Sundance 19

by Peter McCurtin

  The retreat was sounded and the Canadians began to fall back, all except those in the wire. The last of the flares sank to earth, trailing a yellow tail of fire. The light in the sky was getting better. Up on the forward slope, the Canadian Gatling covered the retreat as well as it could. For a while the Gatling on the knob and the Gatling on the slope fought a fierce duel. It ended when the Irish machine gunner blew the crank and the receiver from the Canadian gun. Then he turned the barrel of the heavy gun and swept the slope from one side to the other, blasting everything that moved. Wounded men held up their hands, but he shot them to pieces with .38 caliber bullets. Men were still struggling in the barbed wire. He depressed the muzzle of the Gatling and chopped them to bits.

  “My God!” Dumont cried, waving his arms at the Irishmen on the knob. “Cease firing! Cease firing!”

  The Irish gunner didn’t obey immediately. On the slope, a wounded man was helping another man even more badly wounded. They were hardly able to walk; both had lost their rifles. A burst from the Gatling on the knob nearly cut them in two. Then, finally, the Gatling was silent.

  Dumont and Sundance walked back to the fire. “They won’t attack again today,” Dumont said. “I don’t think they’ll attack at all. My God! I am sick of this killing. It has to stop. You know, I didn’t really feel it until they machine-gunned those men in the wire. They were like animals in a trap. No chance of escape, just waiting to be slaughtered. I hate the sound of those damned machine guns. They turn the men behind them into machines.”

  It was dawn, with a thin rain beginning to fall. On the slope, blood and mud were mixed. The dead crumpled bodies had fallen in awkward positions. Smokeless powder still stank on the fresh morning breeze. Now that it was quiet again, birds began to sing in the trees. The bugle sounded from the top of the slope.

  “They’ll be wanting to fetch the dead and wounded,” Dumont said. “They lost so many this morning. Let them come. While they’re doing that, I want them to see what we’re doing.”

  He yelled for one of his commanders, a burly young métis named Verrier. “Take a hundred men and move south on the river road. There is a small Canadian force still there, so watch for an ambush. Fight your way through if you have to. I want Middleton to know that there will be métis south of him.”

  Riel walked over to Dumont, followed by Hardesty. Rubbing his hands together, Riel looked very pleased. “Ah, what we have done here today, Gabriel! They are destroyed! They are destroyed! That wire—brilliant! Now they know the armed might of the métis. They will be finished when Verrier’s men cut them off from the south. Look at them up there on the hill, dragging away their dead. They will all be dead if they attack again.”

  Dumont said quietly, “Some of our men are dead, too. Many are dead.”

  “They will be remembered, Gabriel. As long as the métis are a people, they will be remembered, these brave men.”

  “Too bad we can’t just wipe them all out,” said Hardesty, staring up at the Canadian stretcher bearers. “Did you see the way my boys got that bunch in the wire? Fish in a barrel! Yes, sir, it was a sight to behold. Damn! I’d like to take a crack at the sons of bitches.”

  Dumont jerked his head to one side. “There’s the hill, Hardesty. Why don’t you take your Irishmen and climb it? They still have one machine gun in operation.”

  The Irishman laughed. “You can’t make me mad today, Gabriel. They sent a British general and more than a thousand men against us, and we stopped them cold. Middleton and his goddamned gunboat! Look, my friend, we’ve had our differences, but that’s all in the past. We’re on the same side, remember? Our next job is to finish what they started. Wipe them out, every last man—including Middleton.”

  “You aren’t forgetting anything, Hardesty?”

  The Irishman put a puzzled look on his face. “I thought I included everything. Was there something else?”

  “The peace offer. Louis said—”

  “Oh, well now, Gabriel,” Hardesty said quickly. “What was said the other night doesn’t have much bearing on things as they are now. They’re whipped, so there’s no longer any need to talk. That’s how it is in a war. The situation changes from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour.”

  Ignoring Hardesty, Dumont turned to Riel. “You gave your word, Louis. Tell me to my face that you don’t intend to keep it. Come on, Louis, I want to hear it from you.”

  “You don’t understand these matters,” Riel said. “The other night you were angry and talked of leaving the cause. I—we—could not afford to lose you. That is why I gave my word, to persuade you to stay. It was not a lie, Gabriel. I gave my word because it was in the best interests of the métis. You would want that too. Listen to me, old friend. If we show weakness now, our cause will fail. The Canadians respect only strength. We have shown them that we are strong. Let us go on from here to build a nation.”

  “Then there won’t be any peace offer?” Dumont’s voice was drained of emotion. “You gave your word. But it doesn’t mean as much as a pile of dog dirt!”

  “You are angry, Gabriel. You will understand later.”

  “I’m not angry, Louis. I’m sad over all the fine ideas gone bad. In the end, you’re just another politician. How can you say that you’re better than Macdonald?”

  Riel remained calm, smiling. “I am not offended. What I do I do for my people. There will be no peace offer. When they have had enough they will come to us! I don’t want to talk any more about it.”

  Turning away, Riel was stopped by the hard flat tone in Dumont’s voice.

  “Then I will make the peace offer,” Dumont said. “I have no choice but to do it without you. Too many métis have died already, and many more will die useless deaths if this war goes on.”

  Riel said, “You don’t know what you’re saying, Gabriel. I am the leader of the métis. There can be no talks without me. And I say no! After all these years, are you now going against the will of your own people?”

  “Only against your will, Louis, or what you think is your will. What about you, Hardesty? What about your will?”

  Hardesty’s hand wasn’t far from his gun. The Irishmen who weren’t in the trenches and rifle pits crowded in close to him. So did Thibault and some of his dissident métis.

  “We can’t let you do it, Dumont,” Hardesty said. “It’s been decided that there won’t be any peace talk. That settles it. You have to accept that fact—or get out now. You threatened to do it the other night. You can still do it. Good as you are, you’re just one man. What’s it going to be? You can’t fight everybody.”

  Dumont raised his rifle until it was pointed at the Irishman’s face. “You’re wrong, Irishman. There’s a round in the chamber,” he said. “All I have to do is squeeze the trigger. I don’t have to fight everybody. Sundance!”

  Sundance drew his long barreled Colt in an easy motion. At the same time, the métis who supported Dumont took a firm grip on their guns. Dumont looked around. “You may have more supporters than I have, Hardesty, but I’m ready to take a chance. When the shooting stops, the Canadians can come down and kill the survivors.”

  Seconds ticked by. The only sound in the camp was the crackle of the fires and the wind. Hardesty looked sideways at Thibault, who was ready to start killing, no matter what the odds.

  “You’ll be first, Hardesty,” Dumont warned. Sundance cut in with: “And Thibault will be second. Who’d like to be third?”

  No one moved. Then Riel walked away without a word. Hardesty stared at Dumont. “Go ahead, have your peace talk. My guess is they’ll spit in your face. I’ll tell you one thing for sure, Dumont. You’ll be sorry for this.”

  “Let’s go, Sundance,” Dumont said.

  Twenty

  While the métis and the Irishmen watched, Dumont and Sundance placed wide planks on the barbed wire and crossed over to the other side. At the top of the slope, a Canadian officer waved them to come up. Sundance carried the white flag; both men were unarmed. The stretcher bea
rers, not yet finished with their grisly work, stopped to look at them as they climbed the hill. Two hours had passed since the attack, but the sweetish smell of death was still heavy on the morning air. The sun was warm in their faces as they went up the hill. It was a long climb. The only sound was the Gatling gun turning in its swivel. It made a quiet, racketing sound.

  “I wish Hardesty would try to take this hill,” Dumont said.

  “Up or down, it’s bad,” Sundance agreed. “Can your people hold them while we’re up here?”

  Dumont nodded. “I picked the best men. They will keep Hardesty and Thibault under control, but it won’t be easy. I’ll bet Hardesty is already spreading stories that I am trying to seize control of the movement from Louis. More and more, I know that Hardesty will have to be killed before he kills me. Somehow I always knew it would come to that. I knew it the first time I saw the man. Has that ever happened to you with a man you met for the first time?”

  “A few times,” Sundance answered. “The first feeling was the right one.”

  “Hardesty will gloat if Middleton sends us away,” Dumont said. “I guess we can count on not being hanged this morning. These British make such a fuss about honor.”

  “I hope Middleton isn’t any different. You know what you’re going to say?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Just as well. It’ll come to you.”

  A man’s arm was lying on the slope, torn from his body by Gatling gunfire. The body had been taken away; the arm had fallen off the stretcher. They both looked at it and continued to climb. If it hadn’t been for the stink of death and the six barrels of the Gatling watching them from the summit, it would have been a very nice day.

  “I feel bad about Louis,” Dumont said. “I know I am doing the right thing, the only thing, and I still feel bad. The look on his face when he walked away. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look.”

  Sundance, not certain that some nervous militiaman might not open fire at any moment, wasn’t too concerned about Louis Riel’s hurt feelings. He felt naked without his weapons, but there was no other way. If the Canadians found eyen a knife in his boot, they would hang him from the nearest tree. That would be a hell of a way to end up after all he’d been through.

  They were more than halfway to the top. Up above, the Canadian officer waved his sword until it glittered in the bright sunlight. “Keep coming and don’t try anything,” said the officer, who was very young, in a too loud voice.

  Dumont spat in the mud, “Damn puppy. Why in hell is he carrying a sword? Not a saber, a sword!”

  “Be patient, Gabriel. If it works, you’ll be the hero of your people—the one and only Gabriel Dumont.”

  “You can go to hell, too, Sundance. But you’re right. I’d like to see the look on Hardesty’s face. How long do you think it will be before we get an answer, supposing they agree to even discuss it?”

  Sundance did some quick figuring. “All the telegraph lines to the towns north of here are down. The Indians cut the wire to Fort Albert. Middleton will have to send riders south to Regina or Fort Qu’Appelle or to some station on the railroad. The answer will come back over the wires as fast as they decide to send it. An hour, a day, a week. It all depends on Macdonald. At least the message won’t be coming to him from Riel.”

  Dumont looked surprised. “Oh, but it will.”

  “No, Gabriel. The message will be sent to Macdonald from you. You are not a messenger. You are the man in charge. That has to be made clear. As far as Middleton and Macdonald are concerned, you are the new leader of the métis. That’s how it has to be. I know you don’t like it, but there is no other way. What you say has to come from no one but you. Anything you promise, you will back up. So don’t promise too much. Middleton and Macdonald will not listen too closely if they think you have to run to Louis Riel to confirm every detail.”

  “Then I will be a traitor.”

  “Not a traitor, Gabriel. Middleton and Macdonald must know that they have to deal with no one but you. Sundance’s voice became soft. “You have been the leader since the beginning.”

  The Canadian officer stepped forward after sheathing his sword. “If you have any weapons, you must give them up now. Do you have any weapons? All right, follow me. You can throw away that flag. It won’t be needed.”

  The crew behind the Gatling gun stared at them with open hostility as they followed the young officer over the crest of the hill. The riflemen guarding the downslope all turned their heads. A few of them spat.

  It looked as if more of Middleton’s force was assembled at the top of the hill that stretched back to open prairie. Wagons and horses were drawn up. The dead were in three piles some distance from the three large army tents, where doctors were working furiously to save the wounded. There were pools of blood in front of the teats. An amputation saw rasped on bone as they went past the last tent. Far back from the top of the hill, men were gathered around a line of camp fires, looking cold and tired in spite of the waning spring sun.

  “This way,” the officer said, pointing to Middleton’s elaborate tent, big as a cabin. “Take off your hats. Hats off, I said.”

  Sundance said, “It doesn’t matter.”

  Dumont took off his battered wool hat and crushed it in one hand. Sundance was forced to grin. As a diplomat, Gabriel Dumont was a good buffalo hunter. “Step lively now,” the Canadian officer said.

  Inside, General Middleton, his aide Winfield, and two senior Canadian militia officers were waiting. It wasn’t a cold day, but the charcoal brazier was burning. Middleton’s port-wine face had blotches of white in it; the plate of food in front of him hadn’t been touched.

  Winfield bent over and whispered to the General, who looked up quickly. “Why isn’t Riel here?”

  Dumont said slowly, almost painfully, “I am the leader of the métis now. I am Gabriel Dumont.”

  All eyes were focused on the big buffalo hunter, his rough clothing, his scarred hands, the battered hat being turned nervously between them.

  “So you are Dumont,” Middleton said, not wanting to believe it. “You have caused us a considerable amount of trouble. I ask you again: Where is Riel?”

  “Louis Riel is in camp. I have fought this war, and I will talk of peace.”

  Middleton tried for irony. “Peace! Is that what you want? You haven’t been behaving very peacefully, have you! What makes you think that we are prepared to listen to you. You are nothing but a scoundrel and a rebel. Are you aware that I could have you hanged right now? I don’t mean later. I mean this instant!”

  To press his point, Middleton banged his fist on the table.

  “You could do that,” Dumont said. “We are unarmed. We came unarmed under a flag of truce, and you can do anything you wish. As a British officer—”

  The Englishman bristled. “So you want to be treated as an equal, is that it! Well, I’ll be damned if I do that. You are not a soldier but a skulking rebel. Why should you be treated as a soldier?”

  Sundance had remained silent ail the time. Middleton turned his bluster toward him. “And who are you? You don’t look like one of these people. I don’t know what you look like, but you don’t look like a métis.”

  Sundance gave his name. It didn’t mean anything to any of them.

  “He is my second in command,” Dumont said. Middleton sneered. “The cheek of these people. Second in command, indeed! Next this fellow will be calling himself general.”

  Middleton’s aide whispered to him again. “All right! All right, Captain, I was about to come to that.”

  To Dumont he said, “Well, you’re here, so I might as well listen to what you have to say—not that I’m going to give it much heed, mind you. Come on, out with it. Before you start, I might as well tell you that the only peace I’ll consider is complete surrender.”

  “Then there is nothing to say,” Dumont said. “We will not surrender, not if all your five-thousand reinforcements from the east were to arrive here today.”


  “Pretty well informed, aren’t you?” Middleton said. “Very well, you won’t surrender. You don’t expect us to surrender, do you? From the look of you, you’re mad enough to demand anything. Oh, go away. We’ll overrun your town in due time.”

  “Like you did this morning, General?” Dumont’s voice was quiet; there was no sarcasm in it.

  Middleton’s red face grew a darker red. “You dare speak to me like that? All right, never mind. You did put on a good show, but you can’t win. Don’t you see that? Of course, you don’t.”

  “But I do. I have always know that, even before this war began. A man does not have to be very smart to realize that one small people cannot win against vast forces.”

  “Then what the blazes are you trying to do? Get everybody killed? Do what I tell you, man. Surrender! If you know you can’t win, what else can you do?”

  Dumont took a deep breath and released it. “We will fight on until we are all dead, every man, woman, and child. Before we let our woman and children starve, we will kill them ourselves. We will kill them because we love them. But the men will fight on. We will become like wolves gone mad with desperation. There is nothing we will not do. You may take our lands, brand us as traitors, and then you may think it is safe to bring in your settlers and build new towns. But we will be there, deep in the woods, where even your Mounties won’t find us. And we will strike at you without warning, in the dead of night, when you least expect.”

  Middleton’s voice was a whisper. “You’re a madman.”

  Dumont shook his head. “Maybe I am, but what I am saying is true. Before we’re finished, we will turn Saskatchewan into a place of terror. You can send all the soldiers you like. You can hang and burn and flog. It won’t stop us. In time, death will stop us. But death is a long time coming. I ask you this question, General Middleton: Is it worth it?”