by John Benteen
“You are a bastard, aren’t you, Montoya?”
“I can be when someone interferes in my business.”
Virginia cried, “It wasn’t he who stole me! And he burned the rifles only so the Noconas wouldn’t have them to murder innocent people!”
“Ah, Senorita Stevens,” Montoya gave his attention to Virginia for the first time. He looked at her with obvious male interest, then got down from the saddle and went to her. He swept off his sombrero, bowed extravagantly, and offered her his hand. “Allow me, senorita.”
Virginia gazed up at him frowningly for a moment, obviously not impressed by his show of gallantry, but finally she grasped his hand and let him help her rise. She made a half-hearted attempt to brush the dust from her buckskin dress. Montoya watched her with his dark eyes mirroring admiration. Sundance swore under his breath. He didn’t want the Comanchero getting ideas about her. He decided that, yes, he could be jealous of her. Which wasn’t an emotion that should bother a man who was to be turned over to Chief Nocona to be tortured to death, he also decided.
Montoya said, “Who is this man if not the one who stole you, Senorita Stevens?”
She explained tersely that this man was Jim Sundance and that he had rescued her from the Kiowa who had stolen her. She also told him that Sundance had been sent to rescue her by her uncle, Sam Owens, which had been a fortunate thing for her, otherwise she would still be held a captive in the badlands by Broken Nose.
Finally she said, “I demand that you release him.”
Montoya shrugged, looking amused. “No, I’ll keep him a prisoner for Nocona. After all, he cost me my trade goods, all my wagons, many horses and oxen, and, as I said, nearly a dozen men.”
“I’ll see to it that you are paid for your losses, once I return to Texas.”
“That won’t be necessary. After all, I have already been paid five thousand dollars by your uncle and will be paid that much more when I deliver you to your fiancé. No, I will hold your half-breed friend—who was also your lover, perhaps?—for the Noconas. Now we will be on our way, since it’s far to my ranch. When we arrive there, we will talk again, you and I—and get to know one another much better.”
Sundance swore aloud now. “Montoya, if you so much as try to touch her—”
The Comanchero turned and strode toward him. He kicked him in the face with a booted foot. Sundance was knocked over onto his side, where he lay engulfed by pain—and a terrible hatred for Esteban Montoya.
Minutes later they rode on down the trail to New Mexico, Sundance a prisoner. He rode Eagle, but with his hands tied to the horn of his saddle and the loop of a reata about his neck. The other end of the rope was held by one of the vaqueros, so that he could not attempt to make a break. Virginia was mounted on her Comanche pony again, and she stayed alongside him. Montoya set the pace, and it alternated between a lope and a brisk walk. At mid-afternoon they met a dozen vaqueros with two lead horses under pack. These riders, Sundance gathered from the talk between them and his captors, were indeed reinforcements that Montoya had sent for—and had come too late.
A halt was made at once and a cook fire started. Provisions and cooking utensils were unloaded from the packhorses, and two of the newly arrived men began rustling up a meal.
Sundance was ordered to dismount. His hands were tied at his back again, and he was ordered by the vaquero who’d had the reata about his neck to sit on the ground. Virginia came and sat beside him. She looked distraught.
“Jim, what are we going to do?”
“You’ll be safe enough if you tell Montoya to keep his distance from you. After all, he wants to collect that other five thousand dollars for you. Go straight to Phil Markham and Matt Boland when you get to that Comanchero’s ranch—and leave with them as soon as you can. Montoya’s got his eye on you.”
“I’m worrying about you.”
He managed a smile, but it was a sour one. “I’m worrying about myself, believe me. I don’t see a chance of my getting away from this bunch.”
“I’ll get Phil and Matt to take me to that army post you mentioned. I’ll ask the commanding officer to help you.”
Sundance shook his head. “That won’t work. The officers there will know of me, and some of them will have connections with the Indian Ring which wants me dead. Those officers who have a stake in the Comanchero trade, that is. Besides, I’m a half-breed and that makes me less than even a blanket Indian in the military’s eyes. No, I’m a goner this time, sweetheart.”
“And it’s because of me.”
“No, not because of you. Because I burned that wagonload of trade goods. You’ll just have to forget about me.”
“I won’t. I’ll try to find a way to set you free.”
“You won’t find a way,” he told her. “You’re not to run any risks. Montoya is a mean bastard. If you make him lose his temper, he might forget about that five thousand dollars and turn on you.”
Virginia didn’t reply to that. She lapsed into a gloomy silence, saying nothing more.
But for her Sundance would have gotten nothing to eat. When the meal was ready, Montoya brought her a tin plate piled high with frijoles refritos formed into cakes, a meat stew hot with chili, and some tortillas.
“For you, senorita,” he said with attempt at being gracious.
She thanked him politely, then shared the food with Sundance—feeding it to him, since his own hands were tied.
An hour later the group mounted up and rode on, with Sundance again having his hands tied to the horn of his saddle and the loop of a reata about his neck. That night, when they made camp, he was trussed up hand and foot. His guard remained close to him, and after the evening meal Montoya told Virginia to keep her distance from him.
“If you try to set him free, the guard will shoot him at once.”
This was the treatment the half-breed received during the following three days that it took the outfit to reach the Comanchero’s ranch. Its headquarters were located in a small valley within the foothills of towering mountains. All about was rolling prairieland on which grazed long-horned cattle that had probably been stolen in Texas by the Comanches and traded to the owner of this fine place.
Fine Montoya’s ranch house was, but of course Jim Sundance was not to be a guest in it. Of adobe and having a red tile roof, it was a sprawling, U-shaped structure with the doors of its rooms opening onto a portico that overlooked a walled patio with trees, flower beds and a roofed well.
Beyond was a large cluster of tiny adobe houses in which the vaqueros lived with their families. There was also a barn, plus some other smaller ranch buildings. As the group approached the place, two men came through the gateway in the high patio wall. Sundance recognized them as Philip Markham and Matt Boland. Virginia showed no pleasure over seeing them. The troubled look that had been on her lovely face ever since she and Sundance fell into Montoya’s hands deepened when she saw them.
The group of riders was smaller now than it had been on the trail. Only the vaqueros who had survived the fighting at the Valley of Tears were now with the Comanchero. They were hands regularly in his employ. The others, those who had come as reinforcements, had parted company with the group some miles back, heading for whatever ranches they called home.
Some distance short of the ranch house, the vaquero who had his reata about Sundance’s neck and one other led him away from the group and toward the barn. At that building the second vaquero untied the half-breed’s hands from the horn of his saddle and ordered him to dismount. He then re-tied his hands, behind his back. The reata’s loop was removed from about his neck.
They took him into the barn, to one end of it, and there a long length of heavy chain hung from the ridgepole of the roof. They ran the loose end of the chain about Sundance’s middle, drawing it tight and then securing it with a big iron padlock. The pair removed the piggin’ string from his wrists and left the barn. One of them carried the key to the padlock. They closed the door behind them, shutting out the light and
leaving the building in deep gloom.
Sundance found there was enough slack in the chain to permit him to sit and lie on the floor, but no more than that. He took hold of the chain and pulled on it with all his might. It was so firmly fastened to the ridgepole that even he with his great strength could not budge it to the slightest degree. He examined the padlock and found it to be an extremely simple one that he could have picked with a screwdriver or a small, thin piece of metal—perhaps even a nail. But on looking around he saw nothing within his reach that he could use. There was a workbench and a variety of tools at the far end of the barn, but there was no way he could get his hands on any of them. He had the suspicion that he was not the first person to have been chained up here, and he cursed Esteban Montoya aloud with an outburst of rage and hatred.
The Comanchero had succeeded at what the Indian Ring had failed to do time and time again. He had laid Jim Sundance low.
Chapter Seventeen
Only a couple of hours had passed, though to Jim Sundance it seemed that he had already been chained there for weeks, when the door was opened and Montoya entered the barn. Sundance got to his feet from his seated position on the floor, telling himself he would be damned if he would have the Comanchero looking down on him even though he was a helpless prisoner. Montoya was followed by Matt Boland—another of his enemies, the half-breed thought sourly. He supposed the two had come to gloat over him.
Montoya had spruced himself up since arriving home. He was wearing a different and even fancier outfit. His chaquita and calzoneras were a dark blue and heavily decorated with silver braid, and his white shirt, with which he wore a bright red sash, had lace ruffling. His boots were of embossed black leather and gleamed with a high shine. He’d shaved and also trimmed his moustache and goatee, and he even looked as though he had bathed. Sundance had the suspicion that he’d gotten duded up for Virginia’s benefit.
“Ah, Senor Sundance ... I hope you are comfortable. I don’t like my guests to feel slighted in any way.”
“That’s very funny, Montoya. You’re a great wit.”
“And you too are amusing, half-breed—with that chain around your belly.” He took the key to the padlock from his pocket and held it out for Sundance to see. “To make sure you don’t get loose I’m keeping this in my possession. I don’t want you to escape and cheat Chief Nocona out of the pleasure torturing you will give him.”
“No, you wouldn’t want to cheat him—as he tried to cheat you, eh, Montoya?”
“You are still a cocky bastard, aren’t you, hombre?”
“You won’t hear me begging for my life.”
“Maybe you’ll beg to die, once Nocona has you.”
“Damn if I will!”
Boland was staring at Sundance with a bigot’s burning hatred. “Me, I wouldn’t take such a chance with this half-breed, Don Esteban. He’s got a bad rep all over. You give him even half a chance he’ll get loose—and do you in. Just say the word and I’ll rid you of him.”
Big and burly, a scowl on his tough face, Boland drew his gun, cocked it, and lined it on Sundance.
“Por Dios, no!” Montoya burst out. “Dead he is of no use to me. I want him alive so I can get on good terms with Nocona again. If you shoot him, senor, I’ll regard it as an abuse of my hospitality. Put your gun away!”
The Snake-in-the-Hole foreman gave him a sour look and seemed about to defy the command, then, as though realizing that the Comanchero was no man to cross, he shrugged, eased the hammer of his gun off its cocked position, and shoved the weapon back into its holster.
“If you change your mind, just let me know,” he said, then turned and strode from the barn.
Montoya lingered, tossing the key into the air and catching it as he grinned at Sundance.
“The lady has agreed to stay on as my guest for a few days. It seems that after having spent so much time in the wild country with a half-breed she now feels fortunate to have a gentleman for an admirer.”
Nothing Montoya could have said would have riled Sundance up as much as this. With a shouted curse he lunged at the Comanchero. The chain brought him up short and reeled him backward off balance. His tormentor laughed, then went his way. Sundance stared after him, his hatred now limitless. If he could have had one final request before he was put to death by the Noconas, it would have been for time enough alone with Esteban Montoya to kill him with his bare hands.
Sometime later a vaquero came with a plate of food. He set it on the floor some distance away, then cautiously shoved it forward with the toe of his boot. Even then, after the man had departed, Sundance was able to reach it only by straining against the chain. He sat cross-legged and began to eat. The food consisted only of beans and tortillas, and not much of either. He had no appetite, but he wanted to keep his strength at its peak. Although he had no hope of escaping from the chain, which by now seemed an appendage of his person, he wanted to be fit enough to take advantage of any slight break he might unwittingly be given.
Late in the day the door was opened again by the vaquero. Virginia entered the barn, accompanied by Phil Markham. As she came toward Sundance, he thought she looked lovelier than ever. She wore a fashionable dress of dark green silk and had her red-brown hair arranged attractively atop her head. Her expression marred the effect, however. She looked stricken. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he knew she was weeping for him. She would probably have come all the way to him and flung her arms about his neck but for the vaquero speaking sharply to her in clumsy English.
“Go no farther, senorita!”
Evidently Montoya had told him that she was not to be allowed within the prisoner’s reach.
She stopped obediently, with Markham, wooden of expression, halting beside her and staring at Sundance as though he were a freak in the sideshow of a circus.
“Jim, I’ve pleaded with Don Esteban to let you go,” she said, “but he refuses. Tomorrow I’m having Phil and Matt take me to Fort Sumner. I’ll demand that the commanding officer helps you. If he won’t, I’ll threaten to write to my congressman about some of his officers being involved in the Comanchero trade. I’ll even threaten to go to Washington and see the Secretary of War.”
“That may do it,” he said, though quite sure it wouldn’t help. “But don’t wait until tomorrow. Leave for Sumner now—today.” He looked at her fiancé. “You, friend, get her away from Montoya as quick as you can. Do you savvy?”
The handsome dude gazed at him with as much bigoted contempt as Matt Boland had done. And perhaps with something more. With jealousy, maybe.
“I can’t see the need for such haste. After all, Don Esteban can’t deliver you to the Indians immediately. He’ll have to send a message to them and arrange for his handing you over to them. That will take many days, I should think.”
“Damn it, man; get your fiancée away from Montoya!”
“Really, sir ... You speak of him as though he’s some sort of monster.”
“If I have to spell it out for you, he’s got ideas about her.”
“Oh, come now, you’re exaggerating. He seems a perfect gentleman.”
“If he were that, Phil,” Virginia said, “he wouldn’t have Jim chained like this. He wouldn’t be planning to turn him over to the Noconas to be tortured to death.”
“As I understand it, this man has offended both Don Esteban and the Indian chief. And if they feel that he must be punished—”
“You’re being spiteful, Phil Markham!” Virginia was angry now. “You have it in for Jim because I was alone with him for so long. You’re ignoring the fact that he rescued me—something that Montoya, who is being given a big reward, couldn’t have done!”
Markham’s smooth city-man’s face turned hard. “It seems that your having been alone with this half-breed has made you overly fond of him.”
“I am fond of him. He’s a fine man and—”
“And maybe he was more to you than merely your rescuer.”
Virginia became so furious she lost contro
l of herself and blurted out one of the things she should not have mentioned to a living soul. “Yes, he was more than merely my rescuer—much more!”
Markham winced as with a sudden stitch of pain. “And was there another half-breed or Indian before he did his rescuing?”
“If you must know the whole truth, there was,” she said. “I was first the squaw of the Comanche who took me captive, then of a Kiowa who killed him and stole me. Now you know, and you are released from our engagement as of this moment.”
She turned from Markham, who looked stunned, and said to Sundance, “Now it’s all in the open, and I’m not sorry it is. We’ll leave for Fort Sumner tomorrow, and I’ll do my best to get the military to help you.”
She turned to leave the barn, then paused as Markham had a final word for Sundance.
“Damned if I’ll say a single word to save you from the Indians!”
He strode from the barn, and Virginia too turned toward the doorway.
Raging, Sundance called after her, “I know what you’re up to, and I forbid you to go through with it! It won’t get that bastard to turn me loose! Do you hear me, damn it?”
She paused to look back at him, sadness in her eyes, then she departed without saying more.
Sundance was still raging as the vaquero withdrew and shut the door. He strained fiercely at the chain, but it gave not at all. She intended to give herself to that bastard of a Comanchero, thinking she could save him in that way. And he, totally helpless, could do nothing to stop her. He raged on, directing some of his rage at her, until he realized that he was letting the thought of her being possessed by Montoya drive him loco.
~*~
At dusk the vaquero came with food for him again, and once more took the precaution of setting it down barely within his reach.
“Listen, amigo,” Sundance said. “I can get hold of much money if I’m turned loose. I’ll give you more than you earn in ten years here. I’ll make you rich.” The man gazed at him expressionlessly, unimpressed. “All you have to do, amigo, is to give me something—an old nail will do—I can use to open this padlock.”
