed blade caught Garvey in the forehead, slammed on through skull into brain, and the man sprawled backward, head split. Then, save for the blatting of the sheep, the dogs barking, the whinnying of plunging horses, there was silence. Easy Dreamer was the first Indian to run into the firelight, and others followed, nearly a dozen of them. They caught up those of the stampeding horses that they could; and then, as suddenly as it had begun, like a summer thunderstorm, it was over.

  ~*~

  Jim Sundance stood up, reflexively cramming fresh rounds into the Colt. The fire was still blazing high. McCaig stood there with a stunned look on his rough-hewn face. “In God’s name—” he whispered.

  “You heard it,” Sundance said, voice thick with reaction. “You heard Garvey tell Jack—” he gestured “—to take you out.”

  “Aye, but—”

  Easy Dreamer stepped forward, coppery face glinting in the firelight “He meant to kill you, Bible-man. Sundance was right. They meant to kill us all and take the sheep.”

  Dazedly, McCaig rubbed his face. “How could you know—?”

  “We couldn’t,” Easy Dreamer said. “But one thing we learned at Bosque Redondo and that’s not to trust any strange white man. And these sheep are all we have. It cost nothing extra after Sundance spoke to call in men to watch and guard and be ready for anything.” He glanced at Sundance. “You knew I’d do that.”

  “Hoped it,” Sundance said. “I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t. McCaig too.”

  Easy Dreamer’s face was grim. “With two of our men dead today, we would not take any chances.” He gestured, “You can see, Bible-man. They lied to you. All they wanted was our sheep. It’s only that Sundance forced their hand. Tomorrow night, when we were all off-guard, they would have made their move ...”

  “It’s still such a shock. And my thousand dollars—Delia’s ...” McCaig sat down heavily on a log.

  “Search the bodies,” Sundance said. “Likely you’ll get the thousand back and more.”

  From beyond the firelight there came a strange gurgle. Easy Dreamer grinned. “My men are doing that. And there were one or two wounded whose throats needed slitting.”

  “Oh, my God,” McCaig said and buried his face in his big hands.

  “Andrew,” a soft voice said, and Delia Gannt emerged from darkness to lay a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know anything about dealing with such men. But it’s Jim Sundance’s specialty, obviously.”

  “I know, I know.” McCaig shook his head. “But what are we to do now? I’d counted on Garvey and his crew. And after this we’re left high and dry. No way to fight Barkalow. No way to get control of the Basin again. Now, again, we’re helpless.”

  Delia laughed softly. “I hardly think so.” She was, there in the firelight, cool, self-contained. A streak of iron in that woman, Sundance thought. She went on: “We still have Jim Sundance.” She turned to him. “Or do we?”

  Sundance said, glimpsing opportunity, “I don’t know. It depends.”

  “On money? I told you, I’ve got money. What’s your asking price?”

  “I can’t tell you now. But whatever it is, if I took this job, it would come high.”

  “You were bound for Colorado,” Delia said quietly. “What did you hope to earn there?”

  “Ten thousand, rock bottom.”

  McCaig sucked in a breath, laden with Scotch thrift, at the very mention of such a sum.

  “I’ll guarantee you fifteen,” Delia said.

  McCaig stood up. “Lass, that’s almost more than the sheep are worth.”

  “It’s not the sheep. It’s the Basin. And revenge for Tom’s death. Well Sundance? Fifteen thousand dollars?”

  Sundance stood quietly, mind working swiftly. “It still depends,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “I can’t do it alone. I’ll need help. The only help I’ve got is Easy Dreamer and his Navajos. You and McCaig both know that if the Navajos actually fight Barkalow’s men, he’ll holler to the Army. Then the whole tribe will suffer. If this gets interpreted as a Navajo uprising, there might be another roundup, another Bosque Redondo. Anyhow, it’ll blow back at them.”

  Easy Dreamer said forcefully, “if you take command, we’ll fight with you and take your orders. It’s better than starving—or making a desert out of what’s left of our reservation.”

  “I know,” Sundance said. “But it’s not that simple. There would be some things I’d have to do, first. It would cost you another thousand, easily.”

  “Then I’ll pay that, too.”

  “It’s not for myself; it’s for expenses.” He paused. “I’d have to go to Prescott. Could you hold your sheep safely here on the high ground with your herders and dodge Strawn and make no move until I come back in four, five days?”

  “We can do that,” Easy Dreamer put in before either she or McCaig could answer.

  “Then let’s see if we can collect the thousand off the bodies. Give it to me for expenses. I’ll head for Prescott and be back as soon as I can.”

  “Delia—” There was doubt in McCaig’s voice.

  The girl’s eyes ranged up and down Sundance’s tall form and met his gaze. In the firelight, they looked at one another. She nodded. “Andrew, it’s my money and I’m willing to take the risk. All right, Jim Sundance, you have a deal. We’ll hide the sheep back in the
breaks and lie low until you return. I hope, then, you’ll make a bargain with us. Meanwhile, I’ll gamble the thousand. When will you leave?”

  “In the morning,” Sundance said.

  ~*~

  Prescott, almost in the center of Arizona Territory, was a town of seven hundred people, and since it had recently succeeded Tucson as the territorial capital, nearby Fort Whipple had become the nerve center of the U. S. Army in Arizona. It had been a long hard ride from the Mogollons, and Sundance had pushed the stallion to its limit, skirting Bloody Moon Basin, traveling cross-country with the wariness of a lobo wolf. He and the stud both were weary when they entered the mountain valley in which the town sprawled.

  Though Sundance himself was thirsty and ravenous with hunger, the horse came first, and he saw that Eagle was grained, had a good roll, and a box stall in the livery before he went to tend his own needs. First, he thought, a cold beer; then a good meal. Meanwhile, he’d pick up a little information about the set-up at the fort. Having, in his time, scouted for the Army, he knew exactly how it worked, and there was no doubt in his mind that he could accomplish what he had come to do. It was just a matter of finding the right man.

  In a saloon, he leaned against the bar, helped himself to the free lunch that went with the beer, and looked the crowd over very carefully. It was a Saturday night and there were a lot of customers, most of them in Army blue. In addition to the fort itself, a couple of dozen miles away, another post, or sub-post, Whipple Barracks, lay adjacent to the town, almost merging with it. And there the commandant of the Army in Arizona would, for now at least, have his headquarters.

  He had another beer, some more cold cuts from the bar that satisfied his hunger. Then he wandered into the back room of the place, divided from the bar by a curtain. This was a gambling den: faro tables, chuck-a-luck, blackjack, and several poker games in progress. Rolling a cigarette, Sundance observed the poker tables, concentrating on one at which the players were mostly officers, lieutenants or captains of cavalry. There was something familiar about one of the captains, and he searched his memory: then he had it.

  Presently one of the lieutenants shoved back his chair. “Too rich for my blood. I’ll quit while I’m even.” He touched the captain’s shoulder. “Captain Moore,” he said diplomatically, “maybe you’d better follow my example.”

  The captain grunted something contemptuously, shook his head, chewed on an unlit cigar. The lieutenant sighed, a look of regret on his face. “Suit yourself.” He turned away.

  Sundance moved to intercept him. “Lieutenant,” he said quietly.

  The young officer’s eyes were full of curiosity as they ranged over the tall half-breed. “Who’re you?”

  “Name’s Sundance, Jim Sundance. I’ve scouted for Hancock, Crook, some others.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of you,” the officer said slowly. “I’ve also heard that you’ve been on the other side sometimes.”

  “All I’ve ever tried to do was what was best to keep the peace.”

  Grudgingly, the officer nodded. “I’ve heard that, too. General Crook said it once. Okay, Mr. Sundance, what can I do for you?”

  “That captain at the poker table. Moore, you called him. He’s Wallace Moore, isn’t he?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “I thought so. Thought I remembered him as a lieutenant with Hancock at the Medicine Lodge parley in Kansas. A real heads-up cavalryman.”

  “Yeah he was.” There was both contempt and sadness in the lieutenant’s voice.

  “Was?”

  “Yeah, he rides a desk now instead of a saddle. Adjutant to Colonel Davies, acting commander of the Army of Arizona. Sometimes he rides a poker table chair more than a desk. And if he ain’t careful, it’s gonna throw him. Now, sir, if you’ll excuse me ... ”

  Sundance nodded, stepped aside. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked over to the table, pulled out the chair vacated by the lieutenant. “Room for another player, gentlemen?”

  As usual, he felt the scrutiny of curious eyes; by now, he was accustomed to that. The house man said dubiously, “This ain’t no nickel and dime. It takes a minimum of two hundred to sit in.”

  Sundance dug in his pockets, produced a handful of gold pieces, counted out two hundred. “That satisfy the bank?”

  The house man relaxed, began counting chips. “Sure as hell does, Mr.—”

  “Sundance. Jim Sundance.”

  “Hell, I thought I remembered you,” Moore burst out. He extended a hand. “Wallace Moore, Sundance. I served under Custer at the Medicine Lodge meeting, when the Army went into Indian country ten, twelve years ago to make a show of strength.” His mouth twisted. “I remember, you warned us and you were right. The Injuns thought we aimed to massacre ’em and pulled out in the middle of the night. Custer’s outfit rode its horses to death tryin’ to catch up with ’em and never even saw a feather. Gentlemen, this is one of the best scouts the Army ever had—when it suited him to work for us.”

  “Captain Moore,” Sundance said, straight-faced. “Good to see you again. Congratulations on your promotion.”

  “Yeah,” Moore said bitterly. “Only took ten years. For a while, I was the world’s oldest living first lieutenant. Now I’m the world’s oldest living captain.” He looked down at the meager pile of chips before him. “Okay, let’s get on with the game. My goddam luck’s bound to change sooner or later.”

  But it did not. Moore took one slender pot, enough to keep him in the game an hour longer. Sundance, playing cautiously, watched him dribble away those winnings, too. He understood now both the pity and contempt the lieutenant had shown for Moore. The captain was white-faced, desperation in his eyes, playing with scared money. Obviously a compulsive gambler, he was also a rotten poker player, calling every raise, never dropping out of a hand. After a while, his last chip was gone, Sundance raking in a good-sized pot that left him winner, but not too big a winner to quit at will.

  Moore licked his lips. Sweat beaded his forehead. He chewed the cigar harder as he looked at the houseman. “I’ll take another two hundred.”

  The house man’s brows went up. “Cash?”

  “No. I’ll give you my marker.”

  The professional shook his head. “Captain, I’m sorry. New house policy. We can’t take unlimited markers, not from Army men. You’re ... a little too far on the hook already. Pick up the five hundred we already hold and everything will be back to normal … ”

  “Goddammit!” Moore flared, face reddening. “You saying my credit’s no good any longer?”

  “I don’t like to say it in front of everybody, but if you aim to make me ... No, it isn’t. In fact, we’ve got to have payment of at least half that five, or we’ll be talking to the Colonel about you.”

  Moore sucked in breath, threw his cigar on the floor, shoved back his chair. “Then, dammit, I’ll find another game.”

  “Good luck,” the house man said, and from his voice Sundance knew that Moore would not; his credit must have run out all over town. As Moore stood up, Sundance shoved his chips forward. “Cash me in.”

  Out on the sidewalk, he caught up with Moore, who stood there mopping his brow despite the coolness of the night at this elevation.

  “Captain.”

  Moore turned, jumpy as a cat, hand dropping instinctively to his holstered revolver. Then, recognizing Sundance, he relaxed. “Goddam people run that place,” he muttered. “Tight as Dick’s hatband. Well, I’ll see the manager tomorrow, straighten it out. Anyhow, he had no call to talk to me that way in front of everybody.”

  You asked for it, Sundance almost said. Instead, he said, “Hell, let’s find another bar and I’ll buy you a drink. For old time’s sake.”

  Moore’s hand shook as he took out a cigar, thrust it between his teeth. “Why not? Only I can’t buy a round in return, I warn you. Of course,” he blustered, “I’ve some cash at the barracks. But my pockets are clean right now.”

  “Who cares? I’m flush. And I don’t kno
w anybody else in town. My treat.”

  “Then I thank you,” Moore said, “and I accept.”

  ~*~

  “It’s not as if I weren’t a man of honor,” the captain said. They were in another bar now, at a table, Sundance’s back to the wall, a bottle between them. “I’m expecting a substantial inheritance from the East and it’s overdue now. When it arrives, I can pay all my debts and still be well-fixed.”

  “Sure,” Sundance said, as Moore poured himself another drink. He himself sipped his own sparingly. “And besides, you’re no ordinary soldier, either. As Territorial adjutant, you’ve got a damned important job.”

  The soldier tossed down the drink. “Important? You don’ know how important. Everything from every post in Arizona has to clear through me before it goes to the Colonel. And nobody on any post moves unless the Colonel says so, gives his permission. And since the Colonel hasn’t been out here long and really doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, when you come right down to it, I’m the real acting commander of Arizona, until they assign another general to this department.”

  “Everything clears through you?”

  “Everything. With the Apaches all in on the reservation and Arizona quiet as a tomb right now as far as Indians are concerned, they’re using all their generals up north against the Sioux, the Cheyenne, and this Nez Percé uprising. So it’s me and the Colonel that run Arizona, and when you come down to it, it’s me.”

  Sundance leaned back in his chair, began to roll a cigarette. “With a job like that, they’re damned fools to cut off your credit. It’s an insult.”

  “Sure it is. But what can I do? You know how the Army stands. Let the Injuns break out, everybody hollers for the soldiers. Peacetime, the civilians wouldn’t give you the sweat off their butts.” He reached for the bottle again.

  “Well,” Sundance said casually, “if they’re pushing you and causing you a lot of trouble, it wouldn’t strain me any to make you a loan to tide you over until your inheritance comes.” He let smoke dribble from his nostrils. “Just for old time’s sake, you know. Would a thousand dollars help?”