by Ann Walsh
“No need to be sorry, Ted. I would have done the same thing myself. No point in getting hurt over a piece of news that he was bound to hear sooner or later anyway.”
“Thank you, Constable. But I also told him that Moses had recognized the nugget. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t you worry your head about that, son. He probably suspected it, anyway.
“Now, the important thing is, did he say anything about where he was heading? We want to catch that man. We’re going to catch him.” His face hardened as he spoke, his eyes narrowing, and for a minute I almost felt sorry for Barry. I’d hate to have Constable Sullivan after me!
“He said he had a friend — a friend who would help him get out of the country.”
“Did he indeed, now?” The constable stood straighter and his face grew solemn. Moses stopped rubbing my feet and stayed still, listening. “And who might that friend be, do you think?”
“I’m sorry, Constable. He didn’t say a name. He was going to tell me where he was heading, but he caught himself in time and didn’t finish the sentence. I’m afraid I don’t know anything that can help.”
“Think, Ted, think!” Constable Sullivan insisted. “He’s got a good fifteen hours start on us now. We have to catch up to him. Didn’t he give you any clue as to where he was going?”
“No, nothing.” I felt terrible. Because they’d spent all night looking for me, James Barry had managed to get out of town without being caught. “He didn’t say anything else.”
I paused. “Well, he did mention that once he got across the bridge he was safe. But he didn’t say which bridge.”
The constable’s face seemed even redder, and his words came out in a rush. “His words, Ted, his exact words. Can you remember them?”
I thought hard. It seemed so long ago. What I remembered most clearly was Barry smiling and saying he’d have to take care of me. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s been such a long night. I’ve forgotten.”
“Think, son, think! It’s of great importance.”
I thought. They watched my face intently, almost as if they were trying to help me remember. “Well,” I said at last, “I think what he said was, ‘Once I swing across the bridge ...’ No, it was, ‘A few miles after I swing across the bridge, I’m safe.’ I’m pretty sure those were his exact words.”
The constable frowned. “Swing across a bridge, eh? I wonder.” He was silent for a long time. Moses helped me get up. I could stand now and walk, too, if I went slowly. My feet still tingled, but they didn’t hurt anymore.
“Please, can I go home?” I asked. I was suddenly near tears and fought to keep them back. “I’m tired and hungry, and I want to see my ma and pa because they’ve been so worried. Can we go?”
“Of course, Ted,” said Moses. “Here, lean on me and I’ll help you. It’s not far to your house, and your ma has hot soup and biscuits ready. I told her you’d be hungry when we found you.”
“Wait a minute!” Constable Sullivan’s face was so red that it almost glowed, and his eyes sparkled like sunlight on the creek. “Are you sure that’s what he said? About swinging across a bridge?”
“I think so. Yes, I’m positive.”
“Then I do know where he’s going! There’s only one suspension bridge on the Cariboo Road — at Alexandra, just north of Yale. I’ll take even money that the bridge at Alexandra is where he’s heading. He was thinking of that bridge and how it sways in the wind. That’s why he used the word ‘swing.’ All we have to do is stop him there, before he crosses the bridge and reaches this friend who will look after him!”
“Do you think so?” I asked, my tiredness and hunger almost forgotten. “Do you really think so?”
“I’m sure of it,” replied the constable. “Positive. Judging by what he said, it’s the only place he could be going. I’ll take the stage tomorrow, and with any luck, I should intercept him before he’s across that bridge. He’ll be walking, I reckon, sticking to the side of the road and trying to stay out of sight. Even if he could manage to get a ride somewhere, he wouldn’t have tried to do it yet, not this close to Barkerville. I’ll be at the bridge before him for sure. We’ve nearly got him. Yes, we’ve nearly got him!”
His face suddenly fell and his voice lost its high, excited note. “Only trouble is, I’ve never seen James Barry. I wouldn’t recognize him no matter where I found him.”
“We can tell you what he looks like,” I said. “He’s dark and tall and has a beard and …”
“Ted, do you have any idea how many tall, dark, bearded men there are in this part of the world? I’m liable to come back with the wrong man!”
There was silence in the cabin, a silence so deep that the sound of Williams Creek suddenly seemed loud. Then Moses spoke, softly, his voice hardly disturbing the quiet.
“I’ll go with you, Constable. I would consider it an honour to assist you in apprehending the killer of my friend, Charles Blessing. I wasn’t much help to Charles in life; kind of blame myself for not going on to Barkerville with him instead of staying behind in Quesnel for that extra day. Maybe now I can be of help to him. I’ll come with you. I’ll point James Barry out to you. You won’t return with the wrong man.”
Constable Sullivan coughed, and the stillness was broken. “Appreciate your help, Moses. You’ll be more than welcome to come with me. Between the two of us we’ll make sure that Barry comes back to Barkerville and gets his just rewards for the evil he’s done.”
I stared at Moses, unable to speak. I knew I’d never dare point Barry out to the law, be the one responsible for his arrest. But they’d be bringing him back here, back to Barkerville! The last thing I wanted was to see James Barry ever again.
Deep inside of me a tiny, cowardly voice spoke, and I heard it, even though I didn’t want to. “I hope you’re long gone, Mr. Barry,” the shameful little voice said, “I hope they don’t catch you and bring you back here. I hope I never see you again, even if that means you escape from the law.”
9
Murderer on the Loose!
Constable Sullivan was eager to get away as soon as possible to try to catch up with Barry, but Chief Constable Fitzgerald had other ideas.
“Listen, Sullivan,” he told him, “We don’t even know for sure that the dead man is Charles Blessing. He may have been someone different.”
Constable Sullivan protested, “But then why would Barry be in such a hurry to get out of town? And why would he have bothered to tie up Ted that night so he could get a head start?”
“I’m not saying it isn’t Blessing’s body, now, or that Barry isn’t a murderer,” the chief constable went on, “Only that we have to do things properly. The inquest is set for October 1. If Moses can identify the body and the coroner says it is Charles Blessing, then you can set out the next day. If Barry is heading for the suspension bridge he’ll be travelling by foot, and probably only at night. You take the stage and you’ll be there days before him — lots of time to set a trap. Just hold your horses, Sullivan, and wait for the inquest. We’re sworn members of the police force, and we have to do things official-like.”
At the inquest, Moses did identify the body as that of his friend Charles Blessing. He didn’t have to actually look at the corpse. I guess nobody wanted to look at it. It had been lying out in the open for nearly four months and must have been a terrible sight. Poor Mr. Blessing was buried in a hurry, right close to where he had been found with the bullet hole in his head.
Moses recognized three items — a new tin drinking cup, a sheath knife, and a silver pencil case — all found either on or near the body, and all three bearing the initials C.M.B. “Charles bought that tin cup in Quesnel,” he told the coroner. “His own had fallen off his pack earlier on the road, and he needed a new one. I was with him when he bought it, and saw him scratch his initials on the bottom.”
Of Charles Blessing’s money, the almost $60.00 he had with him shortly before his murder, and the gold nugget stickpin which Moses said
he always wore, there was, of course, no trace. Moses would have more testifying to do if James Barry ever came to trial!
Moses took up a collection from his friends and customers, and hired my pa to carve a headstone and build a picket fence around Mr. Blessing’s grave at Pinegrove. The money poured in, almost as if everyone in Barkerville felt ashamed that a murderer had walked their streets, and they wanted to make amends to the dead man. The collection grew to $94.50, a handsome amount. The headstone would read, “In memory of C.M. Blessing, a native of Ohio, Aged 30 years. Was murdered near this spot, May 31st, 1866.” Moses thought his friend was from Ohio, he seemed to remember him mentioning it, but he had to guess about his age.
Meanwhile, in the days between the discovery of the body and the inquest, more excitement gripped the town. Travellers coming into the gold fields reported seeing a tall, heavily bearded man on the road. His behaviour puzzled them, for he avoided all company, hid beside the road whenever a stage passed, and travelled mainly in the dark. Stumbling into camps at night he had been offered the hospitality of the road; a chance to sit, drink a mug of coffee, and pass on news of the Creek. He curtly refused all offers and quickly left, keeping his face well out of the light of the campfires. The travellers were puzzled. Here was a man leaving the gold fields when almost everyone else was going to them. His strange behaviour and sullen manner intrigued them, and they spread their stories eagerly in Barkerville.
That afternoon, right after the inquest had finished, Moses was shaving one such traveller, and listening to his story. Moses’s business had almost doubled since Blessing’s body had been found, and he had told his story of the strangely shaped gold nugget. Customers came to get their hair done, their beards trimmed, to buy his select stock of items for the ladies — and also to listen to whatever he could tell them, first-hand, about his friendship with the murdered man. There had never been a murder in Barkerville and the whole town could talk of nothing else.
The newcomer in the barber’s chair had finished his tale, “I’m sure it was this Barry that I saw,” he said as he left the shop. “Thank the stars he didn’t accept my hospitality and spend the night by my fire. Why, I might have been murdered myself!” He hurried out, eyes wide with the thought of his narrow escape.
There were still two customers waiting, when a third came in the door. Moses smiled at the newcomer and said, “Be a few minutes before I can tend to you, sir. Hope you don’t mind waiting.” As he readied the chair for the next customer he sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes, but by the time he began the haircut his voice was firm and there was a smile on his lips again.
I waved goodbye, and left the barbershop. It was good for Moses to have his business increase so much, but he was too busy to spend any time talking with me. To be honest though, I was sick to death of hearing the story of the gold nugget stickpin and the death of Charles Blessing. Actually, I admitted to myself as I walked slowly up to Pa’s shop, it wasn’t the nugget stickpin or Mr. Blessing I was tired of hearing about, it was James Barry. His name was on everyone’s lips these days, especially in Moses’s shop where it seemed that his name was mentioned every minute. I didn’t want to hear any more of Mr. James Barry than I had to. I had seen quite enough of him already, and I just wanted to forget all about him, and as soon as possible.
Pa was gluing a rocking chair together when I got there, and I took over stirring the pot of thick, strong-smelling glue on the stove where Pa was heating it. “Won’t be too long, Ted, then we’ll walk home together, if you feel like the company.” I nodded without speaking. Lately I preferred to walk home with Pa, rather than go by myself. We didn’t say much on the way, but I felt better with him by my side, even though I knew that James Barry was miles away from Barkerville, making his slow way towards the Alexandra Bridge where he hoped to find help and safety.
Pa had finished with the glue, and was tightening the clamps around the chair’s joints, ready to leave his work for the night, when someone knocked on the shop door, then pushed it open and came in.
“Constable Sullivan,” said Pa. “All ready for your trip? I hear you and Moses are going out on tomorrow’s stage, off to arrest James Barry.”
The constable’s face was serious as he pulled off his cap, and stood awkwardly twisting it around in his hands.
“There’s been a wee problem with that, Mr. MacIntosh,” he said, and his eyes turned towards me. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help. Or rather, I need Ted’s help.”
I shoved the brush back into the hot glue, and felt my face go red. “Me?” I said, and my voice sounded high and thin, “What can I …”
“It’s Moses, Ted. He can’t go with me to point out James Barry.”
“But …” I said, “I just left his shop, not an hour ago, and he was telling everyone how he would be on that stage tomorrow, how he would bring Mr. Barry back to face justice for murdering his friend, Mr. Blessing.”
“I know, Ted, but Moses isn’t a young man anymore. He’s fifty, and he’s got this little heart problem.”
I nodded. “Pal — pal — something or other. Yes, he takes a tonic for it sometimes.”
“It must have been the worry about going with me that brought it on, the worry and all the extra work he’s had since this murder. He got pretty sick just after you left his shop, Ted. The doctor is with him now.”
“Moses!” I half turned, ready to go to the barbershop.
“He’s all right, Ted, really. He’ll be fine in a few days, Doc Wilkinson promised. He just needs to rest, stay right in bed, and take that tonic regular like.”
“A few days? But he can’t stay in bed now! You’ve got to get down to the bridge and try to stop Barry. Moses can’t be sick now!”
Pa looked at me strangely, and there was an edge in his voice when he spoke. “Ted! A man cannot choose the time of his illnesses, as you well know. I should think your concern should be for Mr. Moses’s health, not for his ability to catch that murderer.”
I swallowed. I hadn’t meant to sound uncaring. I did care about Moses, and I did want him to be well. But — but if Moses couldn’t go with the constable to identify James Barry, then how would he know the right man to arrest? The constable had never seen James Barry.
But I had. I would recognize James Barry anywhere. And I knew, knew before he ever spoke, why Constable Sullivan was here, in Pa’s shop.
“No!” I said, not waiting to hear the words from the constable himself, “No. I can’t do it. I won’t go with you, Constable. Please, please don’t ask me to.”
Pa and Constable Sullivan looked at each other. Then they both turned and stared at me. I went back to stirring the glue in the pot, stirring it so hard that some of it splashed over the edge onto the hot stove, sending up thick clouds of foul-smelling smoke. The burning glue must have stung my eyes, because they began to water, and I turned away and brushed at them with my sleeve.
“That is what you want, isn’t it Constable?” asked Pa. “You need someone who can identify James Barry to go with you tomorrow, and you want Ted here to accompany you?”
“Yes, sir. There’s no one else in town who knows the man well enough to make a positive identification. I need Master Ted, sir, with your permission of course. He’ll be well looked after, and there’ll be no danger to him. I’ll see to that.”
“Ted? Well, Ted? It seems to me that you are being called to do your duty as a law-abiding citizen. You have my permission, and I’m sure your mother’s, to go with Constable Sullivan if you wish. It would make us both proud to know that our son is helping the law.”
I stirred at the glue again, not looking up, not meeting their eyes. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to have to point out James Barry to the law. I didn’t want to have to see him ever again. But Moses would want me to go; he wanted James Barry caught. And my pa, I knew he would be disappointed in me if I weren’t brave enough to go. Oh, he wouldn’t say much, and he wouldn’t punish me, but he’d be disappointed, and I’d kno
w it and see it in his eyes every time he looked at me.
Still without looking up I said, “I’ll go, then. I’ll be on that stagecoach with you tomorrow, Constable.”
Moses was my friend. I wanted to help him and I wanted Pa to be proud of me, and so I would go. But that didn’t mean I was in any way looking forward to the journey. I was scared already, and I hadn’t even left Barkerville.
10
The Journey
It seemed as if the whole town had gathered in front of Barnard’s Express office the next morning to see us off. Ma and Pa, proud that I had made the decision to go with the constable, smiled at me and warned me to mind my manners. A few saloon girls threw me kisses (well, perhaps it was actually Constable Sullivan they were aiming at) and a crowd of miners gathered around to shake our hands and wish us luck. Moses was there, too, walking slowly over to the stagecoach, leaning on a cane and looking tired.
“Moses! You’re supposed to be in bed. The doctor said you need to rest.”
“I’ll have rest enough once I see you safely on your way, Ted. But I had to come and wish you God speed. And — and thank you, Ted.” He took my hand in his and pressed firmly. “My thoughts will be with you.”
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Moses,” said Constable Sullivan. “We’ll bring Mr. Barry back here to face justice, you’ll see. Just get yourself well again.”
“I shall, Constable, knowing that the boy is in good hands, and that the murderer of my friend will be caught soon. May God go with the both of you.” He slowly made his way back to the barbershop. I could see him as he sat down at the table by the window, and began to write in a large book. Moses’s famous diary! At last I had found a place in it. How would the entry read, I wondered. Perhaps something like, “On this day the second of October, 1866, Master Theodore MacIntosh and Constable Sullivan departed on the stage for Alexandra for the purpose of apprehending one James Barry, a most probable murderer.”
