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 the 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 our 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.
“Devil take it, I hate to leave. Sundance, if I come back next year, will you take me to live among the Cheyennes and the Sioux?”
“Gladly, if there is no war.”
“Crazy Horse said—”
“What the Sioux want and the Wasichu want are two different things,” Sundance said grimly.
“I’m afraid that’s so,” Crook said thinly. “There’s talk of sending an exploratory expedition under Custer into the Black Hills next year. I’m trying to block it, but—anyhow, at least you have the white buffalo skin you came for, your grace.”
“Yes,” Andre said, casting a-proud glance at the wrapped hide on the pile of baggage on the platform. “Thank you, Sundance.”
“It was my pleasure,” Sundance said.
“Remember, you are always welcome in St. Petersburg. I—” Andre broke off. “Sundance,” he said softly.
“What?” The train whistle pealed again.
“Over there, across the street. Between those two buildings. Do you see that man there?”
Sundance’s eyes shuttled in the direction of Andre’s pointing finger. But the man had disappeared from view, dodging behind another log building. Sundance caught only a slight motion.
“He was looking down the track when the whistle blew. He must also be waiting for the train.”
Andre’s voice was low. “Sundance, it was Steelman.”
“Sundance!” Crook’s voice rang like a bugle. But the half-breed was already off the platform. He leaped across the tracks, ran toward the alley between the buildings.
“Sundance!” Crook yelled again, but Sundance had dodged into the alley, was running down it. He reached the rear of the buildings, and he was just in time to catch a flash of a man dodging behind one and running toward the railroad track. Sundance darted back the way he’d come. Then he was out on the street beside the track, and the train was coming in, and there was a man running behind the observation car, circling, to get on even before the string had stopped.
Sundance ran. He dodged behind the car, and his voice rang out flat and clear above the chuffing and the clanging and the whistling of the train. “Clay Steelman!”
Steelman, halfway up the step, turned, dropped back into the dirt beside the tracks. He had disguised himself in frock coat and black hat, but there was no disguising that hard, cruel face. “You,” he rasped.
“Jim!” Andre yelled, but Sundance jerked his head impatiently.
“Stay out of this,” he called, without taking his eyes from Steelman. Then he said, “So the Sioux didn’t kill you after all.”
“No,” Steelman said. “The three fools with me, but they held them off while I cut out. And I’m cutting out again—” His face twisted. “God damn you, Sundance! You beat me out of the biggest score I ever laid my hands on!” And suddenly his hand shot down, reaching for his gun.
He was fast, so fast that he made Dillon look slow and clumsy. But Sundance had seen his eyes change, and, warned, his own hand whipped down. Steelman’s gun was up and out and lined, but before its hammer fell, Sundance’s Colt jolted against his palm.
Its roar was almost drowned by the puffing of the train.
Its heavy slug caught Steelman in the chest and knocked him off his feet. Steelman’s shot ricocheted off the side of the observation car. Then Steelman was on his back in the cinders beside the track. He tried to raise his gun again, but it spilled from his hand. Blood poured from his open mouth as Sundance ran forward, Colt ready for a second shot.
There was no need for it. Steelman’s life was fading fast as he stared up at Sundance.
“My biggest score,” he said; and then he died.
Sundance straightened up. God knows how Steelman had made it through the Sioux to Medicine Bow, but at least Warren, the troopers, Shurka, Vasili, and Ruth Norman’s people were avenged. Then Crook and the Grand Duke were beside him.
“He’s dead,” Andre whispered.
“Yes,” said Sundance.
And then the whistle blew. “Andre,” Sundance said, “the train’s pulling out.”
“Sundance—” Andre put out his hand.
They shook. Sundance was startled when Andre kissed him on both cheeks. The Russian swung up on the observation platform. “You are always welcome in St. Petersburg!” he cried. Then the train chugged out of Medicine Bow.
Sundance and Crook stood there watching until Andre was only a tiny waving figure on the platform in the distance. Presently the train was gone. Crook summoned the two troopers who’d handled the baggage. “Dispose of this,” he said, indicating the body of Clay Steelman. Then he took Sundance’s arm. “Jim,” he said, “I think we’d better have a drink.”