The Third Riel Conspiracy

by Stephen Legault

  Charlene was composed. She found an oil lamp and lit it. They sat by the stove with their backs to the wall. Durrant held his gun. “If they wanted to hurt us, why not just do it here?”

  Durrant looked around. “It’s a church.”

  “I think there have been more than a few murders in a church, have there not?”

  Durrant looked at the note. “Let’s go and find out.”

  THE PRIEST WAS shocked. “Who in the community knew we were here?” asked Durrant.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a few—”

  “Who did you tell?”

  “I told no one.”

  Durrant was silent a moment. Then he said, “There was a rider on the road—behind us, maybe a mile or two back.” Charlene looked at him. “I think he might have followed us from Fort Benton. Maybe from before that. The Calgary Daily Herald suggests maybe long before that.”

  “What do you want to do, Sergeant?” the priest asked.

  “Take us to the ridge where Reuben Wake was camped.”

  IT WAS A fine morning. It warmed quickly as the sun rose. Durrant and Charlene ate a meal the priest provided and then saddled their horses and rode north, out of town. When they were alone, Charlene asked, “Are you certain of this?”

  “Yes,” Durrant said quickly. “But if you wish to stay behind—”

  “I just wonder if you trust this man.”

  “The priest? Of course not.”

  “What of the two riders on the road?”

  “This priest may have been one of them.” Durrant was watching the horizon. When they began up the hill, he mused, “I wonder who else was camped here with Reuben Wake.”

  The priest caught up to them, and Durrant and Charlene fell silent. They rode up the breaks above the Sun River. They were a few miles from town when the priest turned his mount. It was an open space with just a few cottonwood trees providing cover. “This is the place where Reuben Wake was camped, Sergeant.”

  Durrant rode a little and worked his way around the cottonwoods. There was a black spot on the ground indicating a fire pit, with dense clumps of vetch growing through bits of charred wood.

  Durrant dismounted and walked stiffly around one of the trees. He kicked a few tin cans that were just starting to rust. Charlene dropped to the ground too.

  “Reuben Wake was camped up here while Dumont and the others went into town to try and convince Riel to return to Canada? That was more than a year ago now.”

  “That’s right. June of last year. We didn’t see Wake come into town with Dumont. Only on his own.”

  “We know, Father, that Wake was here on very different business than he professed to be. Did Dumont know that?”

  “All I know is that there was a row on the first night. Wake had come down into town and was spreading stories about Dumont and Riel. They got back to Dumont right quick. We all liked Mr. Riel. Nobody in town was going to listen to Wake tell his stories about Riel killing Thomas Scott in cold blood, that he wanted to start a war, or that Dumont was a murderer and a thief.”

  “If Wake was trying to come between Riel and his return to Canada, that seems a strange way to do it.”

  “I don’t think he wanted to stop Riel’s return. I think he wanted us to string these men up.”

  “You said Wake wasn’t alone. Who was the other man?”

  Durrant was about to press the priest when they heard Charlene cry out, “Over here!” Charlene was standing near the edge of an embankment that fell off onto the river’s flood plain. When he arrived, Charlene was on her haunches, examining the ground. The earth had been turned over and new grass had started to grow in a rectangular shape. “It’s a grave,” she said.

  THE PRIEST RETURNED with shovels and a man to help them dig. Durrant watched the priest from a long way off. “Is this the gravedigger you mentioned in your note, Father?”

  “I didn’t leave the note, Sergeant. This is Tom Scholl. He helps me around the church from time to time. He’s got a strong back. He’ll help us with the spadework.”

  “Mr. Scholl, did you meet Reuben Wake when he was in Sun River?”

  Scholl was a broad-shouldered man, thick in the arms. He wore dusty canvas pants. Durrant noted that he wasn’t armed. When he spoke, he seemed to draw out each word. “Met him once. He come into the stable to inquire about boarding the horses.”

  “He talk with you about Mr. Riel?”

  “Sure did. Said he was a murdering man. Said we ought to run him out of town or string him up before he took after our children.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who do you think might be buried here?”

  “Can’t say. Should we get at this? I best return soon to tend to the horses.”

  Charlene, Scholl, and the priest started digging. Durrant felt his frustration growing, both with his physical ineptness and with the vagrancies of the investigation. While Wake’s deception was now widely known, it didn’t change the fact that he had won the confidence of the crafty and careful Dumont. Could he have managed to conceal an accomplice during the overland journey? And if so, how might this collaborator have aided Wake in his agitation of the Sun River community? Was it possible that someone had been helping Wake but not revealing themselves to Dumont’s party? If Reuben Wake had met up with someone along their trail south, it would have aroused suspicion. Had someone been shadowing the party—some other member of the Regina Group—and joined Wake after he had arrived in Sun River?

  “There’s a body there.” Scholl pointed. Durrant took one of the shovels and removed more dirt. He did this awkwardly with his left hand, but in a moment the ruined face was revealed.

  “Oh Lord,” said the priest, crossing himself.

  “Blue Jesus,” said Tom, and then added, “I’m sorry, Father.”

  Only Charlene remained silent.

  The corpse was partially decomposed; the skin on the face was covered with a mass of carnivorous beetles and worms devouring the flesh. In places the skull showed through what remained of the skin. The eye sockets were empty, save for the wriggling of insects; the nose was missing. The hair fell in frayed strands and was caked with soil.

  There was a neat hole in the skull along the ridge of the brow, directly between the eyes. Durrant stood up. “Let’s uncover the rest of him.”

  Suppressing their nausea, the four dragged the dirt away from the rest of the corpse. The body’s clothing was tattered but not yet completely decomposed. Soil clung to the fabric, but it was clear that this man had worn a heavy wool travelling suit. His riding boots were of fine leather, and almost perfectly preserved. A hand, where most of the flesh had been eaten by beetles, bore an expensive gold ring.

  Durrant bent down as much as his prosthetic would allow. He went to reach for the man’s coat.

  “You ain’t gonna touch him, are you?” asked Tom.

  “Would you like to search his clothing?” Durrant snapped, and Tom backed away. “Let’s go through his pockets and see if we can’t find something that tells us who he is.” Durrant carefully pulled open the man’s coat. A piece of the fabric came off in his hand as he reached into the breast pocket. It was empty. He did the same on the other side. Nothing.

  “Can’t we let him rest in—?” started the priest.

  “Peace? He’s got all the peace he’s going to find. This man is beyond care, but he may hold some secret that will help with my investigation, and therefore bring some rest to many others.” Durrant continued with his gruesome task. The trousers were more difficult. Charlene stepped into the shallow grave and helped. They turned the body. Insects spilled from the man’s flesh onto their boots.

  “There’s a billfold,” said Durrant. The wallet was of fine leather and was snapped shut and lying in the soil under the body. “Charlene, would you grab that while I hold him?”

  She retrieved the wallet and Durrant lowered the corpse. He was sweating. He felt bile rise in his throat and forced it down. When the body was prone o
nce more, he and Charlene stepped from the grave.

  “Would you like to do the honours?” he asked.

  She opened the wallet. There was Dominion as well as American script, and several cards.

  “Well, now,” Durrant said, regarding the name on a pool-hall membership card. “It would appear that Reuben Wake had a brother. Or he could be a cousin. This man’s name was Persimmon Wake.”

  “He’s called Percy according this this.” Charlene handed him a second card. It was a press-club membership. “It looks like he worked for The Regina Examiner,” she said.

  “That means he worked for Stanley Block. When we learn who killed Persimmon, we may also discover who killed Reuben Wake.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE GINGER-HAIRED MAN

  DURRANT AND CHARLENE RODE BACK into Sun River after refilling the shallow grave of Persimmon Wake. It was nearly noon and they were hungry and dirty, and Durrant was growing irritated with the tiny American town. They stopped at a saloon that advertised meals. The large windows that fronted the street filled the room with a warm light. There were men sitting at a table near the centre of the room; they looked up when the pair entered but quickly returned to their meals. Durrant and Charlene went to the bar, where a young man in a white shirt and black tie was standing with his arms crossed, looking bored.

  “What can I do you for?” he asked.

  “Like to ask you about Louis Riel.” The men at the table behind them stopped talking. “Any of you know Mr. Riel when he was in Sun River?”

  “He taught my children,” said one of the men, pushing his chair back. “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Durrant Wallace. I’m North West Mounted Police.”

  “You’re a little ways from the Medicine Line, I’d say.” The other men had gone back to eating.

  “Yes, I am. Mr. Riel’s rebellion has come to an end. He has been captured and will stand trial for treason. The penalty is death. There are some men, however, who aim to kill him before he can have his say in court. I’m trying to learn what I can to save his life. I wonder if any of you might tell me something about his time here in Sun River?”

  The man at the table wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and stood up. One of his companions looked at him and shook his head. “It’s all right,” the man said. “I’ll help Riel if I’m able.”

  “Red Coats want to hang him, Seth,” said the second man.

  “Maybe so. I don’t know if what I have to say will make a difference one way or the other.” He walked over and extended a hand. Durrant offered his left and they shook awkwardly.

  “Care to sit?” Durrant asked.

  “No, thanks. I’ll tell you what I can, then it’s back to the saddle.”

  “Very well. You were here when Dumont came to call Riel back to Canada?”

  “Yes, sir. There was a real commotion. Dumont and them others rode into town and called on Mr. Riel and the next day there was a real uproar. We had a meeting down at the church about it.”

  “How many others were with Dumont?”

  “There was three others with Dumont. And then there was the other who stirred up the hornet’s nest.”

  “That would be Reuben Wake. I think a relation of his may also have been involved, a man named Percy.”

  “I believe I heard the name Wake. They come into town when Dumont was with Riel and his family discussing matters and tried to tell us that Riel was a murderer. Said we should hang him. We all knew about what happened back in ’74. That’s no big secret. There was a pair of them, going round to people and telling them. I heard about it after. I got a place a couple of miles outside of town and I was working my cattle that day. There were others in town, down from the Dominion country, and them I seen—”

  “What others?”

  “There were others in town at that time. Two other men.”

  “Not so unusual, is it?”

  “No, it was only that they was from the Dominion Territory too. We get some, but not all at once, if you take my meaning.”

  “These others. Did you meet them?”

  “Only in passing. They stayed out of town. My spread is east of here along the Sun, and I come upon them breaking camp one morning.”

  “How did you know they were from north of the border?”

  “By the brand on their horses. They wore the Box D brand from a spread north of Outlook, Montana, up around your Fort Walsh. It’s a big spread.”

  “I know it.”

  “That’s how I knew they were Canadian.”

  “Did they associate with Dumont?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What about with Wake?”

  “They never seemed to be around town. It was as if they were just passing through, but I remember thinking it was odd that they was down at the same time as Dumont and the others.”

  “Can you tell me anything else about them? How they were dressed? What colour of hair?”

  The man closed his eyes, straining to remember. “They was both about average, I’d say. One a little heavier than the other. The one fella had red hair. That I remember.”

  “I have reason to believe that a man was murdered here, in Sun River, about that time. Do you know anything about that?”

  There was a long silence in the room. The man Durrant was questioning looked down at his boots, shaking his head. “I don’t know nothing about that. Now, I reckon I ought to get back to my work.”

  “There was a man killed here, wasn’t there?”

  “This is the Montana Territory, Sergeant. People get themselves killed all the time. We don’t go asking too many questions when it happens.”

  “He was a Canadian.”

  “Everybody bleeds the same.”

  Durrant accepted the statement of fact. “I appreciate your time.”

  “You know,” Seth said, searching his memory, “there was something else you might find interesting. The one man was a ginger; the other fella, I think he might have been a Red Coat, or maybe a former policeman. When I came up on them that morning when they was breaking camp, he had on one of them red shirts you wear.”

  “The serge?”

  “If that’s what you call it. He had it on under his coat. I didn’t see him again, so I don’t know if maybe I was mistaken.”

  “It wasn’t the red-haired man who was wearing the serge?”

  “Nope, the other.”

  “Can you tell me anything else?”

  “He was the one who was a little bigger than the other fellow. I mean, around the waist. Looked like he ate real good, you know what I mean?”

  “The men you saw down along the river. The man with the ginger hair—he killed Persimmon Wake, didn’t he? And then buried him up on the bluffs.”

  “Sergeant, I guess folks just figured it weren’t our problem if one of them killed another.”

  “Say that again?”

  Seth looked at his table of friends. “I mean, it wasn’t our business if one of them got killed. Not like he was American.” Durrant could see that Seth’s neck was red with embarrassment.

  “You might be a marshal up in the Dominion, sir, but you ain’t down here,” said a second man, rising to his feet. “You leave well enough alone. You got what you come for. Now it’s time for you to head north. Louis Riel might have been a revolutionary in the North West Territories, but down here he was just a schoolteacher. And a fine one at that.”

  Durrant watched the men. He could feel the eyes of the bartender on him. “You’re right about one thing.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Seth’s friend.

  “I got what I came for.”

  THEY HAD TO ride back through Fort Benton to send a series of urgent wires to Sam Steele, Leif Crozier, and Garnet Moberly. Their task complete, and the day fading, Charlene urged Durrant to ride with her out of Benton, where Durrant’s temptation to dig up the past would be too great to resist.

  The next morning as they rode, Charlene asked, “Do you know who this red-haired man mi
ght be?”

  Durrant was silent. They rode the broad back of the prairie, the sun cresting on the eastern horizon casting long shadows from solitary cottonwood trees across the flat expanse of earth. “Sub-Inspector Dickenson has red hair. It will be easy enough to tell if he was on leave from the Mounted Police during the time that Riel was being lured northward.”

  “We don’t know that this ginger-haired man was the one who killed Percy Wake. We don’t know that he is the same man who went to Batoche and killed Reuben Wake,” said Charlene.

  “We can say with some certainty that Sub-Inspector Dickenson did not kill Reuben Wake. I’ve checked with several of his compatriots, as well as with Major Boulton himself. He was charging into Batoche when Wake was murdered. That does not absolve him of conspiracy to commit murder, nor does it mean that he didn’t travel to Sun River. When it comes down to it, Charlene, we really don’t know anything,” Durrant hissed between his teeth.

  “In just a few weeks, Terrance La Biche will stand trial for the murder of Reuben Wake if I can’t discover the man’s true killer,” he continued. “Whoever Reuben Wake was working with in this so-called Regina Group is still at large. We don’t know who the Regina Group is, except for our errant Sub-Inspector Dickenson, and almost certainly Stanley Block. But who else in Regina wants Riel dead before he can take the stand in his own defence? And what are they willing to do to stop him? Many other lives hang in the balance!”

  “Right now it seems most likely to me that someone within the conspiracy to free Riel learned that Wake intended to kill Riel should he be captured and did him in, but who?” asked Charlene.

  “Now we learn that in addition to this ginger who was in Sun River at the same time as Wake, a man who dressed in the uniform of the Mounties was there as well.”

  “There may be a simple explanation for that, Durrant. How many former Mounted Police are there in the Dominion?”

  “Too many.” Durrant shook his head. “But there’s nothing simple about it. It’s entirely possible that this ginger-haired man riding the Box D brand was somehow associated with a man from Fort Walsh. It’s possible, given that the Box D was so close to Walsh.”