Sundance 13

by John Benteen

  “Nothing. Look for yourself. The plains are empty as far as the eye reaches.”

  “Yeah,” Sundance said. But the eye didn’t reach far enough, he thought. Over there to the east, it was blocked by the rolling swells of prairie, and his line of sight extended not more than a couple of miles. Again he shook his head, troubled by that strange uneasiness, and when Eagle snorted it was reinforced. He moved a little distance from the water course to solid ground. Drawing the Bowie, he plunged its blade deep into the earth, and bending over it, seized its handle in his teeth.

  Andre looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “What—”

  “Be quiet!” Sundance snapped. He held his breath, clamped the knife again. Then he straightened up, returning it to its sheath. “Stand by your horse. We may have to ride.

  “Hell, yes! You can’t hear it—yet. But when I was lyin’ on the ground I could feel it and that’s what woke me up. And it came through the knife blade clear. It’s—” He was already striding to Eagle, then the sound became audible to the unaided ear, coming from the east, a low, sullen rumble like distant thunder.

  “A storm?” Andre blurted.

  “No,” Sundance said. “Runnin’ buffalo—a damned big herd. And they’re headed this way, and likely there’s a hell of a lot of warriors right behind ’em!” He seized the cheek-strap of Eagle’s bridle, and Andre went to the roan.

  They waited tensely. Now the rumble was louder and there was no doubt of it, it was coming directly toward them. Sundance cursed softly. And then they were there, sweeping over the distant rise—thousands of them. Tails up, heads down, they came, a vast black-brown sea of stampeding buffalo spread out on a front of at least a mile. Above the thunder of their hooves, Sundance could hear the whoops and cries of the Sioux hunters, and then they were in view, too, on the flanks and at the rear of the huge herd. There must have been a good fifty of them. Oglala Sioux, he saw at once, a party searching for them that had hit this herd, decided to run it and make a good kill of meat. And now that great mass of bison was thundering straight toward the creek, toward their hiding place, and that line of brush would not stop it. It would plow on through, smashing everything in its path.

  “Mount!” Sundance yelled. “We’ve gotta make a run for it!”

  Then he was in Eagle’s saddle, reining the stud around, and Andre was on the roan. The two horses rocketed from the brush as with amazing speed the buffalo, which were fast as horses over shorter distances, thundered toward them.

  Like rabbits startled from a covert, they shot out into the open of the plains, and the Indians with the herd saw them and Sundance heard their cries of surprise, then their whoops of triumph. He twisted in the saddle, and saw that, as the herd smashed into the brush where they had been only moments before, the Indians had left the buffalo, and meat forgotten, were lining out in pursuit of the two fugitives they had sought so long.

  The herd poured across the creek, and no longer driven, veered off southward. Eagle stretched himself and the roan kept pace, and it was going to be a race for life, Sundance knew, for out here on this stretch of plains there was no shelter, no cover whatsoever. He spoke to the horse in Nez Percé, lovingly, and in response it came up with yet another burst of speed. Andre lashed the roan and it let out itself another notch and Sundance dared to hope. Again they had the better horses, and with any luck—

  But their luck had finally run out. He heard a shout behind him, and turned in the saddle. The roan had stopped, rearing, and when it came down, one front leg dangled. In its headlong flight it had slipped, and pulled, maybe torn, a tendon. It took a few crow hopping, crippled steps and the Sioux, a mile behind, let out a concerted whoop of triumph as they saw what had happened.

  Sundance turned the stud. “Andre!”

  The Russian was already running toward him. Sundance put out a hand, kicked foot from stirrup. Andre found the stirrup, took his hand, and swung up behind him. Eagle ran on, but slower now, carrying a double load.

  Sundance cursed, but there was no help for it. He lashed the stud with rein ends and forced it to give a little more. It answered gallantly as always, but foam was flying from its mouth now, and lather from its neck, and he could hear the whistling of its breath. Five minutes at such a pace with such a load and now the Sioux were gaining, spreading out, and a few rifle shots popped behind them, going wild.

  Grunting, Eagle labored up a rise. “Sundance!” Andre yelled. “Go on! Give me the rifle and I will fight it out! I told you I wanted to bring down an Indian! Now I have my chance!”

  “Shut up!” Sundance roared, but he knew that was the only hope—one of them would have to drop off to save the other. Well he knew which one it must be. Andre must not be allowed to fall into Indian hands. He reached down, hand closing on the stock of the Winchester in the saddle scabbard. Once they made that rise he’d drop off, take cover behind the crest, and Andre would at least have half a chance then.

  Eagle’s legs shoved powerfully as he climbed the hill, his hooves made a continual rolling drumbeat. But his strength was going fast, and maybe he would not even make the crest. Maybe—then Sundance cocked his head.

  “Andre, did you hear it?”

  “What?”

  Sundance didn’t answer. It came again, faintly, from beyond the rise. And Sundance’s heart lifted. If he weren’t hearing things, if his mind hadn’t cracked—he let go the rifle stock, urged the laboring horse onward.

  Great gobbets of lather whipping back, Eagle pounded up the slope. Then he had made the crest, as the Indians, closing up now, came up behind him, distance shortened to no more than five or six hundred yards. Then Eagle was over and running faster, headed down the slope, and Sundance and Andre saw it at the same time and the big Russian let out a yell of triumph; as the bugle Sundance had heard sounded once more, rallying the troopers of that column of cavalry making a long blue line down there on the dun-colored flats beneath.

  The Appaloosa stretched itself, hurtling down the slope. Down there below, a mile away, banners whipped in the breeze. An officer at the column’s head raised his arm in a signal; the bugle blared again, and suddenly the soldiers had spread out into a company front and then an extended line, and at least a hundred of them were charging forward. Sundance whooped as he recognized the lean figure in the linen duster in the forefront.

  “Three-Stars!” he yelled. And as the soldiers came on he risked turning in the saddle.

  Behind him, the Sioux had topped the rise. Below they saw the cavalry in overwhelming force thundering toward them so hard that at least one horse reared and fell, they pulled up in surprise. Then their reaction was instantaneous. Not expecting this, with no time to plan or think, they wheeled their mounts and disappeared behind the skyline. One warrior lingered long enough to snap a shot at Sundance and Andre, but it went wide. Then he too was gone, and Eagle was slowing to a gasping walk as blue-clad troopers formed a shield around him and his riders. Then Crook was trotting forward, amazement and relief on his face, and his mouth worked in the scraggly beard as he put out a hand. “Jim,” he whispered. “Duke Andre. We thought you were dead!”

  Sundance dropped from the exhausted Appaloosa.

  “Three-Stars,” he said as he took the General’s hand, “we damned near were.”

  Chapter Nine

  There were more soldiers behind that first contingent, a lot of them—three more companies plus wagons. In the rear, at the wagons, a trooper walked Eagle to cool him down while Sundance and Andre sprawled exhausted on blankets beside a fire, eating ravenously of Army beans and bacon and hardtack, washed down with hot black coffee, each cup of which Crook had laced with brandy from the surgeon’s stock. “So it wasn’t Sioux,” the general said, squatting on his heels beside the fire. “Somehow I didn’t think it was, even when the Crows brought in the report. A hunting party of them—they work very closely with us, you know—ran across burned wagons, some graves, Sioux arrows lying around, and sign of shod and unshod ponies both. It looked as if t
he Sioux had rubbed out the whole expedition, and someone else’s outfit besides.”

  He stood up. “I don’t mind telling you I had a bad time. I sweated blood at the thought of what would have happened if you, your grace, had been killed by the Sioux. And of course, three days ago when the Crows came in, I mounted a full-scale expedition either to rescue you or to punish the tribes.” Like some ungainly bird, he paced back and forth. “Steelman, you say. Steelman and his Raiders; I’ve heard of them. And Dillon working with them. What happened to Steelman, do you know?”

  “No,” answered Sundance. He told Crook about the fight behind them that had enabled them to escape. “Whether they took him or he got clear, I couldn’t say.”

  “For his sake I hope the Sioux got him,” Crook said. “Because if I get my hands on him—” He broke off. “Well, that’s the end of it for now. The main thing is to get His Excellency back to the fort before something else can happen to him.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I’m sorry, your grace, that your hunting trip was such a disappointment.”

  Andre grinned. “Disappointment? But no, General! It was a great adventure! Think of the stories I shall have to tell the court at home! Where—” his face darkened “—unfortunately, I must be going very soon. I think we must get this matter between the United States and Russia straightened out immediately, and I will send some telegrams and then consult with our ambassador in Washington, and with my own people in St. Petersburg.”

  Crook nodded. “Jim, what’s your advice about the Sioux?”

  “Let them quiet down,” said Sundance. “Andre’s going to buy a load of presents for them, and when they’ve simmered down, maybe I can straighten everything out with them.”

  “So be it,” Crook said. “In that case, the command will set out immediately for the fort.”

  For two days after their arrival at Laramie, Andre and Sundance ate, slept, and gave depositions for Crook to send to Washington. Between times, Sundance exercised Eagle gently, satisfied himself that the stud was no worse for the tremendous exertions forced upon him. Andre offered him a tremendous sum for Eagle, which Sundance curtly declined. For a moment the Duke bridled, his old arrogance at being refused kindling in him; then it subsided. “You will forgive me, Jim! But how I should like to have had him in my own stables at home!” Then, having sent a number of telegrams, he prepared to return to Russia via Washington.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I shall leave to catch the train at Medicine Bow. Sundance, I hope you will ride with me and see me off.”

  “I’d be honored,” said Sundance. His liking for Andre was now genuine and deep.

  “There is one more thing,” Andre said. They were alone in Crook’s quarters, which had been turned over to the Duke, who insisted that Sundance share them. “The matter of payment for all you have done.”

  Sundance shook his head.

  “No. Don’t protest.” Andre took from his pocket a folded paper, and handed it to Sundance. “Here is a draft on the Russian Governmental account in Washington, payable to you. I insist that you accept it with my gratitude.”

  Sundance unfolded the paper, looked at the sum written on it, and whistled softly.

  Andre grinned. “Remember? I told you once that I could lose that much at gambling in a night and never feel it. Thirty thousand dollars. General Crook has told me of your activities for the Indians. Perhaps if they had been more successful, none of this would ever have happened. In any case, they are great riders and brave fighters, and I should hate to see them wiped out. Tell me you will take it.”

  Sundance raised his head. “For the Indians, I’ll take it, Andre.”

  “Good. And in addition, there shall be the presents I promised. I—” He broke off as someone knocked. “Come in.”

  General Crook was there, a strange, taut expression on his face. “Jim. Your grace. Forgive this interruption, but Sundance, I need you right away.” A frown creased his fore head. “Crazy Horse. Crazy Horse and a bunch of other chiefs and twenty warriors. They’re outside the fort right now. Came in under a flag of truce. And they want to hold a council and they want you there—and Duke Andre. We’ve got them outnumbered, so it can’t be a trick. I think you’d better come.”

  “Yes,” said Sundance, folding the draft and putting it in his pocket.

  “And there’s something else I don’t understand,” said Crook. “They tell me they’ve brought along the hide of a white buffalo.” Sundance stared at him. “What?”

  “The hide of a white buffalo. It’s a present for you, Sundance.”

  Crook had a canvas fly pitched on a level spot outside the fort. Under it they sat cross-legged: Crazy Horse, Gall, half a dozen other war chiefs, some braves, and a couple of powerful medicine men. When Sundance and Andre and Crook and a train of officers joined them, Crazy Horse’s eyes met the half-breed’s, and Sundance thought he saw a glint of humor in them. Then his own gaze went to the massive white buffalo hide—actually a dingy gray.

  Formal greetings were passed, and a pipe smoked. Then Crazy Horse said, “I have things to tell you, things to say. May I speak first? I speak to my friend Jim Sundance.”

  Sundance nodded. Crazy Horse, standing, robe wrapped around him, was an impressive figure. “I told Jim Sundance that Sitting Bull had had a dream. In that dream the white buffalo came to him and told him we must capture the foreign chief. The white buffalo is sacred, so we thought we should take the foreign chief with no trouble. But we did not, and now we know why. It is because Sitting Bull’s dream was false. A bad spirit came to him and gave him the wrong dream. He sent a messenger to me to tell you that, even before we had had our fight at the Hole-in-the-Wall, but the messenger did not arrive in time. Because even as we rode to the Hole-in-the-Wall, the white buffalo, our sacred white buffalo of the Paha Sapa, died.”

  Crazy Horse paused. “Sitting Bull saw it happen. He was in the valley where the white buffalo fed and ruled his little band. All seemed peaceful, and he had come there to pray. But even as he sat on a hill above the valley and watched the herd and prayed, something happened. He said there was the feel in the air of a great storm coming. He said it was like when the lightning and the thunder come, only there were no clouds in the sky, but he could feel and taste it on his tongue, and his hair prickled. And he said, even while he watched and wondered at this, he heard the bellowing of a great buffalo bull up the valley. He said it was loud and terrible and chilled the spine. And then a strange bull came down the valley pawing, snorting—the biggest one he had ever seen, and it was black as coal. Its bellow shook the air and its pawing shook the earth.”

  Sundance felt a prickling along his spine as Crazy Horse continued, grave and serious.

  “And the black bull challenged the big white bull for the herd, and the big white bull came out and fought. The two of them fought for an hour, and the coming together of their skulls and horns rang in the valley like the sound of thunder. And the white bull fought well, but the black bull was too large, too strong. As Sitting Bull watched, the black buffalo knocked the white one over and pierced him with his horns and killed him. Then the black buffalo took over the sacred herd and made it his. And Sitting Bull knew then that his dream was false.”

  Crazy Horse’s voice was sad.

  “He sent me word, but it came too late. The white bull, he said, was our medicine, but the black bull was the white man’s medicine. And when the black bull won, he knew this was a sign that his dream was wrong, and that we must not go to war against the white man or we should surely be beaten and lose everything. So now we come in peace to say that we are sorry and we will not make war. What we tried to do was not our fault. It was only a false dream.”

  A false dream sent by an evil spirit. For an Indian that was sufficient explanation, genuinely absolving them of all guilt. It was for Sundance, and glancing at Crook, who knew the Sioux so well, he saw that Three-Stars understood.

  “So we come to make peace,” said-Crazy Horse. “To prove it, we have brought o
ur medicine and give it to you, Sundance. The white buffalo skin is yours. And this, a letter from the woman in our camp. She is well and will be waiting for you when you come again—” He passed over a folded piece of paper ripped from some missionary Bible. “And we have this for you, too.” He reached in a parfleche bag hanging on his hip and took out something from which long brown hair dangled: it was a scalp. “The man Dillon,” he said. “We were going to hold him for you, but he tried to escape. Well, of course, he didn’t get away. This is yours.”

  “Thank you,” Sundance said gravely, taking that and the letter.

  “So we ask peace,” Crazy Horse said. “And, my brother, all that happened must be forgotten. You are always welcome in the lodges of the Sioux.”

  “And you in those of the Shyela and the whites,” Sundance said. “And there will be presents for the Sioux, too. Many presents. The foreign chief will provide them. And I will bring them to you when I come.”

  “Good. We will be waiting for you. So will the woman. I have said what is in my heart.”

  “And now I want to say what is in mine,” Andre put in when the interpreter had finished. He drew himself up and suddenly he was every inch the chief, as much a chief as Crazy Horse. He spoke slowly, choosing his words. “I have come from a great tribe far across the waters. I came to rob the Sioux of their white buffalo. That was a mistake. My dream, too, was false. Now I know the Sioux for what they are, mighty warriors and mighty hunters. I would like to shake the hand of Crazy Horse, before I return to my own people.”

  Crazy Horse listened. Then, with dignity, he nodded. He came forward and put out his hand.

  ~*~

  Medicine Bow was the closest railroad station to Fort Laramie. A sprawl of rough log buildings along the tracks in the shadow of the mountains, it was beaten by the ceaseless prairie wind. Dust roiled down its single street. Crook, Sundance and Duke Andre stood on the rough wooden platform, waiting for the eastbound train. Then, far out on the prairie, its whistle sounded. Andre cleared his throat.