The Third Riel Conspiracy

by Stephen Legault

  “What’s happening?” growled Mason from the lavatory.

  “It’s the Medicine Hat station. There’s a thirty-minute stop here, then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Are you going to try and take Charlene from me, Wallace?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you!” the man roared, and the door to the WC took a tremendous thud. Durrant was afraid the door would split open and he would come face to face with whatever horror was behind it.

  “You will simply have to, Mr. Mason. I have no improper intentions toward your wife.”

  “I’m getting off this train.”

  “You said you wanted to ride to Swift Current.”

  “I changed my goddamned mind!”

  Durrant looked around. Every man and woman in the car had pressed again toward the WC, watching the drama unfold. Durrant whispered, “Push these people back to the other end of the car.”

  “What’s happening?” barked Mason.

  “I’m clearing a path for you. There are others in the car. I want them out of the way.”

  “You get those people back. They get in my way, they are going to get hurt!”

  “I understand,” said Durrant.

  “Now you, you put your pistol on the floor where I can see it when I open this door. I don’t see that pistol of yours, I’m going to kill her.”

  “I thought you loved her.”

  “I do . . . I did . . . but if I don’t see that pistol . . .”

  Durrant laid the pistol down on the floor. The train’s brakes began to squeal. He had to reach for the rail to keep from pitching forward.

  “And the other,” Mason instructed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The other one. The little one you keep in your coat. Yes, I know all about you, Wallace. Read about you in the papers. Charlene here was most helpful when I asked her the right way.”

  Durrant drew out his snub-nosed British Bulldog and put it on the floor. “All right, you’ve got them both.”

  “Now get the hell back from the door. When this train comes to a stop, I’m going to open it. I see you standing right in front, I’ll shoot you and then her.”

  “I’m back to the locker.”

  “I’m coming out.”

  Durrant stepped back. The train’s brakes rattled as the train came to a halt. The porter reappeared and indicated that the message had been sent. Durrant held his breath as he heard the latch on the lavatory door being unclasped. He saw the door open a fraction of an inch and then close again. There was commotion on the platform, and Durrant could see porters from the Medicine Hat station herding passengers away from the car. The pullman porter had done his job.

  Then door opened and Mason and Charlene were before him. Mason was immense. He stood over six feet tall and was broad and dark-skinned, with a thick head of greasy black hair that was combed back. He wore a dark suit coat and trousers and a grey waistcoat. Durrant could immediately smell the reek of sweat from him. Charlene looked tiny in his massive arms.

  She was clearly terrified, but composed. Her mouth was gagged with a colourful handkerchief, and her hands were bound in front of her. Durrant could see that her left eye was bruised and swelling. He immediately felt a hot wave of fury wash through him and had to restrain himself from lunging at Mason.

  Durrant saw the pistol raised to her temple. He locked eyes with Charlene and tried to communicate to her that everything would be all right. “So now what, Mr. Mason?”

  “We get off this train.”

  “And then? I don’t know how far you expect to get.”

  “If you come with me, we’ll get farther.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “I’m going to make sure no Red Coat takes a shot at me.”

  “Very well,” said Durrant.

  Mason quickly kicked Durrant’s pistols into the WC and closed the door. “Get over here,” he spat. Durrant walked toward them, leaning heavily on his cane. “Leave that,” said Mason, pointing to the silver-handed walking stick.

  “I do, and you’re going to have to carry me.” Durrant exaggerated his dependence on the cane.

  “Blue Jesus, let’s go!” said Mason. Durrant stepped forward. “Get in front of us!”

  Durrant did as he was told. Through the train door’s window he could see a crowd on the platform. “Let me clear these people,” Durrant said. Mason kicked him in the back and Durrant jolted forward, slamming into the door. His face hit the window, and he felt the heat of his own blood there.

  “Get out!” yelled Mason.

  Righting himself, Durrant opened the door. He scanned the platform and was grateful that no Mounted Police had shown themselves.

  He stepped down, holding the cane firmly in his left hand. When he reached the platform, he shifted it to his right, took two steps forward, and shouted, “All you people get back!”

  Mason came to the door and waved his pistol. “You heard the Red Coat, get back!”

  The crowd pushed back enough that there was a path that they might take to the station, which was nothing more than a boxcar set against the broad platform. Beyond, the boxcar opened onto a wide street.

  Durrant headed for the temporary station, hobbling with the cane. Mason stepped onto the platform. His massive arm was around Charlene’s throat. As Charlene struggled, Mason tightened his grip. Durrant reached the wooden doors set into the boxcar and with his left hand opened them. The space inside was largely empty; all of the onlookers were on the platform.

  Durrant looked back. Mason was behind him, half pushing and half dragging Charlene. Durrant locked eyes with Charlene once more, and this time she closed her eyes and nodded.

  Durrant took three quick steps into the room; it was dark in comparison to the bright afternoon sun, and the light from the opposite door, leading to the street, created a halo around him. As Mason pushed through the door, Durrant spun around, his left hand drawing the handle of the cane from its staff. In his hand was a small pistol that used the handle of the cane as its grip.

  Mason drew up his Colt Peacemaker and tried to level it at Durrant, but Durrant pulled the trigger. The shot from the .22- calibre pistol was sharp and rattled in the confined space. A neat round hole appeared in Mason’s forehead. He fell backwards toward the doors, Charlene still in his hold. Durrant reached for her but could not grab her arms, and she and Mason crashed through the doors, glass shattering around them. Mason hit the platform and Charlene landed on top of him, and a great cry went up from the people gathered there.

  Durrant hurried through the doors, the tiny pistol still in his hands. Charlene struggled to stand. As she did, she turned over and beat her husband with her bound fists. Durrant reached for her. Several other men came forward. Durrant waved them back; Charlene hit Mason again and again. Finally Durrant took her, crying, in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and he put his right arm around her.

  He looked down at the man beneath them, dead with a bullet hole squarely between his eyes.

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE THIRD CONSPIRACY REVEALED

  JUNE 27, 1885. REGINA.

  The couple’s eastward progress was delayed several days in Medicine Hat while witnesses were interviewed and Durrant was debriefed by the local North West Mounted Police sub-inspector. Satisfied that the shooting had been in the line of duty and in self-defence, Durrant was allowed to leave, and he and Charlene resumed their journey.

  The station in Regina sat against Broad Street, the city’s main thoroughfare. When Durrant and Charlene stepped from the train through the veils of steam, Garnet Moberly appeared, along with Mr. Jimmy. “It has been much too long.” Garnet embraced and then kissed Charlene on each cheek. To Durrant he said, “I understand that my gift of the cane has proven handy. Come, let’s get your things to the hotel. Saul is awaiting us. There is a great deal we must discuss.”

  They made their way out of the station and onto Broad Street, where a buggy was waiting for the
m. Mr. Jimmy stowed their bags and took up the reins.

  “You steal this?” asked Durrant, looking at Garnet.

  “Goodness no. I bought it. I decided if we were to make Regina our home for some time, we had best have a means of transportation.”

  THE ONLY PROPER hotel in Regina was the Grand Saskatchewan. From what Durrant could see as the buggy angled up to its front door, it wasn’t very grand. Two storeys tall and built from squared timber shipped from Winnipeg, it had the same appearance as nearly everything that sprang up along the main line of the CPR: temporary.

  “It may not look like much”—Garnet read Durrant’s mind—“but it’s full. It would seem that the impending trial of Riel is causing quite the stir. I bought up a block of rooms for us for the month.” Garnet took Charlene’s bag while Mr. Jimmy hoisted Durrant’s, complete with Winchester rifle, out of the back of the carriage. “I figured better safe than sorry.”

  “Someday, Garnet, you will have to tell us the story behind your good fortune,” said Durrant.

  “Someday . . .” Garnet winked and bid them to follow him into the hotel.

  Saul Armatage was waiting for them in the common room that served as lounge and dining area. He jumped to his feet when he saw them. He quickly shook hands with Durrant and then turned to Charlene. She graced him with a smile. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “A little shaken, but well.”

  “All right then. Should you wish to talk, you’ll let me know?”

  “Is Evelyn here?”

  “She is. She’s putting the children to bed. She may make an appearance at some point.”

  “I should very much like to see her again.”

  “Then you shall.”

  “Very well, then,” said Garnet. “Let’s show the two of you to your rooms and arrange for some supper. Durrant, no doubt you have a great deal to tell, and Saul and I have stories of our own to inform you of. Let’s meet back here in an hour?”

  They agreed, and Mr. Jimmy took their bags to their rooms. The hotel was dark and shadowed but clean. The floors and walls smelled like the prairie dust. Durrant stopped outside of Charlene’s room. “Will you be all right?” he asked after Mr. Jimmy had taken his leave.

  “I will be.”

  “All right. I will see you at dinner.”

  She smiled at him. Then she reached out and touched the side of his face with a gloved hand. Her fingers rested there a moment on his scarred cheek. “Thank you, Durrant.”

  “No need to thank me.”

  “He would have killed me. He tried before. I knew he would try again.”

  “You are safe now.”

  “I know. I simply can’t believe . . .” She stopped the words and began to cry.

  “It’s all right.” He drew her to him and put his arms around her. She smelled of flowers.

  OVER DINNER, THEY all talked about the current state of excitement in the territorial capital, the buzz about the upcoming trial, and the general state of agitation over territorial relations with Ottawa. But as supper ended, the talk became more serious. As the dining room cleared of other guests, Durrant broached the subject. “Tell us about this shadow group that the two of you have uncovered.”

  Garnet looked at Saul to offer him the chance to speak, but he merely shook his head. “I’m a doctor; you’re the spy. It’s your story to tell.”

  “There’s really very little to tell, Durrant,” said Garnet. “Our orders were to watch the members of the Regina Group. We’ve done that. I’ve got a list of more than half a dozen names for you.” He patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “Besides your friend Stanley Block, we’ve got two prominent lawyers, a banker, a cattle rancher, a town councillor, and two men who own businesses here in town. I’m sure there are more, but these seem to be the ringleaders. They have been meeting nearly every night. They move around, but the town is yet small enough that finding them hasn’t been too difficult. I suppose that is how we discovered their shadows.”

  “You keep referring to this group of men as shadows,” said Durrant.

  “They are! When I first spotted a fellow watching the Regina men, he was literally standing in the shadow of a mercantile, observing one of their meetings. For more than two weeks we’ve kept a nightly watch. Doctor Armatage, upon his return from Batoche, has joined Mr. Jimmy and myself in our nightly undertaking. We’ve located a series of what I’m certain the Regina Group must call shelters, where they hold near-nightly confabs. They seem very at ease. They post a guard most nights, but he is so obvious that it makes fooling him a simple matter of distraction or disguise. Several times I’ve been within listening distance, camouflaged as a lamplighter or some other creature of the night.

  “This Regina Group is a powerful lot, making up the business elite of Regina. I believe, based on what I’ve overheard, that they also have connections in Ottawa. I suspect that somewhere within the ranks of Macdonald’s party someone is giving the orders, but so far we haven’t intercepted any correspondence.”

  “You’ve been looking into the wires?”

  “I learned that trick from you, my good sergeant. So far, all we know is that Macdonald’s people are truly concerned about what Mr. Riel will say on the stand about the state of the North West Territories, about the Indians and the Métis. This has been one cataclysmic foul-up, straight from the start, and it would seem that everybody in Macdonald’s camp knows it.”

  Saul cleared his throat. “There is simply no getting around that the Dominion hasn’t held up its end of the bargain with the Indians. Despite years of pleading, no good has come of it.”

  Durrant said, “That still doesn’t justify taking up arms against the Crown.”

  “It doesn’t justify it,” said Saul, “but it does explain it.”

  “Did you happen to observe Sub-Inspector Dickenson in any of your travels?” asked Durrant.

  “I did not. I most certainly had a lookout for him. Mr. Jimmy has spent some time at the Mounted Police barracks here in Regina, under the pretense of communications between myself and your colleagues, and has not seen him once.”

  “He seems to have gone underground,” said Durrant.

  “Or simply run off. You still don’t believe that he was the one who pulled the trigger on Wake?” asked Garnet.

  “He is the one man with a plain alibi. Unless General Middleton is in on this himself, and I do not believe that to be the case, then Dickenson is in the clear, at least for the murder. It doesn’t absolve him of collusion if we learn that it was in fact Regina men who turned on Wake. It doesn’t make me any less curious about his whereabouts. I don’t think I could find a magistrate who would press charges for taking the Dakota Sioux’s food and leaving Iron Crow to die, but there is a higher law.”

  “And just what might that be?” asked Garnet, smiling.

  “I suppose it will have to be settled between us Red Coats.” Durrant let out a long breath. “And given that he is the only ginger-haired person associated with this business, he might have been the man who surfaced in Sun River around the time that Dumont went there last spring.” Durrant took a moment and told Saul and Garnet about his and Charlene’s overland journey, about the discovery of Persimmon Wake’s body, and about the mysterious rider who had shadowed them for much of their journey.

  “I’ll have to inquire with the commander at the Mounted Police barracks if our Sub-Inspector Dickenson was on leave during the time of Riel’s return. We’ll also need to look into Percy Wake’s disappearance. If he was supposed to be in Minneapolis but was in Sun River instead, never to return, you would imagine someone might have taken notice. Tell me about these men you say are shadowing the Regina Group.”

  “A much more careful lot. I’ve yet to get a good look at a face, but they are always there.”

  “And what do you think this Shadow Conspiracy is after?”

  “I simply can’t say. They are very intent on watching the Regi
na men, and I can only surmise that their purpose is more than idle curiosity. We must be careful, as all of us are known to those who were in the zareba. If any of this shadow group was in Batoche, they will recognize us.”

  There was a long moment of silence. It was broken when Charlene slapped her hand down on the table, causing the coffee cups to jump. “What is it?” asked Durrant, his voice sharp.

  “Oh, for the love of Job. Must I state the obvious? They won’t know me! I can ask.”

  “I believe it might work,” agreed Garnet. “I think a beautiful young woman might do the trick. We’ll need a clever plan.”

  “We have a lot of police work to undertake first,” conceded Durrant. “It will entail some risk. We can learn the nature of this Shadow Conspiracy and gain the identity of its followers through careful observation. This may well lead us to understanding which of these three conspiracies is responsible for the demise of Mr. Wake, and possibly his brother. But we’ll have to work quickly. The trial of Riel could start any time, and with the judge and jury assembled, they may call the trial of La Biche any day.”

  “Durrant,” asked Garnet, “what of the others? You feel very certain that this murder hinges on one of these conspiracies. Some of the conspirators are three hundred miles away.”

  “Are they?”

  “Well, I assume—”

  “I think if you were to check around town, you would see that our suspects have been called as witnesses for one trial or another, Mr. Moberly.”

  “What of Jasper Dire? We’ve looked in on him several times at his place of employ but have been told he is still away with the field force.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dire,” said Durrant. “I should very much like to talk with him.”

  THIRTY

  DIRE CIRCUMSTANCES

  JULY 6, 1885.

  Durrant stepped through the broad double doors of the carriage-manufacturing shop at the west end of Broad Street. He could smell machine oil, glue, the hot scent of metal, and the rich aroma of leather. The room was well lit with overhead lamps that glowed even at midday. Large windows along the rear of the two-storey building allowed abundant natural light to fall across the shop floor. A dozen men were working at the construction of half a dozen carriages. None looked up as he entered the shop. Jasper Dire was not among them.