The Third Riel Conspiracy

by Stephen Legault

  Durrant walked through the shop to double doors with the letters office stencilled on them. He knocked and opened one. The clerk looked up as Durrant entered. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I’m Sergeant Durrant Wallace of the North West Mounted Police. I am inquiring after one of your employees.”

  “No trouble, I hope?” The man stood and took off his glasses to give them a polish.

  “It’s to do with some business that took place in Batoche.”

  The clerk put the glasses back on his face. He tilted his head to the side a little, his mouth pursing. “Who is it that you are inquiring after?”

  “A man named Jasper Dire.” The clerk smiled. “What is it?” asked Durrant.

  “Mr. Dire isn’t an employee here—”

  “He told me he was.”

  “Mr. Dire owns Broad Street Carriage, Sergeant.”

  “Is that so? Is the proprietor about today?” asked Durrant.

  “Indeed he is,” said a voice behind Durrant. He turned and saw Dire standing by the doors to the shop.

  “Mr. Dire!” said the clerk. “Welcome back!”

  “Thank you, Sam. It’s fine to be back.”

  “You have just returned this very minute?” asked Durrant.

  “Indeed, Sergeant, I have.”

  “I was told that Middleton’s volunteers had been discharged more than a week ago.”

  “I was delayed. The business at Frenchman’s Butte and across the narrows with Big Bear kept me longer than the others. Now, Sergeant, what can I do for you?”

  “When we spoke, Mr. Dire, at Batoche, I was under the impression that you were an employee here. Now I learn that you are the proprietor.”

  Dire motioned toward the back of the office, where a glass-windowed door opened into another room. “Would you like to have a seat, Sergeant?”

  Dire pointed to a chair. Durrant sat, and Dire followed him and sat down at a small desk. It was hot in the room; Dire went to the window and pulled it open, then sat back down.

  “I had my reasons, Sergeant. I was in a company of men who are labourers—foremen at best. I didn’t see the need to advertise that I was of the merchant class in Regina. This business is merely a hobby for me. I am a rancher at heart. I’ve only taken up in Regina in the last few years to take advantage of what I see as a trend across these territories.”

  “And what trend is that, Mr. Dire?”

  “The expansion of commerce, of course, the growth of the city. Regina, Brandon, Winnipeg, your own newly minted City of Calgary.”

  “Do you maintain your ranch?”

  “My family does. We have more than forty sections east of Fort Walsh.”

  “I know that country well,” said Durrant, tapping his cane and pausing a long moment. “Tell me, Mr. Dire. Have you ever been to Fort Benton?”

  “Yes, of course. Many times.”

  “When was the last time you were there?”

  “I’d say two years ago, to buy horses and to secure goods for the manufacture of the carriages.”

  “You’ve not been back since?”

  “There is no need now, Sergeant. The steel rail brings supplies from the east. The days of the Macleod Trail have passed.”

  “You weren’t in Fort Benton last spring?”

  “I just told you, Sergeant, it’s been two years. I can have Samuel check the appointments calendar from then if you would like to know the exact dates.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “What is this all about?”

  “It’s about Reuben Wake.”

  “I understand from this morning’s paper that Mr. La Biche is to stand trial as soon as the jury has been selected for Riel.”

  “Did you know Mr. Wake?”

  “I told you I didn’t. He was a businessman in Regina as I am, and as we both deal with horses, in a manner of speaking, we had occasion to cross each other’s paths, but we were not personally acquainted.”

  “Do you hold with Macdonald’s insistence that Riel must be tried as a traitor and hanged if found guilty?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “If Riel hangs, it will be suicide for Macdonald. He will lose Quebec and Ontario. But we’re a long way from Lower Canada, Sergeant. I don’t really much care.”

  “Are you a Macdonald man or an Edward Blake?”

  “I don’t much know. I suppose neither, really.”

  “Come now, you must have some opinion.”

  “I told you, Sergeant, the business of government is so far removed from my dealings in Regina, and across the North West Territories, that I don’t much pay attention to politics.”

  “Your ranch, Mr. Dire. Forty sections is a very large sum of land.”

  “It is. I assure you, that sort of undertaking doesn’t happen overnight.”

  “Is that so?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “And yet, I recall when I was stationed at Fort Walsh, up until five years ago, such large undertakings were an anomaly.”

  “You should check your memory, Sergeant. My family was granted this land in 1878.”

  “And what price did you have to pay?”

  “I don’t recall the exact figure.”

  “Do you have interests in the east, Mr. Dire?”

  Dire shook his head. “Sergeant, I really don’t understand the meaning of this interrogation.”

  “Surely your family must have started out someplace other than the bald edge of Saskatchewan?”

  “We raised cattle in Ontario, what was then Upper Canada, the county of Lambton.”

  “Were you politically involved while you were there?”

  “No more so than the next man.”

  “Lambton, on the St. Clair River, holds a special place in our nation’s history, doesn’t it, Mr. Dire.”

  “You’ll have to educate me, Sergeant. I’m a rancher and a businessman.”

  “The second prime minister of Canada hails from the riding of Lambton.”

  “Alexander Mackenzie. Of course, I forgot.”

  “I don’t think you forgot, Mr. Dire.”

  Dire laughed. “Sergeant, what does this have to do with Terrance La Biche and Reuben Wake, for heaven’s sake?” The heat in the room was still stifling, and Dire took a handkerchief from his waistcoat and dabbed it along the edges of his slick, jet-black hair. He quickly tucked the cloth back into his pocket.

  “This has been most helpful, Mr. Dire.” Durrant stood and tapped his cane on the floor.

  “I can’t see how.”

  “In time you shall.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  THE WATCH

  JULY 7, 1885. REGINA.

  They had been watching for a week. Each night after supper, they had split into two teams and gone out into the dirty streets to seek the Regina Group and their shadows. As June gave way to July, a heat wave struck the city and temperatures soared, baking the prairie town, wilting its inhabitants.

  By the end of the first week of July, Durrant and his colleagues had identified and followed most of the members of the Regina Group and had a clear picture of what they had planned. The Shadow Conspiracy, as the team had begun to refer to them, remained a mystery.

  During the day, Durrant hunted down and confronted his other suspects, all the while trying to tie each of them to what he had learned in Sun River but to no avail. On the evening of the seventh of July, they sat at supper and discussed their progress.

  “Despite delays, Riel’s trial starts in just a few days,” said Saul Armatage.

  “We can be reasonably confident that the Regina Group will make an attempt on Riel’s life when he is moved to the courthouse,” said Garnet Moberly.

  “I’ve already notified the magistrate. They are working on a plan to ensure his safety. It’s not what we know that concerns me, but what we don’t yet know. Despite a week of this, we’re no closer to having identified a single member of this Shadow
Conspiracy, or understanding why they are so interested in the Regina men. There is something sinister at work here.”

  “Have you learned anything from the others? From Father Lefèbvre or Jacques Lambert?” asked Garnet.

  “What I’ve learned only reinforces what we already knew. Lefèbvre and Lambert both seemed to have a clear reason for wanting Wake dead, and while both had the opportunity, I can’t place either at the scene of the crime. Neither of them wears the scars of a man who has had a misfire of the sort we believe he must have experienced before shooting Wake. I can’t connect either of them with Sun River.”

  “And Dire?” asked Garnet.

  “There is much more to Jasper Dire than we can know. He may well be the key to understanding this Shadow Conspiracy, if only we can catch him in the act of espionage against the Regina men.”

  “You told us you learned something of his political affiliations,” said Saul.

  “They are only suspicions at present. I have sent wires to various stations to learn what I can.” Durrant tapped his cane. “He has hidden his true nature from me more than once now, and I believe he is up to something; I simply can’t say what.”

  Charlene was watching Durrant closely. He looked up at her as she spoke. “I wonder if maybe it’s time for someone else to have a go at Mr. Dire.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I might be able to get closer to him than you can. He will see you coming after your recent conversations and be on his guard.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” Durrant taped his cane on the table more aggressively.

  “Durrant—” said Saul.

  “Stay out of this, Doctor,” Durrant barked, and the room fell silent.

  Charlene spoke after a moment. “It’s not too dangerous for you, but it’s too dangerous for me. Is that what you are saying?”

  “I’m glad for all your help, but I’m the law. It’s my job to learn what motive, if any, Dire might have to be involved in this. I don’t want to involve you, Charlene.”

  Charlene stood up, smoothed out her dress and fixed Durrant with her blue eyes. “As you wish, Sergeant. I know that the Mounted Police always get their man, but I didn’t realize that they had to be horses’ asses in order to do it. You can go and learn Dire’s secret alone, if you wish. Be my guest. But sometimes help is what’s needed. A new set of eyes might help see things you missed—like the fact that your man Jasper Dire dyes his hair. His natural hair colour is not black. I might be able to learn if this man is the ginger you have been searching for.”

  DURRANT SAT ALONE in his room in a leather chair, his prosthetic perched on an ottoman. He held the cane in his hand and was rhythmically tapping it on the floor. His face was slack, his eyes looking at nothing at all. In his right hand he held the locket. It was open, displaying the photo of Mary taken before she died. A knock at the door startled him, but he didn’t reach for his weapon. “Who is it?” he asked, without getting up.

  “It’s Saul.”

  “Come in, Doctor, the door is unlocked.”

  Saul opened the door. He was dressed in a light cotton coat and wore a derby on his head. “Are you coming?” he asked. Durrant did not respond. The doctor entered, closed the door, and crossed the room to where Durrant was sitting.

  “What are we doing, Saul?” Durrant asked.

  “We’re going to follow the Regina Group men. See if we can’t uncover what this Shadow Conspiracy is all about.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you bloody well know it.” Durrant tapped his cane, his eyes narrowing. Saul pulled up a stool next to his friend’s chair. He reached out and put his hand on Durrant’s where it gripped the silver handle of the cane. “Did you know that you haven’t stopped fiddling with that cane since you arrived here in Regina?”

  “That’s not true—”

  “Oh, but it most certainly is. Driving me batty, to be honest. I’m surprised that Garnet hasn’t rescinded his gift and discarded it in a rubbish bin. These Brits are simply much too tolerant.”

  Durrant looked at Saul’s hand on his own. “What are we doing here, Saul?”

  “Durrant, I swear with God as my witness, we’re trying to catch a killer.” Durrant let out a long sigh. “What is it, old friend?” asked Saul.

  Saul moved his hand and Durrant shifted the cane to his right hand. With his able left, he grasped the handle and withdrew the slender, single-shot pistol. He sat looking at it in the dim light of the room.

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “She could have been killed, Saul.”

  “But she wasn’t.”

  “I could have killed her. I’d never even shot this pistol before. I had no idea if its bore was straight. It might have exploded in my hand, and Mason would have killed her.”

  “But it didn’t. He didn’t. Your aim was true.”

  Durrant shook his head.

  “Durrant,” Saul said finally, looking at the locket in Durrant’s hand. “Charlene is not Mary. You have suffered a terrible loss in your life. No man should have to lose both his wife and his child. And then to lose your leg, and use of your hand . . . It’s simply too much. But Charlene is not Mary.”

  “What’s to say she isn’t?”

  “First off, from what you’ve told me, Mary was as gentle as a lamb. Our Charlene is headstrong and bullish, if you ask me.”

  “There is nothing to say that she won’t suffer the same fate, or some other terrible demise.”

  “You can’t stop that. Only the Almighty has providence over such things.”

  “That’s a load of horse manure, Saul. The benediction of the Lord has nothing to do with such things. It’s random and cruel, and if there was a God above, surely he would show some mercy from time to time.”

  “What’s to say he doesn’t? You’re still alive.”

  “I can’t lose her, Saul. I won’t let it happen. Mason came this close.” Durrant held up the thumb and forefinger of his game right hand. “It was all I could do to keep her alive. I don’t know what I would have done without this,” he said, holding up the pistol in his left hand.

  “You didn’t have to. Fate willed that weapon to your hand a year ago. It was there when you needed it, and true.” Saul watched Durrant a moment. “Does she know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you are in love with her?”

  “She’s a child, Saul.”

  “She is not a child. You continue to see her as the boy you rescued from the stables, and the helpless girl at the mercy of a deranged and brutal husband. If you look in your heart, old friend, and at her, you’ll see a very competent and, I might say, beautiful young woman.”

  Durrant slipped the pistol back into the handle of the cane. He drew a deep breath and blew air out between his teeth. “Durrant,” said Saul, “don’t be afraid.”

  Durrant thought of the locket, the likeness of Mary forever remembered there. “Very well, then,” Durrant said after a moment of silence that hung heavy in the room. “Let’s go and see if we can find out what this Shadow Conspiracy is about.”

  Durrant stood and fixed his Enfield in its holster around his waist, and tucked the Bulldog into his boot. It was a warm evening, so he didn’t bother with a coat. He put his bowler on his head and stepped out of the room. Together, he and Saul walked down the hall to Charlene’s room.

  “I suppose I will have to apologize.”

  “I expect you will.”

  Durrant knocked on the door and waited. “I hope she doesn’t make this more difficult than it ought to be.” There was no answer when he knocked again. He tried the doorknob; it was unlocked. He pushed the door open. The room was much like his own, except it had a delicate floral scent to it. The dress Charlene had worn at dinner was on the bed, and her boots were set on the floor. Durrant stepped into the room. On the bed, next to the dress, was Charlene’s writing tablet, the one she had used in Holt City the year before. Durrant picked it up and read:

  Gone to find out
what Dire is up to.

  “Blue Jesus.” Durrant turned and went from the room as fast as he could.

  THIRTY-TWO

  IN THE SHADOWS

  DURRANT, SAUL, AND GARNET SPLIT up, and each went to locations where Jasper Dire had been seen over the last week. They met again at eleven that evening, and none of them had seen either Dire or Charlene.

  “Where the hell could she have gotten to?” Durrant’s voice betrayed the panic rising in his chest.

  Saul spoke up. “If you had killed Reuben Wake, and maybe his brother, you might well know that some of his old haunts were vacant, wouldn’t you? Assuming for a moment that Dire is our man, and even if he’s not, wouldn’t Wake’s stable be a good place to search for him, as it is now without a master?”

  “Shall we go there?” asked Garnet.

  “I will,” said Durrant. “I want one of you to stake out the Regina Group, and the other, Dire’s home. That way, we cover all the bases.”

  They agreed to meet again around one in the morning, and each set off for a different part of the town. The lamps on the main street had been lit as Durrant walked as quickly as he was able to Wake’s stable. There were only so many places a group of men could meet to discuss their business in private. An abandoned barn would be one of them.

  The night was warm and a wind blew in from the west, kicking up the dirt in the streets. He reached the crossroad near the Wake Stables and stood in the shadow of a general merchant’s door. He watched to see if others were observing the space but could see no one. He crossed the road and walked quietly to the stable. It was a broad building, with grand double doors fronting onto Broad Street. A row of high windows allowed natural light into the building during the day. Durrant watched for any light coming from within and could see none. Unwilling to give up with Charlene missing, he found a narrow alley running the length of the barn. He carefully stepped around a stack of wooden crates and went to the back corner of the building. The rear of the barnlike structure was bordered by a laneway. He stopped and listened.