Sundance 10 Page 3
“That’s true,” Dr. Eastman, the Yanktonais Sioux said quickly, grimly. “The mortality rate’s been dreadful ...”
“These people,” Sundance went on. “These people surrendered to a government that promised them they could hold their land, that promised them they could go on in their old ways, that promised them they’d be fed. Now the government’s chopped away half their land, the good half, and left them with the worst. It’s prohibited their religion—especially the Sun Dance—and it’s cut their rations below the point that they can live. It’s broken every promise it made to them, and they see their wives and children dying. If you were in such a shape, gentlemen, wouldn’t you grasp at any straw?”
The room was silent. “Even so,” Sundance said, “not all the Sioux believe in Ghost Dancing. The tribes are split right down the middle. You’ve got your die-hards and what, I guess, you’d call the progressives. The die-hards dance the Ghost Dance and make ready for war against the whites. The progressives keep on trying to find some way to cooperate and work with the white men. Take the Hunkpapa on Standing Rock, for instance. Gall and Sitting Bull—they were the two leaders of the Hunkpapas at Little Big Horn. Now Sitting Bull’s rallying people to the Ghost Dance and Gall’s doing his best to keep ’em on the white man’s side. It’s the same in every band.”
“So,” Brooke said, “if this Ghost Dance spreads, eventually it means war.”
“If there’s war, it won’t be because of the Ghost Dance,” Sundance said. “You’d all better get that through your heads. The people who really believe in the Ghost Dance won’t fight until they have some sign, until this new world starts or their new Messiah comes. When they see that none of that is gonna happen, they’ll give it up.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at all of them. “The ones who’ll fight will use the Ghost Dance as a tool to gain support, but they’d fight anyway. Because they’re men, men with balls, and men with balls don’t sit quietly by and see their families starve and die. Before that happens, they’ll do their best to regain control of their own land and their own fate, or they’ll go down like warriors, not like sheep in a God damned pen!”
Fain sat up straight “See? Listen to him! You can tell he’s in sympathy with ’em! A renegade—”
Sundance drew in a deep breath. “I’ll tell you this, all of you, and make my position clear. Renegade? Maybe. If I thought that there was a chance, one lousy, slim chance, of the Sioux getting back their stolen land, of getting enough to eat, of bettering the situation they’re in by using guns—Well, it’s damned likely that you’d find me in a war bonnet right there with them.” They looked at him in shock, as he went on, bitterly. “But they haven’t got a chance. I know it, Gall does, chiefs like American Horse and Young Man Afraid of His Horses do ... All that would happen if there’s an uprising is that a lot of people will get themselves killed, red and white, men, women, children. And then the situation would be worse than before. The Government’ll use an uprising for an excuse to exterminate the tribes and open up the rest of their land to boomers. And that, gentlemen, is why you won’t see me in a war bonnet unless—”
There was a total hush for perhaps a second. Then Miles, face flushed, asked: “Unless what, Sundance?”
“Unless no steps are taken to remedy the Sioux’s grievances. Unless they’re allowed to starve this winter and nobody does anything about it. Unless a time comes when the tribes are going to be wiped out one way or another—either by sickness and starvation or by war. Given that choice, there’s not a Sioux or a Cheyenne in this country who won’t fight—and that includes me.”
~*~
He sat down, and the room was still. Then Miles said, wrathfully, “Maybe Fain’s right Sundance, I could have you arrested for what you just said.”
“I’ve been arrested before,” Sundance said. “You wanted the truth and I just told you. It all boils down to this, Miles. Feed the Indians and by spring the Ghost Dance will die out and things will quiet down. Let them starve and waste away from disease for another winter and every man-jack of them who can use a gun will be on the warpath. That’s it, plain and simple. Either the Government starts keeping its promises or they’ll fight.”
“They’re fighting now!” Royer, the Pine Ridge agent’s voice was shaky. “I gave them a special beef issue just a few weeks ago and it was ... ghastly. They killed the cattle the way they used to kill buffalo. Chased them down, speared them, ate ’em guts and all before they were hardly dead. Then they got all worked up and threatened me, almost attacked and burned this agency! That’s when the first troops came in. Now ...” His voice rose. “Now, you know what’s just happened. Two Strike’s Brulés from Rosebud. They’ve raided their own reservation and this one, too, stolen the government herds, and, with a lot of Oglalas, have made for the Badlands.” He gestured. “They’re holed up out there now, in that place they call the Stronghold ... ” He looked at Miles. “And you, General—Why haven’t you sent troops after them?”
Miles’ face was grim. “They’re on a mesa out there in that hell’s own terrain. There’s only one approach to it, across a narrow neck of land from another plateau, and it’d be suicide to take troops over it. They’ve got good water, good grass, and they can hold out indefinitely. But they’re bottled up; we’ve got the whole area encircled; they can’t break out.”
“That’s good tactics,” Sundance said. “Leave them where they are, let them winter with their Ghost Dance. When spring comes, they’ll be danced out, they’ll come in peaceably. Meantime, you attack ’em, that’ll be the signal for the rest of the war faction to make its move.”
He turned to Royer. “As for your beef issue... Who furnished it?”
“Mr. Fain, of course.”
Sundance’s lips curled. “And you wonder why the Indians got mad? Don’t you think they can judge cattle as well as you can? They come in starving, expecting beef, plenty beef, and what they get’s skin and bones and guts and nothing else—Wouldn’t you raise hell, too, when you’d been cheated that way?”
“God damn it!” Hoffman yelled the words, and his chair fell over as he sprang up. “That’s enough, Sundance! I warned you—”
Sundance was on his feet in one smooth motion, right hand poised. Hoffman backed away a step, eyes flaring with that insanity, body slipping into a crouch. Fain was half out of his chair, “Joe Bob—”
Miles roared the words. “Sergeant! Disarm those men!”
A non-com and four soldiers were ranged around the wall. All at once there was the click of rifle bolts. Miles snapped: “The first man who touches a revolver is dead. Mr. Hoffman, Sundance, is that clear?”
Then Fain was blocking Hoffman, his hands on Hoffman’s arms. “Damn it, Joe Bob—Listen to me!” Hoffman appeared not to hear, staring over Fain’s shoulder at Sundance, mouth warped in a snarl. Then, as soldiers ringed him in, he let out a long, gusty sigh. Slowly, he straightened up, and his hands dropped to his sides.
“All right,” he whispered. “Let it ride for now.”
“Mr. Hoffman, Sundance!” Miles snapped the order. “You’ll turn over your weapons to the sergeant.”
Hoffman’s eyes flared again, “I turn over my guns to nobody!”
Fain said, harshly: “Do what the General says. You understand? You do what he says!” By that time, soldiers had Hoffman ringed around. Hoffman looked at them. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“If that’s your orders, Mr. Fain.”
“It’s my orders,” Fain told him.
Hoffman unbuckled his gun belts, passed them to the soldiers. “But make damn sure they take ’em off that half-breed, too!”
Sundance, as soon as Hoffman had unlatched the first belt, had shucked his own belts, handed them to the sergeant. “I’m slick, Hoffman.”
“Now,” Miles said. “Mr. Fain, I think we’ll ask Mr. Hoffman to leave. I don’t believe his presence will serve any useful purpose.”
“I’ll go,” Hoffman said. “If you throw that half-breed out, too.”
Hoffman’s lips peeled back from white teeth in a warped grin. “Okay, I’ll go. But—” he looked at Sundance “—like I told you earlier... this ain’t over yet.”
Then he wheeled, went out, slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Three
No one moved for a long moment. Then Miles, obviously controlling his temper with difficulty, ordered: “Take your seats. The discussion will continue.”
Sundance dropped into his chair, caught a look of utter hatred from Fain’s blue eyes. He grinned faintly, mockingly. Then he gave his full attention to the general.
Miles said, “Now. Before we were interrupted, we were discussing—”
“Starving Indians,” Sundance cut in. “And lousy beef rations.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Sundance.” Miles sucked in a breath that made his deep chest swell. Then his face regained its normal color. “I am aware,” he continued, “and especially aware, since I negotiated the terms of the Sioux’s surrender, that those terms are not being met. I’m also aware that, as Sundance says, the prime cause of unrest is starvation among the Indians. Before I left Chicago to undertake personal command of this situation, I took several steps. One was to examine the present level of rationing. I found it inadequate and I secured a special appropriation for additional beef.” He looked at Sundance. “I have authorization to furnish an additional five hundred head of cattle here at Pine Ridge, three at Rosebud, one hundred each at Crow Creek and Lower Brulé, and two hundred each at Cheyenne River and Standing Rock. It’s hoped that the issuance of additional beef will calm the Indians.”
Fain sat up straight. “When do you want bids?”
“I don’t want bids, Mr. Fain. The situation is so urgent that there’s no time for bids. We’re turning to the regular contractors for these additional cattle if they can furnish them. Can you have five hundred head of stock at Pine Ridge within two weeks?”
“At my usual price?” Fain asked.
“I should hope so.”
“That ain’t much time,” Fain said, looking at Sundance. “But let me get this straight. If I can, you got to buy from me?”
“That is correct. You have first preference. Realizing the urgency of the situation, I’m empowered to offer you an extra five dollars a head. If you can have five hundred head here in two weeks at fifty-five dollars a head, then you’ve got the order.”
“Hell, yes,” Fain said, lips twitching beneath his mustache. “I’ll have ’em here.”
Sundance sat quietly. He waited two seconds, until Fain had stopped speaking. Then he said, “General Miles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“These cattle. Does it matter to the government what they weigh?”
“The price is per head on the hoof.”
Sundance said, “I’ll furnish five hundred head for twenty dollars on the hoof and guarantee every steer to weigh at least a thousand pounds.”
Once more there was a dead silence in the room. Then Fain said, furiously: “Sundance, you heard the General. They got to buy from me.”
Sundance looked at Miles. “Is that correct? No matter what the weight or price, you have to buy these beeves from Fain?”
“Interior and the Bureau of Indian Affairs have laid down certain guidelines. I don’t necessarily agree with those.” Miles’ voice was clipped, precise. “But I have to follow them. Yes. If the original beef contractor can furnish these cattle at fifty-five a head, I have to deal with him and pay that price.”
“I see ... ” Sundance shifted his gaze to Fain. “Then it looks like you’ve got the contract, Fain. But, General—are you aware that Fain will furnish Texas culls? They won’t average over six hundred pounds each and likely less. For twenty dollars a head, almost eighteen thousand dollars less, I’m offering to furnish two hundred thousand pounds more beef?”
“I can’t help that, Sundance. That part of it is beyond my control. If Mr. Fain will deliver five hundred head in two weeks, he has the contract. I’ll admit—” Then Miles shook his head. “Hell,” he said disgustedly. “It’s the politicians ...”
“Yes. The politicians.” Sundance’s voice was bitter. “So Fain’s got the contract. Sure. All right. Just the same, with your permission, sir, I’ll have five hundred head of cattle here within three weeks to be issued to the Sioux as well.”
Miles blinked. “Sundance, didn’t you hear me?”
Sundance stood up slowly, reached his full height.
“I heard you, General. I’ve heard Fain, too, and all the other crap. I said I’ll have five hundred head here to distribute as you see fit among the Indians on whichever reservation that beef will do the most good. And each animal won’t weigh less than a thousand pounds.”
“And I can’t pay you for them!” Miles snapped.
“Did I ask you to?” Sundance grinned faintly. “They’re free. Absolutely free. They won’t cost the Government one red cent. My donation to the five hundred Northern Cheyennes here, my own people, and their allies, the Sioux.” Then his voice turned savage, “Five hundred head of Fain’s beef will be like a slap in the face to the tribes. It won’t help them, they can’t eat bones and horns! But good beef animals, for the first time in years—at least they’ll realize that somebody cares, gives a damn. I’m trying to help the government, don’t you see? Make it look good at no cost Not because I love the government, but because I love the tribes. Meat, red meat, is the only thing that’ll settle down the Indians and stop a war they can’t win. Fill their bellies and they’ll settle down till spring and the Ghost Dance’ll die out...”
Martin Fain slapped the table. “General,” he roared, “this is Goddamn foolishness! Nobody furnishes two hundred thousand pounds of beef, gives away a whole herd, without expectin’ somethin’ in return! This is a maneuver by Sundance, just a trick to try to take away my contract!” His face was mottled red above his white mustache. “You accept that beef, I’ll sue you and the whole damned government!”
Miles looked at Fain. “Will you now?”
“You’re damned right! He’s tryin’ to make me look ridiculous! All he wants is the beef contract for the agencies! And he thinks a move like this’ll git it for him—”
“I’m trying to keep Indians and soldiers from dying,” Sundance said thinly.
Miles said, “Hush. All of you hush.” He looked at Royer. “Mr. Royer. Your agency is the center of the unrest. Will you accept Sundance’s offer? Will you receive and issue his five hundred head?”
Royer’s rabbity face worked. He looked from Miles to Sundance. His voice squeaked when he answered. “I ... don’t know. I mean, there’s nothing in the authorizations that I have...”
“It’s up to you,” Miles said tautly. “If I were in your place, I’d accept the offer.”
Royer swallowed hard. He looked at Fain and Fain stared back. “I don’t think I can,” he said. “I mean, I haven’t anything in my budget for the expense of an extra issue ...”
Fain grinned.
Miles said, “Then, you decline?”
“I didn’t say that,” Royer whispered.
“Make up your mind, Mr. Royer.” Miles’ voice was stern. “Will you accept Sundance’s cattle, or will you not?”
Again Royer looked at Fain. Again he swallowed. Then he said, weakly: “I don’t see how I can. Not under regulations ...”
“Your answer, then,” Miles said, “is no.”
Royer sucked in breath. “That’s right,” he said. He looked sidelong at Fain. “It’s no. I don’t want any cattle on this reservation except Mr. Fain’s.”
Miles’ face worked. It displayed disappointment and contempt. “All right, Sundance. You heard that. Don’t bring any cattle on Pine Ridge.”
For a long half-minute, Jim Sundance, standing, did not move. He was not surprised; he’d half expected this. He’d dealt with th
e bureaucracy of the Bureau of Indian Affairs before, and with the paper-pushing, frightened or corrupt agents. “Will you use the Army to keep them off the Reservation, General?”
“I shall be forced to,” said Miles bitterly, “if that is Mr. Royer’s decision.”
“It’s my decision!” Royer said, with suddenly gathered force. “I don’t want Sundance’s cattle on Pine Ridge and I expect you to keep them off!”
“Then we shall do that,” Miles said heavily. “Sundance, I appreciate your offer. But the answer seems to be no.”
Sundance checked the fury that he felt. He already knew what he was going to do, and it was not something that either Miles or Fain could stop. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I’ll accept that decision, sir.” And Miles looked at him in surprise as he sat down.
“Then we’ll hear no more discussion about the cattle contract,” he said.
“None,” Sundance said.
Miles breathed deeply. “That aspect is settled, I suppose. Not to my entire satisfaction... Very well. There remains one more problem common to everyone. Sitting Bull.”
“Aye,” James McLaughlin, the Standing Rock agent, said. “Sitting Bull.”
“Mr. McLaughlin—Sitting Bull’s your responsibility. Your comments?”
McLaughlin stood up, smoothing back white hair, “Yes, he’s mine. And I’m prepared to deal with him. Sitting Bull,” he went on, looking around the table, “is the very heart of this matter. It was he who united all the tribes at the Little Big Horn. It’s still him who’s looked up to by all the Sioux as their sacred preacher. What Sitting Bull does or does not do will determine whether the Sioux fight or not.”
“Sitting Bull,” Miles said, “according to the news I have, is running a kind of non-stop Ghost Dance right now.”