Outcasts of River Falls

by Jacqueline Guest

  JP followed her outside, still moping as though he’d lost his best friend. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what’s wrong with you?” Kathryn demanded.

  “How could you do it, Kathryn?”

  Something in his tone made her stop in her tracks. “What are you talking about? Do what?”

  “I saw you yesterday, with Mark Prentiss. You were kissing him.” He closed the distance between them. “Did you know Constable Dung is his uncle? Then last night, the Highwayman is almost caught in a trap, and you happened to be there. Isn’t it lucky that you were the only Métis not arrested? Did you go to gloat when the hero of the Ditch People was taken down?” He’d worked himself into an angry lather.

  Kathryn’s mouth went dry. “Mark Prentiss, he’s the sergeant’s son?” What had she done? She’d told him all about the secret signal and that Aunt Belle was going to warn the Highwayman.

  The rider who had hung back in the darkness, it had been Mark. She groaned. “Oh, no! This is all my fault. I told Mark about the signal because I thought he...” she faltered, “I thought he liked me. I trusted him.”

  Then she remembered how he’d reacted when she’d told him that Belle Tourond was her aunt. His sudden cool attitude and his parting words how he was counting on meeting her again soon. He must have run straight to his uncle and told him everything.

  JP stepped closer. “You come here, upset everyone with your, your...books, then you cut the heart out of our community. Do you have any idea how much the Highwayman meant to every Métis? It wasn’t simply the things he did to help our people; he was a symbol – one of hope, hope that we could change things, that it was possible to fight peaceably, without guns, and win. And now, thanks to you, that hope is gone.”

  His cheeks were wet with tears now, and this was somehow worse than the anger. He walked away, leaving her numb. It was true. She was at fault. She hadn’t done it out of malice; no, it was way worse than that. She’d done it because she’d been foolish – utterly, recklessly foolish...over a boy.

  And Kathryn realized that losing JP’s friendship meant much more to her than losing Mark Prentiss. This Métis boy was a true friend, a friend you could laugh with, tease, and talk about books with, someone who cared about you. And now she’d lost him.

  She thought of her papa. If her father had caused something as catastrophic as this mess, Kathryn knew he wouldn’t lie down and accept defeat. Her father, who’d been so strong and brave, who had taught her justice and to stand up for what was right, he would wade valiantly into the fray.

  But he was gone, forever, and so was her dear sweet mother. Gone, dead...a page turned in her mind, and she felt a hot tear squeeze out of the corner of her eye, then another.

  It was as though a dam burst and she couldn’t stop it. Kathryn let the tears fall and as they did, her grief fell from her also. Along with it, the hidden anger at her parents for leaving her was washed away until all that remained was a sense of peace and acceptance. She had been loved and Kathryn would always have that to carry in her heart.

  She wiped her sleeve across her snotty nose. If it took a battle to make this right, then she’d give them one. She would fight for Aunt Belle, the one person who loved her unconditionally. Kathryn was a Tourond, and she wasn’t going to give up so easily!

  Kathryn’s fatigue was burned away by her anger. She raced for Aunt Belle’s trying to come up with a plan as she went. The sun was up and that meant even tired constables would soon be at their work.

  Taking the veranda stairs in one leap, Kathryn hurried inside the cabin and then stopped, trying to order her thoughts. What to do first? She looked down at her torn and dirty dress and the smallest of smiles appeared on her lips as she recalled her aunt’s words from what seemed a lifetime ago. It seemed she again had on a frilly rig which wasn’t practical for the task at hand. She needed something more suitable. Kathryn went to the ladder leading to the loft.

  She’d never been in Aunt Belle’s bedroom and immediately noticed the bed. The posts were four sturdy logs connected with wooden poles and rawhide interlacing formed the sleeping platform. On top of this was the mattress, if one could call it that – a canvas bag filled with fresh hay. Her quilt was made of patchwork unlike anything Kathryn had ever seen before. It was tiny diamond shapes cut from many different hides of various colours and textures, sewn together in an intricate mosaic that was stunning. A true piece of art.

  Kathryn thought of her own bed, with a real mattress and feather duvet, which if she were to be honest, was more comfortable than her bed back at school. Why had Aunt Belle given her the smart iron bedstead with the nice mattress and kept this crude canvas bag for herself? There was a lot about her aunt that she didn’t understand.

  Kathryn felt a little uncomfortable snooping through her aunt’s wardrobe but she wanted the denim jeans and coat she’d seen Aunt Belle wearing while riding so skilfully.

  If the good townsfolk of Hopeful wanted to treat the Métis as outcasts, then she’d act like one, right down to the clothes she wore. The blue jeans and capote were strange attire for a woman. They were also much more practical, not to mention more comfortable, than a long dress and shawl.

  Once she’d changed, she ran for the stable to tackle her second challenge – saddling old Nellie. As she struggled with the bridle and other horsey gear, her mind ran over the events of last night remembering the fabulous knife she’d seen the Highwayman wearing. If Constable Dung had a knife as proof, it was a fake. Claude still had his fancy antler carved weapon in his possession.

  Kathryn was now positive Blake was lying and the reason had to be profit – seventy thousand dollars profit. The townspeople would want someone to pay and if two Ditch People were conveniently offered up, then silenced permanently, everyone would think justice was served and that the money had been buried in the bush, lost to the bankers. It would become part of the history of the town, then forgotten along with her aunt and the Highwayman. What a perfect plan!

  So perfect, in fact, that Blake was sure to speed things up if he could.

  She pulled on Nellie’s cinch one last time, then buckled it. Clambering into the saddle on the large horse was no mean feat in itself but finally seated, Katherine set out to talk to each and every Métis family in the district. She would convince them that together they could do something remarkable- they could save Aunt Belle.

  Kathryn’s high spirits were soon tested as family after family said the same thing: they were barely scraping by now and they weren’t about to cause more trouble. They were all very sad that Belle had been caught up in this, but they’d known the miraculous boon of the Highwayman couldn’t last forever. Nothing good for the Métis ever lasted long.

  By the time Kathryn finished her rounds, frustration had replaced her high spirits. The Métis had had years of hard lessons from life on the road allowances; still that was no excuse for abandoning Aunt Belle. She was one of their own and she needed them.

  If it were left up to the Ditch People, her aunt would die. Kathryn had to stop that from happening by any means, fair or foul. She went over all she knew and kept coming back to one inescapable solution: Blake was the mastermind behind the robbery and murder, and it was up to Kathryn to set a trap for him before her aunt paid the price.

  She needed to talk to Aunt Belle. With a nudge of her heels, Kathryn and Nellie started the long trip to Hopeful.

  Chapter 18

  Desperate Plan to Escape the Dungeon

  Kathryn felt the hostile glares as she rode down the main street of Hopeful. It may have been because of the way she was dressed, but to use an expression she’d read in one of her dime novels, she sat tall in her saddle and defied the lot of them.

  She suspected her clothes probably weren’t the true reason for the hostility. It was more likely, word had gone around that the new girl was merely another Métis squatter from the road allowances and she was sure who had spread that word.

  Tying Nellie up in the alley, Kathryn spied Mark Prentiss, he
r ex-suitor, tipped back in a chair as he lounged against the barracks. Fury bloomed as she strode across the street to confront him.

  “You told Constable Blake about my aunt and her lantern signal, didn’t you?”

  He dropped the two front chair legs back down to the boardwalk with a bang. “I figure the likes of you road allowance trash get what you deserve.”

  His words stung like razor-edged slivers of ice. “Mark, I thought you and I, well, I thought you had feelings for me.”

  He stood, loathing coming off him in heated waves. “Get this straight. I don’t have nothing to do with no red-skinned half breed.”

  Katherine’s eyes glittered as she took a menacing step toward him. “You get this straight. You need to think for yourself. You’ve let the ignorance of others twist your mind. You liked me well enough when you thought I was white. Well, Mark, my skin is the same shade it was yesterday. The only colour to worry about here is the ugly one your prejudice has painted the world.” She started past him, and then stopped. “And for the record, I wouldn’t have you if you were the last pig farmer on earth!”

  She slammed the door on the detachment office a little too hard as she entered. Sergeant Prentiss sat at his desk, frozen at her dramatic entrance.

  “Whoa now, Kathryn! You need to know that’s the only door I have and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t rattle it off its hinges.”

  “Sergeant Prentiss,” she rushed on. “My aunt had nothing to do with the robbery and more than that, the Highwayman didn’t do it. Constable Blake said he took the knife away from the Highwayman and it was his proof of guilt, but that doesn’t add up. If he was knocked out, why didn’t the killer take the knife when he left or worse, stab Blake like he did the guard Meltzer?”

  The sergeant carefully set his fountain pen in the rest and replaced the lid on his small jar of ink before he spoke. “I know you don’t want your aunt mixed up in this, and I’m thinking Belle was simply caught in the crossfire and is innocent. Cyrus has only been a member of the North West Mounted Police for two years and I’ll admit, he’s got a big mouth and he may be a might hot-headed. This Highwayman fellow of yours, he’s a whole other story. He’s been stealing from the townspeople for some time now. Nothing big, I know that, still...a thief is a thief. Maybe he decided taking all that money was the best way to rub our faces in it once and for all. I’m the first to admit there’s been some unfair dealings and the Métis folks get the short end of the stick a lot, so I kind of turned a blind eye when the Highwayman started evening the score. The bank business is different. We’re talking murder and stealing seventy thousand dollars. No one gets away with that, not if I can help it.”

  “What if I told you I had seen the Highwayman, and he still had his knife?”

  The sergeant’s face showed surprise at this, then immediately went hard. “You couldn’t have, Kathryn. Cyrus has that knife put away for evidence.”

  “His knife is a fake. It has to be...” Kathryn knew this was not going well. Sergeant Prentiss had his mind made up.

  “Why don’t you go back and say hello to your aunt. She’ll want to see you.” His voice softened as he indicated the narrow passageway which led to what she would call ‘the dungeons’.

  As she walked down the corridor, Kathryn passed the office she remembered belonged to Constable Blake. The door was open and the office empty. The same awful reek wafted out and she wrinkled her nose. Maybe Sergeant Prentiss kept the smelly fellow hidden from public view, which was what Kathryn would do if she had a snake like Blake working for her.

  Hurrying down the hall, she pushed through the door to the cells and immediately spotted her aunt, sitting disconsolately on a wooden pallet which passed for the bed. Her braids were dishevelled and her soiled dress torn at the shoulder. The most shocking thing about her aunt’s appearance was the dried blood at the corner of her mouth. Kathryn’s stomach clenched as she rushed forward. “Thank goodness, you’re all right!”

  Belle stood and hurried to the cell bars when she saw who it was. “Oh, Katy, I’ve been so worried. When we left, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Blake’s threat to go to the cabin was too possible.”

  Kathryn tried to make light of it, as though it had been nothing at all. “I ain’t seen hide nor hair of that varmint and if I did, well, I sleep with your big old gutting knife by my side.” She thought this sounded very brave and woodsy, and then decided it also sounded prudent. She’d find a knife and put it by her bed the minute she returned to the cabin.

  “You should go and stay at Kokum’s. You’ll be safe there.”

  Kathryn thought of the old woman, now so diminished. “Don’t worry about me, Aunt Belle. I have to tell you something.” She took a deep breath, then lowered her voice to a whisper, fearful of being overheard. “I know who the Highwayman is.”

  Her aunt’s eyes went wide. “Mon Dieu! How did you find out?” she whispered back.

  Kathryn dismissed this with a wave as though it were such an elementary deduction on her part that it wasn’t worth mentioning. “Oh, the many disappearances, then showing up unannounced when he’s needed, the midnight steed and his description – tall, ebony haired and handsome.” She frowned. “Well, not my type of handsome, that’s for sure. Each to her own, I always say. I must tell you, the lefty thing threw me, since he’s a righty, but I thought that was part of his disguise.”

  Aunt Belle now appeared thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about, child?”

  “Claude Remy...Le Bandit de Grand Chemin... The Highwayman! In his hero persona, he wears his knife on his left, denoting left-handedness, which Claude is not. As for ebony-haired, true, he has those white streaks, but most of his is dark enough. And the real giveaway was that time Claude said to tell you he had ‘the goods’; then the Highwayman mysteriously delivers a pile of wonderful books on the doorstep...” She smiled smugly. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

  Her aunt’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I think you need to do your arithmetic over again. Claude Remy is not the Highwayman!”

  “Of course he is. I have it all worked out.” Kathryn sniffed delicately.

  “And I know for a fact that he is not. Remember who I was with last night. Claude was simply a good smokescreen for the Spinster Tourond so I let things go along, knowing they would never go very far. Those other details are simply romanticized twaddle and could fit nearly any man in the province. As for the goods that Claude was bringing me.... He’s a trapper, Katy – they were the beaver pelts I needed for Mrs. Prentiss’ fancy coat.”

  Kathryn didn’t know what to say. This made a mess of her brilliant deductions. “If Claude Remy isn’t the Highwayman, who is?”

  Aunt Belle’s lips tightened before she spoke. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You have to. He can go to Sergeant Prentiss and explain that you had nothing to do with the robbery.”

  “And then what? Do you really think they would believe him and we would both walk away? Non, ma chère. If I told you, there would simply be two ropes on the gallows.”

  The iron resolve in her aunt’s voice let Kathryn know that was the only answer she’d get. She moved on. “I’ve been giving the robbery a lot of thought. I know the Highwayman didn’t do it,” here she looked to her aunt for confirmation and Belle nodded, “which means there’s only one logical explanation. Constable Blake is the murderer.” She continued laying out her case. “It makes sense. Blake arranged that he was on guard duty the night of the robbery. He kills Meltzer, the only witness, and then hides the money. Knowing the townspeople will demand blood for the murder of the guard, he sets things up so that the Highwayman, and now you, will take the fall and he’ll get away scot-free.” She paused; then added quickly, “All I have to do is prove it.”

  Her aunt readily agreed. “It makes terrible sense. Katy, you don’t have much time. I heard Blake tell the sergeant they should move me to Lethbridge for trial in case the Highwayman tries to break me o
ut of jail and that he will personally testify I was an accomplice in the murder of the guard.”

  Kathryn squeezed the cold metal bars on the cell door. “The one piece of evidence pinning this on the Highwayman is that knife. I have to get a look at it.” A quick check confirmed that Sergeant Prentiss was still dutifully at his desk and that the constable’s door remained open. “I’m going into his office. I’ll leave the door to the cells open. If the Sergeant comes along, try to distract him. Wish me luck.”

  Her aunt reached through the bars, laying a protective hand on her niece’s arm. “Please be careful, Kathryn.”

  The use of her name made Kathryn stop. She wrapped her own hand firmly around her aunt’s and felt Belle’s tremble. “I will, and,” she stood, straight and tall, “I prefer Katy, Katy Tourond, and I’m one of the Road Allowance People!”

  She could still see the love and worry on her aunt’s face, but now, there was pride too. “Everything’s going to be fine, Aunt B.” Kathryn assured her and mentally crossed all her fingers that it was true.

  “By the way...” Her aunt eyed Kathryn’s clothes. “That’s a very familiar outfit. I have one exactly like it.”

  Kathryn managed to appear sheepish. “Actually, I borrowed it. You know, these trousers are very practical and comfortable, especially when riding old Nellie, and the coat is perfect. You should make me one.”

  Her aunt laughed, a sound that filled Kathryn’s heart with hope.

  “You, young lady, can make your own capote, as any self respecting Métis should.”

  Kathryn pressed her face against the bars and kissed her aunt on the cheek. Glancing at the back door leading to the alley, she got an idea. She moved to the door, opened it a crack, then took one of her hair pins and jammed it into the lock, preventing the striker from closing all the way and sealing the door.