Sundance 7 by John Benteen

Author:John Benteen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wild west, cowboys, frontier, cavalry, the old west, chief joseph, nez perce indians, john benteen, western pulp fiction, jim sundance, appoloosa, us western adventure
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Six

It was good, he thought, to be riding as an Indian again with such a party, the cool air from the mountains blowing sweet and fresh into his face, the laughter, joking, and constant watchfulness of the Nez Percé around him, his shield on his arm, his bow ready for action across his saddle, arrows clicking softly in the quiver on his shoulder with every movement of the big spotted stallion.

Except for the blue eyes, there was nothing left in his appearance of the white man. He had rubbed blacking in his hair until it was as dark as any Indian’s; he wore a blanket coat with a hood; there were feathers in his hair and paint on his face. Beside him, also on a strong Appaloosa, Doris Bucknell was disguised as a warrior, too, her hair also blackened, a blanket around her shoulders and over her head and face, her legs encased in buckskin leggings and moccasins, her cheeks, sun bronzed to a tan nearly as dark as an Indian, smeared with paint like his own. She carried no bow or shield, but there was a pistol on a belt around her waist, and she had fired a few practice rounds with it and Sundance saw that indeed she knew how to use it.

The disguises were necessary; the Northwest Mounted Police were like ghosts, materializing when least expected without warning. They would not question too much what seemed a hunting party of Nez Percé, but the presence of a white woman with such a band would have to be explained, and, besides, the reputation of Jim Sundance, the blond and blue-eyed Indian had spread this far north, and he would also have to account for his presence in Canada.

And there was no arguing with the Mounties. Every Indian knew that. To defy or disobey one, much less to hurt or kill one, would bring prompt vengeance against the Sioux and cost them their sanctuary here. They had to be avoided, and when they could not be avoided, tricked.

They met, on their way south, one constable. In red coat and red pillbox hat, he traveled alone except for a packhorse on a long patrol. Fortunately, he was bound in the opposite direction; Sundance and Doris hung back with blankets muffling their faces, hiding their blue eyes, while Yellow Wolf respectfully explained that they were going to the mountains to hunt. Satisfied, the Mounted Policeman went on his way. Turning in his Indian saddle, Sundance watched the lonely scarlet dot vanish into the immensity of the country, and he felt a thrust of admiration. Yonder went a man.

They followed the Milk up to its headwaters, then swung south, and they were across the boundary line. Ahead, the Shining Mountains, the Rockies, divided into a dozen different smaller ranges, bulked against the sky, snow gleaming on the flanks of peaks. And now the ordeal really began.

Sundance led the way, for, better than any of them he knew this country, which had not been Nez Percé hunting grounds.

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