The ride to Tucson was a long one, and Sundance did not hurry. Traveling south, he entered the country of the Chiricahuas, and they were far more dangerous than the Tontos. He sacrificed speed to safety, using desert craft learned from the Apaches themselves to mask his passage. Besides, he had no desire to run into Gannon and his band, whose sign he read on the trail ahead of him, two days old. Occasionally, he saw smokes. Once he passed a deserted ranch, its inhabitants fled to town and the safety of the Army. Presently, he reached the valley of the Santa Cruz, and the city that lay within it.
City, though, was perhaps an overly impressive designation for the Territorial Capital of Arizona. It was a sprawling mass of adobe huts and older stuccoed Spanish houses, with a population of about three thousand, its narrow streets littered with trash and swarming with burros, dogs, and rooting pigs, as well as the traffic of men and wagons from the High Plains, or come north from Sonora. Soldiers, gunmen, bullwhackers, gamblers, traders, settlers driven in by Indians: all thronged the place, along with its impassive original Mexican population. The men looked at the tall rider in buckskins on the magnificent spotted stallion with curiosity; there was something more than that in the eyes of the women, the Mexican girls swathed in rebozos and velos, the brassy American honky-tonk harridans who called from the doorways of the numerous saloons and gambling halls. Despite the Apaches, Tucson was booming, Sundance thought. He rode through it with his rifle across the saddle horn, his hand dangling near his pistol, his eyes searching the street for any sign of Gannon or his men.
He saw none, and he passed on through the town, took the trail to nearby Camp Lowell. It was less a fort than Tucson was a city, only a cluster of mud-plastered buildings outside town. An American flag dangled listlessly in the middle of its dusty parade. Nobody challenged him as he rode in. He turned Eagle toward the biggest building: that had to be headquarters, and that was where he would find General Crook.
He reined the appaloosa up, swung down, hitched the stallion. A guard on the building’s porch spat tobacco juice and shifted his carbine to his right hand. “General Crook here?” Sundance asked.
“This is where he hangs out,” the soldier said. He spat again. “See the adjutant.”
Sundance entered the building. A captain, sharp in heavy woolen blues, sat sweating behind a desk. He looked at Sundance with dubious eyes, taking in the red skin, the Indian features, and the blond hair. There was hostility in his voice as he asked, “Something you want?”
“Yes. To see General Crook.”
The captain frowned. “General Crook’s busy. Far too busy to see a —”
“Halfbreed,” Sundance said, smiling faintly.
“Well, yes. He’s just arrived, is organizing the Department for combat.”
“That I don’t doubt,” Sundance said. “All the same, you tell him Jim Sundance is here.”
The captain’s eyes changed. “Wait a minute. Sundance?” Suddenly his manner was respectful, almost obsequious. “Just a moment, sir.” He sprang up, whirled, went quickly through a door behind his desk. Almost immediately, he reappeared. “Mr. Sundance, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. General Crook will see you now.”
“Thanks,” Sundance said dryly, and he went in.
General George Crook hadn’t changed a bit. As Sundance entered he arose from behind his desk, a man about six feet tall, bearded, with a hawk’s beak of a nose and piercing eyes. His face was deeply tanned, weathered; as usual, he wore no blouse, was in shirt sleeves, and they were cuffed back. “Jim!” he exclaimed, grinning, and thrust out a big, hard hand.
“General.” Sundance shook that hand vigorously. He had known a lot of Generals. He admired Sherman for his cold common sense and practicality; he despised Custer for his stupidity and arrogance; but he loved George Crook. He had seen Crook in action against the Northern Indians, the Rogues and Pit Rivers, had seen how quickly the man comprehended Indian psychology and turned it against the Indians themselves to minimize bloodshed. He had hunted with Crook; the man was a superb outdoorsman, totally fearless, with a keen, incisive mind and great powers of observation. In fact, except for Nicholas Sundance, Crook was the closest thing to a white Indian Sundance had ever known; and he stood out like a giant among the mediocre pigmies who commanded most of the Western forces. He and Crook had shared too many campfires, too many canteens, for there to be less than total regard between them.
Crook gestured Sundance to a chair. “Sit down, Jim, sit down. Will you have one drink? I won’t offer you any more, knowing your propensities.”
“One would be fine, General.”
Crook took a bottle and two glasses from a desk drawer, poured, shoved the glass to Sundance. He leaned back, sipping his own whiskey, strong face glowing with the pleasure of reunion. “By Jove, Jim, it’s good to see you again. So you got the letter I sent to Laramie.”
“We reached there on the same day,” Sundance said.
“Good. Laramie is the place, of course; everybody in the West touches there sooner or later. It was a shot in the dark, but lucky things broke right. Well, Jim, shall we reminisce, or shall we get down to business?”
“Maybe business would be better.”
“Sure. Well, you know I’m Commander of this Department now.”
“Yeah,” Sundance said. “And I’m glad of it. If anybody can make headway with the Apaches, you’re the one.”
“I appreciate that compliment. I hope to. The former Commandant made his headquarters in Los Angeles; me, I like to be on the scene. You know my theory, Jim; the Indians are like everyone else. Give them full stomachs, something constructive to do, work they can see is in their own interest, and they would rather prosper than fight. I hope, eventually, to put those policies into effect in this Department. Of course, there will be some fighting first.
“Maybe you can scout for me eventually. I would like to enlist some Apaches as scouts, once I can convince them that it’s in the best interests of their people. But that’s not why I sent for you. Scout’s pay wouldn’t interest you right now.”
“No,” Sundance said, “it wouldn’t.”
Crook was suddenly serious. “You’re not having much luck with your lawyer in Washington, are you?”
Sundance arose, went to the window of the office, looked out on the parade. “No,” he said, “but I keep trying. He does the best he can. He’s a good lobbyist.”
Crook sighed. “But not good enough. Not with all the other people who have influence in Congress and want to see the Indians wiped out. The railroads, the land speculators, the banks—”
He arose, too, came to stand beside Sundance, put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, for a while there, it seemed there was a chance. There was genuine sentiment in the East for a humane peace policy toward the Indians. But, of course, everything’s blown up now. The way Custer slaughtered Cheyennes on the Washita after the Medicine Lodge Treaty, the way the railroads have rammed on through Indian lands in violation of other treaties . . . But I hope you won’t give up.”
“I won’t,” Sundance said. “The fate of the Indians won’t be decided out here in the West. It’ll be decided in Washington, in Congress, in the White House.”
“But you can’t outbid and outspend railroads and banks—”
“No,” Sundance said. “They’re throwing millions into trying to get the Government to adopt a policy of extermination. But there are people on the other side. The Quakers, a few other groups—”
“And you,” Crook said softly.
“You and my lobbyist are the only two who know where that money comes from,” Sundance said. “You’ll keep it quiet.”
“Of course. I only wish that there were more.”
“Well, there isn’t. I earn what I can taking on tough jobs, charging all the traffic will bear. I know it’s still a drop in the bucket, but I hope—General, I realize now the Indians can’t win. Maybe I don’t even want them to. But when they lose, I want them to have a square shake. That’s why I do it.”
“I know,” Crook said. He went back to his desk. “That’s the reason I sent for you. I see a chance for you to earn maybe twenty thousand dollars; anyhow, a lot of money.”
“Twenty thousand?” Sundance’s brows went up.
“Not only that,” Crook said, “but solve a problem for me. Get me off the hook. It’s a matter, Jim, of international importance. But dangerous; dangerous as hell. You interested?”
“For twenty thousand,” Sundance said, “you’re damned right I’m interested.”
Crook smiled faintly. “I thought you would be.” Then he went to the office door, opened it and stuck his head through. “Captain Bourke. Would you be good enough to go upstairs and ask Baron von Markau and the Baroness to join us?”
When he closed the door and turned, Sundance looked at him blankly. “Baron von Markau?”
“Personal emissary from His Excellency, Franz Joseph, Emperor of Austria,” Crook said. “I told you it was of international importance.”
“But what—?”
Crook held up a hand. “Wait. I’ll let them explain it. You’ll find the Baron is a most impressive man.” A strange expression crossed his face. “His wife is an even more impressive woman. Be careful of her.”
“Listen,” Sundance said, but before he could go on, somebody knocked at the door. Then Bourke, Crook’s young aide, opened it. “General,” he said, “the Baron and Baroness von Markau.”
As Bourke stood aside, Sundance turned and carefully sized up the man and woman who entered.
Crook made the presentations gracefully. “Your Excellencies, may I present Mr. Jim Sundance? Mr. Sundance, Baron Walther von Markau.”
Von Markau was a big man in a dark suit and white shirt. He was as tall as Sundance, wide in the shoulders, thick in the torso, narrow in waist and legs, his beard and temples silver-gray, his face square and rugged. He clicked his heels with a sound like a pistol shot and put out a big hand, shook hands vigorously with Sundance. “Mr. Sundance. A great pleasure. I’ve heard much about you from the General.” His English was good, almost unaccented. “May I present my wife, the Baroness. Herta my dear, Mr. Sundance.”
The woman came forward. She had dark hair, enormous dark eyes set in an oval face. Von Markau was perhaps forty-five and she was not more than half his age. She was one of the most beautiful women Sundance had ever seen. Her skin was ivory white, her mouth full and red, her throat a smooth curve. Beneath her tight black dress, her breasts were high and neither large nor small, but separately outlined; her waist was tiny. She put out a small, white hand, lifting it instinctively, but looked surprised when Sundance took it and kissed it quite correctly.
When he raised his head, her eyes met his boldly and quite without reserve. She ran them over him, taking in the blond hair, the coppery hawk’s face, the beaded buckskin shirt, the gun and knife and ax, the denim pants and moccasins; something moved in her eyes and her lips parted slightly, and Sundance knew now why Crook had said to be careful of her. He released her hand, took a step backward.
Crook motioned them all to chairs. “Captain Bourke, will you bring us brandy?” He sat down behind his desk. The woman kept flicking her eyes to Sundance and away again. “Now, Baron von Markau. Sundance is the only one I know of who might possibly be able to help you. I warn you, though, he comes dear. But he’s worth his hire.”
“I’m sure he is,” Herta von Markau murmured.
Her husband looked quickly at her, then away, stroked his beard. “Very well,” he said, addressing Sundance. “Then suppose I come straight to the point.”
He leaned forward slightly. “As the General has told you, I come from the Court of Franz Joseph, Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, one of the mightiest of Europe.”
Sundance nodded. “Not quite mighty enough,” he said, “to set Franz Joseph’s brother up as Emperor of Mexico.”
“Ah, I see you’re well informed. Yes, that was very unfortunate.” Von Markau hesitated, looking a little embarrassed. “Still, international politics may sometimes be risky. You know the story of Maximilian.”
“I know it. There was Civil War in Mexico, the Constitutionalists led by Juarez won. The big landholders’ estates were being broken up. They turned to Napoleon III, Emperor of France, asked him for help, offered him the crown of Emperor of Mexico in return.”
He waited as Bourke brought brandy, sipped it and found it excellent. “So Napoleon III sent help, a French army and the Austrian archduke, Ferdinand Maximilian, to be his figurehead emperor, rule Mexico for him. Thought he could get away with taking over Mexico while the American Civil War was on; thought they might even make an alliance with the Confederacy. Of course, Lincoln fought the whole idea, and when the North won, that changed the picture. The United States put pressure on the French, and Juarez was still fighting and winning against Maximilian, who’d crowned himself Maximilian the First. After the Civil War ended, Washington sent a big army to the Mexican border. There were troubles in Europe, too, and Napoleon and Franz Joseph couldn’t help Maximilian any more. The French pulled out, leaving him stranded. Juarez beat what Mexican forces Maximilian had and executed Maximilian by firing squad at Queretaro. Maximilian was brave, what they call in Mexico, muy hombre. But it didn’t help him after his backers deserted him.”
Von Markau was silent for a moment. “A rather brutal summary,” he said presently, “but perhaps accurate. Yes, the whole thing was an unfortunate episode. The only bright spot was that Maximilian’s wife, Carlotta, managed to escape, returned to Europe before the collapse came. Unfortunately, her mind broke under the strain.” He finished his brandy. “Well, be that as it may, Maximilian died three years ago; now Juarez rules Mexico, the episode is ended. Except for one matter, which, Mr. Sundance, brought me to Washington, on orders from the Emperor of Austria. Washington in turn sent me to General Crook, and the General has brought you to me.”
“And this one matter is—?”
Von Markau set down his glass. “A matter of certain royal jewels belonging to the House of Hapsburg, which were in possession of Maximilian when he was besieged in Queretaro by Juarez, and which, after his capture and execution, were never found. Jewels worth a fortune, Mr. Sundance. And I have reason to believe they are hidden in the territory of the Chiricahua Apaches of southern Arizona. If you can help me find them and gain possession of them for their rightful owner, the Emperor of Austria, I am prepared to pay you very well indeed.”
For a moment, Crook’s office was silent. Then Sundance said, “Go on.” He felt a flame of excitement which had nothing to do with the brandy.
“You understand, of course, that the House of Hapsburg has ruled Austria for centuries. In addition, at various times, Hapsburgs have been Kings of Spain, the Netherlands, and—well, gold, silver, precious stones: these are the trappings with which kings and emperors impress their subjects.
The House of Hapsburg has long been rich in them, and as a prince of royal blood, Maximilian inherited his share of these family jewels.”
He arose, went to the brandy, poured. “Unless one has seen them, one cannot conceive of their richness and splendor. In terms of American dollars, they are worth hundreds of thousands; perhaps millions. In terms of historical value and traditions, they are worth even more.”
He turned to face Sundance. “Maximilian brought these jewels with him to Mexico. In the last days, he was besieged, then executed by Juarez. And those jewels, Mr. Sundance, disappeared. They were not returned to Europe with Maximilian’s other possessions, which he dispatched on the last French ship to leave Mexico. Secret agents have convinced us that Juarez and the Mexicans did not get them. They simply vanished, and no one knew their whereabouts—until recently.”
He sat down. “Now, the mystery is solved. I have in my possession a map which shows their location. As I said, it’s in southern Arizona, in territory dominated by the Apaches. I cannot tell you more, of course, until we reach an agreement that you will help me. What I propose to do is go after them, Mr. Sundance, find their hiding place, and reclaim them for the Emperor of Austria. To do that, I need a man who knows the country and the Apaches, a man who can bargain or fight against the Indians as necessary. One whom I can trust completely. General Crook tells me you are that man. He also tells me that it’s certain death to attempt this venture without your help—and, quite possibly, even with it. Still, I have my orders from the Emperor and I obey. Mr. Sundance, if you will assist me, I’ll pay you five thousand American dollars in advance. If we retrieve the jewels and return them to the Emperor’s Court safely, you’ll get another ten thousand. Well, sir, I await your answer with eagerness.”
Sundance smiled faintly. Then he said, “My answer, Baron, is no.”
Von Markau stared at him, face reddening. “Mr. Sundance, I understood from General Crook—”
“You understood right,” Sundance said. “I’m for hire, and I can fight. Southern Arizona: I know it like the back of my hand, and I’ve lived among the Chiricahuas, speak their language, know their customs. If anybody could get you in there and back out again, I could do it. And as for the risk—well, danger is my business, risk my stock in trade.” He got up, went to the brandy himself. “But not at the price you’re talking, Baron.”
Von Markau made a strangled sound. “Fifteen thousand dollars? A fortune.”
“Not to me,” Sundance said. “Those jewels are worth millions, you said. Fifteen thousand’s a pretty puny sum when you figure that. Not enough, anyhow, to make me want to risk my hair.”
He took a sip of brandy, rolled it on his tongue. Crook had mentioned twenty thousand; von Markau was horse-trading. Sundance said, “I want fifteen thousand down, twenty more when the jewels are delivered in Vienna.”
Von Markau’s jaw dropped.“Thirty-five thousand dollars?”
“That’s the way I add it up,” Sundance said. He shot a sidelong glance at Crook; even the General sat stunned.
Sundance drained the glass, put it down. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t know where they’re hidden. But if they’re in Chiricahua territory, there are three ways to get them out. Get General Crook to give you an escort of maybe five hundred men—”
“I have requested of your War Department, and they have refused.”
“Hire an army of your own—another five hundred—which would cost you more than the thirty-five thousand I’m asking by half. And if you can find five hundred men in Arizona who’ll ride into Apache country with you and not cut your throat for the jewels once you have ’em, good luck. The third way is to hire me and pay me what I ask. If I get killed, you’re out fifteen thousand. If I live, you get the jewels and you’re out twenty more. It’s your decision, Baron.”
“I do not have such sums with me.”
“You’ve got the fifteen thousand, I’m pretty sure. As for the rest, the credit of the Emperor of Austria’s good with me. After you sign my contract, of course.”
Von Markau’s jaw dropped further. “Your contract?”
“Certainly,” Sundance said. “I’m a businessman. I never work without a contract— unless the Indians hire me to do a job. Them, I don’t worry about; they keep their word. But white men—well, there’s something about this red skin of mine that makes ’em careless. As if a bargain with a halfbreed doesn’t count. So I never work for a white man without a paper that’ll stand up, ironclad, in court.”
Von Markau stood up suddenly, sputtering. “You dare question my word, the Emperor’s word—? You, an ignorant frontiersman?”
Crook cut in. “Careful, von Markau. You’re talking to a man who could probably match whatever standing you’ve got in Austria, if he cared to claim his heritage in England.” He stood up. “The price is a matter between the two of you. All I’ll say is what I’ve told you before, Baron. I don’t have the soldiers to help you. Sundance is the only man I know of who can. But you’re welcome to try to find another.” He paused. “I will point out one thing: The Apaches still remember Sundance and respect him; I’ve learned that much since coming to Arizona. He may be able to find those jewels for you and bring them out without your having to fight at all. Nobody else can do that.”
Von Markau stood tensely, looking from Sundance to Crook. Then he sighed. “Very well. It seems there is no alternative. Draw up your contract, Mr. Sundance. After we have signed it, I shall pay you your fifteen thousand and tell you where we have to go and what we must do to find the jewels of Maximilian.,,
Sundance turned to Crook. “General,” he said, “May I borrow paper and a pen?”