Gunsights

1

Young Maurice Dumas of the Chicago Times looked at his list of THINGS TO DO:

Interview W.A. Vandozen, LaSalle Mining v.p. staying at Congress.

How? The only chance would be to run into the man accidentally, as he did with Early, and show the man he was courteous (took his cap off), industrious and did not ask personal or embarrassing questions or make brash assumptions.

And then kiss his heinie, why don't you? Maurice Dumas thought.

It had been pure luck with Brendan Early, the timing, catching him in a talkative mood. Then being invited out to the desert to watch him shoot: amazing, studying the man as he calmly blazed away with two different sets of matched revolvers: one pair, Smith & Wesson, big and mean-looking; the other, ivory-handled, nickle-plated Merwin & Hulberts that Early said were given to him by a wealthy and grateful lady from Chicago. Not saying why she had been grateful. At first-out there shooting at saguaro and barrel cactus that were about the girth of a man-Early seemed troubled about the accuracy of his weapons. But within an hour his confidence was restored and as they rode back to Sweetmary Early told about the Sonora Incident and what he knew of Phil Sundeen. Which covered the next item on Maurice Dumas' THINGS TO DO.

Find out about this Sundeen.

Early said he had assumed the man was buried beneath Mexican soil and was surprised to learn he was alive and kicking. Different other LaSalle Mining people said that Sundeen had been hired by the company as Supervisor in Charge of Protection and Public Safety and was to see that no one infringed on company leases, destroyed company property or exposed themselves to harm or injury in areas related to company mining operations.

What?

The news reporters in the Gold Dollar said what it meant in plain English: Phil Sundeen had been hired to bust heads, shoot trespassers and run them off company land. And that included all the Indians, niggers and Mexicans living up in the Rincons. For months the two sides had been threatening and calling each other names. Finally, as soon as Sundeen arrived, there would be some action to write about. Yes, the company had called him in, a spokesman said, as an expert in restoring order and maintaining peace.

Good, the newsmen said, because it certainly wasn't much of a war without any shooting.

“I said restore peace,” the company spokesman said. And a reporter said, “We know what you mean.”

But wait a minute. Why hire Sundeen? Why not let Bren Early, known to be a shooter, restore order and maintain peace?

Because Mr. Early had his own responsibilities as Coordinating Manager of the Southwest Region, the company spokesman said.

According to the journalists that was a pile of horseshit. Not one of them, including Maurice Dumas, had yet to see Bren Early sitting at a desk or coordinating much other than a draw poker hand. Bren Early had been hired as part of the deal when the company bought his claims, and his executive title had been made up out of thin air. They could put him to work if they wanted. Otherwise Early was to keep himself available to show visiting dignitaries and politicians the Works: which meant the local whorehouses and gambling parlors and-if the visitors were inclined-take them out hunting or to look at some live Indians. It was said the company was paying Early a guaranteed $100,000 over ten years, plus a one-percent royalty on all the milled copper sent to market. He was a rich man.

O.K., but now Early and Sundeen were on the same side. What about the bitterness between them-as reported by Maurice Dumas? How would it affect the Early-Moon Feud? Would it be like a preliminary event, winner getting to go against Dana Moon?

The journalists sat down to have a few drinks and think about that one, see if they could develop a side issue cross-plot to lay over the main action. They fooled with possible headline themes such as:

Prospect of Preliminary Showdown Delays War

Will New Man Live to Take Command?

Shoot-Out Expected on LaSalle Street

All this even before Phil Sundeen arrived in town. If he had the least intention of gunning for Bren Early he would find the atmosphere most conducive.

Meanwhile, Maurice Dumas was working on the third item on his list of THINGS TO DO.

Interview Dana Moon.

2

When Maurice Dumas arrived at White Tanks he didn't know what was going on: all these Apaches, about a hundred of them out in the pasture near the agency buildings and stock pens, sitting around campfires, roasting chunks of beef while others were chanting and a line of women were doing some kind of shuffle dance. Like it was an Indian Fourth of July picnic or some kind of tribal powwow. Some of the men wore hats and parts of white men's clothes, a pair of trousers, a vest; though most of them still wore skirts and high moccasins and thick headbands wrapped around their coarse hair.

Maurice Dumas found out it was Meat Day. When the beef allotment provided by the government was delivered, the Apaches always butchered a few head on the spot and had a feast. They would stuff themselves with meat, eating it straight, drink some corn beer, or tulapai, as it was called, spend the night here in the agency pasture and, in the morning, drive their skimpy herd up into the mountains to their rancheri´as. Maurice Dumas remembered being told that Apaches always camped high and wouldn't be caught dead living down in the flats. It was part of the problem in this land dispute which he wanted to discuss with Dana Moon-if he could find him.

Well, it seemed he was getting luckier all the time-just by chance arriving on Meat Day-dismounting his hired horse in front of the Indian Agency office, a one-story adobe building with a wooden front porch, and there was Moon himself sitting in a straight chair tilted back, his boots up on the porch rail, at rest. Perfect, Maurice Dumas thought. The Indian agent in his seat of governmental authority, while his charges performed their tribal rites.

Moon looked exactly as he did in the C. S. Fly photos, though not as buttoned up and strapped together. He did not appear to be armed. His belt buckle was undone and he was smoking a cigar. When Maurice Dumas introduced himself, Moon asked if he would like something to eat. The news reporter said no thanks. He handed Moon a paper bag saying, “A little something for you,” and watched as Moon took out the bottle of Green River bourbon whiskey and read the label unhurriedly before placing the quart on the plank floor next to him. “Thank you,” he said.

“I just wanted to talk to you a little,” Maurice Dumas said. “Ask your opinion of a few things.”

“Ask,” Moon said.

“I didn't think you lived here at the agency.”

“I don't. I'm a few miles up that barranca,” lowering his head and looking west, beyond the pasture and the gathering of feasting Indians. “I'm here for Meat Day and will leave soon as I'm able to.” He seemed full but not too uncomfortable.

“Do you live up there alone?”

“My wife and I.”

“Oh, I didn't know you were married.”

“Why would you?”

“I mean nobody's mentioned it.”

“Does it make a difference in how you see me?”

“I mean I'm just surprised,” Maurice Dumas said. “If there's gonna be trouble and all-I was thinking, having your wife there could make it harder for you.”

Moon said, “Do you know how many wives are up there? How many families?”

“I guess I hadn't thought of it.”

“You call it a war, you like to keep it simple,” Moon said. “These men against those men. Line 'em up, let's see who wins. Well, to do that we'd have to get rid of the women and children. Where should we send them?”

“As I said, I hadn't thought about it.”

“What do you think about?” Moon asked. The front legs of the chair hit the plank floor as Moon got up and went into the agency office.

Now what? Was he offended by something? No, Moon came out again with two glasses, sat down and poured them a couple of drinks.

Maurice Dumas pulled a chair over next to Moon's. “I'm only an observer,” he said, sitting down and carefully tilting back. “I don't take sides, I remain objective.”

“You're on a side whether you like it or not,” Moon said. “You're on the side of commerce and, I imagine, you believe in progress and good government.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Copper is progress and the land has been leased to the mine company by the government.”

Maurice Dumas didn't like the insinuation. “That doesn't mean I'm on the side of the company. But if we're talking about legal rights, I'd have to say they, the legal right, are. The company owns mineral rights to the land for a hundred years.”

“You feel that's long enough?”

“I don't know how long it takes.”

Moon took a sip of whiskey and drew on his cigar. “You happen to know what the mine company's doing up there?”

“Right now they're surveying,” Maurice Dumas said, “trying to locate veins and ore loads that look promising.”

“And how are they doing that?”

“As I understand, they set off dynamite, then pick around, see what they've got.”

Moon waited.

“So far, I guess they haven't found anything worth sinking a shaft in.”

“But they spook the herds, scatter 'em all over, kill what they want for meat,” Moon said. “They've blown up stock tanks, ruined the natural watershed, wiped out crops and some homes in rock slides. They tear up a man's land, clean him out, and leave it.”

“It's theirs to tear up,” the news reporter said.

“No, it isn't,” Moon said, in a quiet but ominous tone.

The whiskey made Maurice Dumas feel confident and knowledgeable. He said, “I'd like to say you're right. Good for you. But the fact remains your Indians are off the White Tanks reservation by several miles. And the other people up there, whoever they are, are living on land without deed or title. So LaSalle Mining, legally, has every right to make them leave.”

“You asked my opinion,” Moon said. “Are you gonna print it in the paper?”

“I hope to, yes.”

“You're not writing anything down.”

“I have a good memory,” Maurice Dumas said.

“Well, remember this,” Moon said. “The Mimbre Apaches were hunting up there before Christopher Columbus came over in his boat, and till now nobody's said a word about it, not even the Indian Bureau. There's a settlement of colored people, colored soldiers who've taken Indian wives, all of them at one time in the United States Tenth Cavalry. You would think the government owed them at least a friendly nod, wouldn't you? The Mexicans living up there have claims that go back a hundred years or more to Spanish land grants. The Mexicans went to Federal Claims Court to try to protect their property. They got thrown out. I wrote to the Indian Bureau about the Apaches up there-it's their land, let 'em live on it. No, they said, get your people back to White Tanks or you're fired. You see the influence the company has? Generations they've hunted, roamed through those mountains. Government doesn't say a word till the big company kneels on 'em for a favor. Yes sir, we'll see to it right away, Mr. LaSalle-”

“Is there a Mr. LaSalle?” Maurice didn't think so.

“I went to Federal District Court to get an injunction. I wanted to restrict the mine company to certain areas-they find ore, O.K., they pay a royalty on it to any people that have to move. They don't find any ore, they clean up their mess and get out. The judge held up my injunction-cost me fifty dollars to have written-like it was paper you keep in the privy and threw it out of court.”

“Legal affairs get complicated,” the news reporter offered.

“Do you want to tell me how it is,” Moon said, “or you want to listen.”

“I'm sorry. Go on.”

“All these people I've mentioned number only about two hundred and sixty, counting old ones, women and young children. Fewer than fifty ablebodied men. And they're spread all over. By that, I mean they don't present any kind of unified force. The mine company can send a pack of armed men up there with guns and dynamite to take the land, and you know what will happen?”

“Well, eventually-” the reporter began.

“Before eventually,” Moon said. “You know what will happen? Do you want to go ask the people what they'll do if armed men come?”

“Will they tell me?”

“They'll tell you it's their land. If the company wants it, the company will have to take it.”

“Well,” the news reporter said, a little surprised, “that's exactly what the company will do, take it.”

“When you write your article for the paper,” Moon said, “don't write the end till it happens.”