Sundance 8

by John Benteen

  ~*~

  He could have made the town in three days’ hard riding, but he took it slowly and rested often to give Eagle’s haunch a chance to heal. It was nearly well by the time he had crossed the Pecos canyon, and a week had passed. During that interval, Jim Sundance had traveled like a hunted animal, which, he knew now, he was. He stayed off the skyline, camped at night in the most remote spots he could find, and slept with his weapons, as always, within easy reach, depending on the spotted stallion to serve as watchdog and, with its keener senses, warn him of any danger.

  He saw no one, save for two wandering, cowhands at a long distance, a couple of Mexican shepherds, and a single Caddo, a remnant of a nearly destroyed tribe, who had come into the desert to pray. During his journey, he had plenty of time to think. He had intended to travel north, join the Cheyennes for their fall hunt, and see his woman again, but the matter of this price on his head took precedence.

  Meanwhile, he could come up with no particular name. The Indians had blocked railroad building in Dakota Territory and Montana, as well as elsewhere. They blocked, too, the expansion of the cattle business up through Wyoming and Montana, as well as in West Texas and on the Staked Plains. They blocked vast fortunes to be made in land speculation, and for that matter, in mining. And, since he had helped the Indians and balked in some way or another people involved in all those ventures, it could have been anyone, railroad men or cowmen, miners or land boomers, who had posted the bounty to have him killed. Whoever it was, Sundance intended to deal with them. No matter how long it took, he would run down the source of that reward money. And Del Rio was where he had to start.

  A day before reaching it, he turned loose the strange horse and mounted Eagle once more. When he rode in, he wanted nothing that could possibly link him with the killers.

  On the evening of the eighth day, he topped a sandy rise and saw the town laid out below him in a bend of the Rio, with its sister hamlet, Villa Acuna, on the other bank. Over there in Mexico, a church bell tolled the hour, and the twilight wind from the river was cool and fresh. Sundance checked his weapons, found them in order, and rode in. The town had grown since he’d last seen it a few years before. There were more false-fronted buildings of sawed lumber along the wide main street, more saloons and bars, more horses and rigs at the racks. Although this was the middle of the week, there was plenty of action, and the men on the sidewalks or the porches of the saloons were mostly in the range clothes of cattlemen: big hats, neckerchiefs, flannel shirts, chaps, high-heeled boots, spurs, and, of course, the ever-present holstered Colt. But, Sundance thought, putting Eagle warily down the street, not too many of them looked like ordinary cowhands. An expert on such matters, he recognized the stamp of hard case, of gunman, on too many of them. He could tell by the cool, careful way they followed him with their eyes, and by the way they wore their side guns; there were plenty of them who carried a pair, low slung and tied down. They were, he thought, cut from the same cloth as Bascomb and his killers, and his wariness increased. Whoever had made the deal with Bascomb and his men would have no trouble finding eight more just like them—or a dozen—if he were still here.

  Well, if they wanted him, let them make another try at him. God knows, they could not help recognizing him, with his Indian features, blond hair, blue eyes and mounted on the Nez Percé stallion. Let them try, and this time he would get more information before they died. Meanwhile, he would not slink in or hide like a hunted wolf. He had been on the trail through the desert too long, he had too many hungers. He wanted a couple of drinks, a meal not cooked over a campfire, a bed with a mattress. There was another hunger, too, long unsatisfied and stronger than all the rest. He would go about his business and see what he could stir up. Here was the game walking squarely into the jaws of their trap. That ought to provoke some action. And this time he would not be taken by surprise; this time, he was ready.

  Deliberately, he picked out the biggest saloon, put Eagle to the hitch rack, swung down and tied him. He loosened the Colt in its holster, stepped up on the porch. Three or four tough looking characters there eyed him with keen appraisal, but none moved or spoke as he passed through them and went in. As soon as he was through the door, he shifted so that a wall shielded his back and went, on a careful route that enabled him to watch the entrance, to the bar.

  More of the tough ones were there and others scattered around the room at tables along with a sprinkling of genuine cowpunchers and saddle tramps.

  There was room at the counter, but he preferred a table himself where he could sit with his back to the wall. He decided on a beer to cut the dust and after that two shots of whiskey, his limit. Something in him, a heritage from his Indian mother, he supposed, made him susceptible to alcohol; he could not hold his booze. Three drinks of hard stuff and he turned mean and surly, four and he might go crazy, wanting only to fight, destroy, tear things apart. So he held himself to no more than two shots at a time, and he would not drink again until those wore off.

  He got the beer, carried it to the table, hitched his chair up hard against the wall, swung his holster around to lie on top of his right thigh in easy reach, and sipped the beer.

  It was cold and good, and he felt it spread a loosening of the nerves through him, and it sharpened, also, that hunger that had nothing to do with his belly, but that would have to wait.

  Meanwhile, he watched the ebb and flow of customers. The place was filling up. Then a kind of murmur went through the crowd. Heads turned, and Sundance’s with them.

  There was a stairway at the rear, and the woman coming down it took his breath.

  She was tall and the red hair, almost the color of flame, piled on her head made her look taller as it glinted in the lantern light. Her eyes were green, her skin pale ivory, the satin dress she wore was green, hugging large breasts, a cinched-in waist, spreading hips, showing the lines of her good, long legs beneath the clinging fabric of the long skirt, which she held up practicedly, like a lady, so it would not drag in the spit and refuse of the sawdust-covered floor. She came down the stairs with grace, like a queen, and the hunger of the men in the otherwise womanless room could almost be felt like a humid, muggy fog suddenly filling the place. Then she was off the stairs and walking toward the bar, and all at once Sundance realized that he knew her.

  At almost the same minute, she saw him and halted. A big man in a flannel shirt and California pants, with two guns swung low on his waist, shoved back his chair, came toward her, reached for her arm. “Kate—”

  Without looking at him, she pushed his pawing hand away. “Not now, Calder.”

  “Damn it, Kate—” Calder rumbled. He was in his late twenties, handsome, with a blond mustache, and obviously hard as nails. He wore his blond hair long and slicked back against his head with grease.

  “I said, not now. Excuse me.” Her voice was sharp. Ignoring Calder, she came toward Sundance, and a smile, faint, enigmatic, began to curve red lips. Calder stood there blinking, staring at her, and then his eyes shifted to Jim Sundance, who was rising from his chair. Calder chewed one end of his mustache. But for the moment, he did not move, only watched.

  “Hello, Kate Barclay,” Sundance said.

  “So you remember me. Only, out here it’s Kate Danton.” She put out her hand. “Jim, Jim, it’s good to see you again.”

  “You, too,” Sundance said, holding back a dozen questions. “Sit down.”

  “Yes. Shall we have a drink together?”

  Sundance grinned, started to raise his hand in a gesture. But she added, “It’s on the house. Hey, Grover!”

  The bartender turned with alacrity. “Yes, Miss Danton.”

  “The good bourbon and two glasses.’’

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hurried over, set them down, as Kate Danton seated herself. Sundance dropped back into his chair, while the bartender poured, and looked at her, and this time the questions were in his eyes.

  She waited until the barkeep had gone, and her smile turned a little wry. “Tha
t’s right. I own the place.”

  Sundance’s brows went up.

  “Shocked? Yeah,” she continued. “I suppose so. It’s a long way from the Palmer House in Chicago, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  “There’s no need of hiding it.” She picked up her glass, tossed off her drink at a swallow and gestured, and he poured another for her. “I’ll never forget,” she said, with a touch of bitterness, “the day you walked in there with General Sheridan and the others. Even in a dress suit and pumps, you walked like an Indian, and you made the others look so little and awkward ... That red skin and blond hair and ...” Her mouth twisted and she drank half the glass. Sundance shifted his gaze to Calder, who had gone back to his table, poured a drink, and was watching them narrowly. Then he brought his attention back to Kate, but he kept part of his mind on Calder.

  “You,” she went on, “were there to advise the Army on Indian affairs. That was when you were still in their good graces. And I ... was with George Phillips, and he had just given me an engagement ring. And I thought I loved him, but the minute I saw you ... he just shrank to nothing.”

  “I didn’t know you were engaged,” Sundance said.

  “There were a lot of things I didn’t want to tell you about myself. I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t tell you how much money my father had or ... Well, never mind.” She finished the glass of whiskey, gestured once more, and he poured another. “Anyhow, it was a good month while it lasted, wasn’t it? Maybe it was even worth it, I don’t know.”

  Sundance was frowning now. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “It’s simple. Society girl gets big yearning for magnificent, half-breed Indian. Society frowns on that sort of thing. Girl plays all sorts of tricks, convinces Indian she’s footloose and fancy free, only in it for the fun, all the time she hopes that when the time comes for him to leave he won’t go ... Meanwhile, she deceives her future husband and her parents and nearly everybody. Or thinks she does. Then—” She spread her hands. “Half-breed goes back West. And she understands that, alongside his work, whatever it is, she never really counted.”

  Sundance drew in a long breath. “What I had to do out there was important.” He hesitated. “I came back as soon as I could. But I couldn’t find any trace of you. It was as if you’d just disappeared.”

  She smiled without humor. “I had. What I didn’t know was that George was suspicious and had put a private detective on my trail. He learned the truth and confronted me with it and my parents as well and—everything blew sky high.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re in Del Rio.”

  “I think it does. George, of course, threw me over, with every right to. My parents tried to send me to Europe, to hush the scandal. I refused to go. I came West, instead, looking for ... for somebody.”

  “Me,” Sundance said.

  “That’s right. I ran away. And—” Again that shrug. “I never went back. Never wrote, never heard from them. Never quite caught up with Jim Sundance, either. But ... I stayed alive. I made my way.”

  Sundance asked, “How?” before he thought.

  Kate Danton’s mouth twisted. “Guess,” she said coldly.

  Chapter Three

  For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Sundance said, quietly, “I’m sorry.”

  “No need for you to be.” She laughed, a little huskily. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know how serious it was with me. All you knew was that here was a wild girl ready for an affair on any terms, no questions asked, and you had a month in Chicago with lots of spare time. You never really knew the truth about me, my family or ... a lot of things. No, Jim, I don’t hold you to blame.”

  Sundance didn’t answer. “Anyhow,” Kate went on in a lighter tone, “it sure as hell hasn’t been dull. I’ve hit all the towns, Jim, from Omaha to Bismarck to San Francisco to Abilene. They ran me out of Abilene last year. Well, I was ready to go. I’d made some money by then, a lot of it. I figured it was time to put it to work, so I wouldn’t wind up looking like most of the girls do when they reach my age. I wandered around, seeking the right opportunity; I passed through Del Rio and I saw ... a certain potential here. So I bought this place, the Cattleman’s Rest, and I run it like a man would, not flat on my back. I’ve been here a year now, and it’s been a good investment.”

  “Seems to be,” said Sundance. “Town looks like it’s booming.”

  “That’s right. With the kind of people who put money in my till. Cattle, Jim. More cattle going up the trail from Texas every year.”

  Sundance said, “There aren’t that many cattle in Val Verde county.”

  Kate laughed. “No. But there are plenty in Old Mexico.”

  “Oh,” said Sundance, and now he understood.

  “Their backs dry off quick once they’re across the Rio,” Kate said. “It’s a good business, Jim, and it’s drawn a lot of people here. Rustle a herd down in Coahuila or Nuevo Leon, bring ’em across the Rio, sell ’em to the drovers headed north. That’s where this tough element you see came from and how they live. Fifteen a head on the hoof, and they’ll bring over two, three hundred in a night. Live high until the money runs out and then go back for more. The Rangers don’t give a damn, and the Mexicans can’t stop ’em. But—” She spread her hands once more. “So much for that. How’s it been with you? You and your precious Indians—”

  “I—” Sundance began, and then he bit off the words.

  Calder had taken a long drink directly from the bottle. Now, he shoved back his chair, swaggered across the room, came up to Sundance’s table, towering between Kate and the half-breed. He swayed slightly.

  “Kate,” he said. “God damn it! You know somethin’? That’s a God damn Injun you’re sittin’ with.”

  Kate Danton drew in a long breath. “Billy, please. I know who this man is. Now, be a good boy and run along and you and I’ll have a drink later tonight.”

  “That’s what you told me last night,” Calder rasped. “Only you got hung up with some other joker.” His voice rose. “Kate, I won’t be thrown over for no stinkin’ Injun!”

  “Thrown over? Since when were we ever close enough for me to throw you over?”

  Calder’s eyes flared. “Kate, you know how I feel about you! And—” He reached down, seized her arm, and she gave a cry of pain as he jerked her to her feet. “Not with a stinkin’ Injun!” he snarled again and slung her across the room. She cried out and brought up hard against a table, and then Sundance was on his feet and stepping out into the clear.

  “Friend,” he said, in a voice like ice on steel.

  Calder swung to face him, hands dropping low. “I ain’t no damn’ gut-eater’s friend!” And then his right hand moved and he was fast, very fast.

  Sundance’s right hand did not seem to move. But the gun was in it, pointed at Calder’s belly before the other’s Colt cleared leather. “Hold it!” Sundance snapped.

  Calder froze, staring at the muzzle of Sundance’s gun. His face went pale. He let his Colt slide back in leather, raised both hands higher. He swallowed hard.

  “You’ve got an apology to make to the lady,” Sundance said.

  “I got—” Calder looked into Sundance’s eyes. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “I got an apology to make—All right, Mister. Put up that gun.”

  “No,” Sundance said. “But you go make your manners. And then you get out.”

  Calder hesitated. Sundance roared: “Move!”

  Then, slowly, Calder turned. He faced Kate, standing by a table. He took a few steps that brought him toward her. “Kate, I was outa line. I’m sorry.”

  Her breasts rose and fell beneath the satin. “All right, Calder. Forget it. Just leave, that’s all. Leave and don’t you come back in here again.”

  “But, Kate … ” He put out a hand. Her mouth twisted in distaste and she stepped aside to avoid it and then she was in Sundance’s line of fire, whi
ch was what Calder had wanted. He dropped into a crouch, and his right hand swooped, and he yelled, “Now, you red sonbitch!” and the roar of his Colt shook the room.

  Kate screamed and pitched sideways and landed on the floor, and the slug, a fraction of a second too hasty, chugged into the wall so close to Sundance he felt its passage, and Sundance took better aim and fired. His own bullet smashed into Calder’s shoulder joint, and Calder howled and dropped his gun, twisted, falling across the table from the impact. But, already he was reaching with his left hand. Sundance dared not fire again, as Kate sat up. He was across the room in two quick bounds, leaping over her, and as Calder’s left hand gun came clear of leather, Sundance swung his own Colt.

  Its long barrel smashed with terrific force into Calder’s wrist. Sundance felt bone yield beneath the steel. Calder bellowed and the Colt dropped to the floor. Then Sundance had Calder’s shirt-slack gathered up, jerked the man to his feet. He swung the gun barrel again. Once, twice, three, four times. It whipped back and forth across Calder’s face, smashing one ear, Calder’s nose, the sight tearing Calder’s cheek. Then Sundance let Calder go. The man, his face a parody of what it had been before, his right shoulder scarlet, his broken left wrist dangling, made a mewing noise in his throat.

  “Out,” Sundance roared. “Out, damn you, or I’ll kill you!”

  Calder stared at him with awed, wide, fear-filled eyes, in the bloody mask of his face. He muttered something, turned and staggered toward the doors. Sundance stood there tensely with the Colt ready, but Calder disappeared between the batwings without looking back. Sundance slowly lowered the gun. With his right shoulder smashed and his left wrist broken, it would be a long time before Calder would use a Colt again, if ever. Sundance did not think he had to worry about Calder any more.

  But maybe Calder had friends. He whirled to face the room. Then he relaxed. If there were friends of Calder’s here, they had seen enough to quench any thoughts of taking up the quarrel. Under his cold gaze, they turned their faces away and kept their hands well away from iron.