Canadian Red

by R. W. Stone

  “Come in,” the Cree replied. “Welcome.”

  “Hello, Jamie … Lucas,” Blake said to the boys as he and his men neared the house. “Look I’m sorry to trouble you with this, Charlie, but there’s been a problem, and we’d like you to come back to the post with us and discuss it.”

  “What problem?” Charlie asked, puzzled.

  Jeff Blake pushed his hat back on his head, rubbed the side of his neck, and leaned forward in his saddle. “Well, it’s like this … Henry La Pierre has been killed.”

  The two boys gasped. Henry had been a friend to their father for years, so they had known him since they were little. He had always been a kind man, bringing hard candy for them whenever he visited.

  “He will be missed. How was he killed?” Charlie asked.

  “Well,” Blake replied, “apparently he was ambushed a couple of miles from his place.”

  “La Pierre was good man, a good friend to Joshua,” Charlie said. The Cree paused a moment, and then asked: “But what do you need with me?”

  “Well, you know me Charlie, and I trust you. Still there’s a lot of talk going around, and we’d just like to talk to everyone who knew him. You know, try to get things sorted out. As you say, Henry La Pierre was liked by most folk.” Jeff Blake looked troubled. “So, can we get you to come in with us?”

  The Cree thought for a good while. “I’ll come, but not today. Tomorrow. We haven’t been to the post in a while and we need some things. We’ll come in with the wagon.”

  “We’s supposed to fetch him back with us now,” one of the men with Blake snapped rudely in Blake’s direction.

  Jamie and Lucas didn’t like the man’s tone at all.

  “I’ve known Charlie Two Knives for years,” Blake said to the man firmly, reining his horse around. “I’ve never known him to utter a single falsehood. If he says he’ll come in tomorrow, that’s good enough for me.”

  The man wasn’t pleased, but he finally gave in. “Well, iffen you say so,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  The trader shifted around in his saddle and tipped his hat to the three on the porch. “Till then, Charlie. See you tomorrow, boys.”

  * * * * *

  The next day was both cold and overcast. The twins had spent the better part of the night trying to convince Charlie not to go into town.

  “I don’t trust the way that one man with Blake reacted when you said you’d go tomorrow,” Jamie argued. “I didn’t recognize him.”

  “Remember the trouble we had with those other fellows,” Lucas added.

  The Cree’s mind was made up, however. “I gave my word, boys. Without his word, a man is nothing.”

  At this point in their lives the twins knew better than to continue to argue with Charlie once he had made up his mind.

  So that morning, they hitched up the wagon. As they were about to head out for town, the twins both reached for their guns.

  “Leave those here,” Charlie ordered. When the twins protested, Charlie remained firm. “We’re not going in armed.”

  “You still have your knife,” Lucas pointed out.

  “I never go anywhere without my knife, a fire starter, and—”

  “Rope and canteen?” Jamie said before the Cree could finish himself.

  Charlie grinned. It was something he seldom did. “I was going to say brains, but you’re right, you should always have a rope and canteen good, too.”

  The three started out toward the trading post, and while they knew they had done nothing wrong, they were still worried.

  Traveling by wagon to the post took almost three hours. Since they hadn’t been there for quite some time, the trio was surprised by all the changes that had occurred since their last visit.

  A small town was now growing up all around Blake’s trading post. There was a new hardware and general store, a blacksmith shop, and a small assay office—which for the moment was being run inside a large Sibley tent.

  Charlie Two Knives drove their wagon up to the plank landing in front of the trading post and pulled to a stop. Lucas set the wagon’s brake, and Jamie jumped down and went to the back of the wagon. He took out a rock that was tied with a rope and walked to the horses where he fastened the free end of the rope to the halter of the lead horse as a ground tie. Jamie had learned a long time ago that tying a team of rambunctious horses to a wooden hitching post could result in both a broken post and a loose team.

  Blake appeared at his front door as the twins were brushing dust off their jackets. “Thanks for coming in, Charlie,” Blake said, and nodded at Lucas and Jamie.

  The Cree got down from the wagon seat, stiff from the three-hour ride, and began walking toward the trader. Suddenly there was a commotion down the street, and Charlie and the boys turned almost as one.

  “There’s the damned Injun what done it!” someone yelled.

  Lucas recognized the man who shouted as the Yank called Joe, who had come to the ranch with Hancock.

  “Let’s get him, boys!” another yelled.

  Despite his injured arm from Charlie’s knife, Joe seemed to grow in confidence as men began coming out of the buildings and tents to find out what all the shouting was about. Joe walked slowly in the direction of the trading post.

  “Wait a moment, men!” Blake cried out. “I told you we were going to hear Charlie out.”

  Jamie looked at Lucas with concern on his face, a growing queasiness in his belly.

  “The hell we are!” shouted someone in the growing group of men. “It’s Henry La Pierre we’re talking about here. Never a finer man … and now he’s been murdered.”

  The old Cree kept his back toward the trading post as he watched the men, half of whom he did not recognize, gather in the road. A look of fear appeared on his weathered bronze face. “I wouldn’t hurt Henry,” he protested, glancing at Blake.

  “What’s going on, Blake?” Lucas shouted as he and his twin moved closer to Charlie in a protective stance.

  “Henry was killed with a knife that looks like Charlie’s,” Blake answered nervously, backing toward the trading post door.

  “They’re going to kill him,” Jamie said, “if you don’t do something.”

  Five men broke away from the group, and were quickly catching up with Joe, who walked slowly and deliberately toward the post. He was only a few yards from the wagon when he stopped to wait for the others to catch up.

  Then, like a hungry swarm of birds, the men descended upon Charlie. The twins tried to pry their friend loose from the grasp of men, but they were pushed aside and held back by the three others.

  “Let’s string him up!” came a voice from out on the street.

  Jamie recognized the voice as coming from the man who had called himself Hancock.

  “Over there! We can use that big oak.” A man in a plaid coat said, pointing to a large tree with a thick low-hanging limb.

  “I got all the rope we need!” another man cried out as he ran toward the red oak.

  At the tree, one of the men grabbed one end of the rope and threw it over the large limb. Another jumped up and grabbed the dangling end of the rope and began fashioning a hangman’s knot.

  Held back by Joe holding a gun, Blake’s protests went unheeded as Charlie was pulled toward the oak, his feet creating furrows in the cold ground as they dragged him. The twins were yelling and trying to break free, unable to understand how this could be happening, regretting that Charlie had not listened to them.

  Charlie’s hands were quickly bound behind his back as he tried ineffectually to break free of the men. But at his age he just didn’t have the energy and the stamina to take on a bloodthirsty gang.

  The twins were crying, worn down by the vicelike hold of their captors. They both dropped their heads as they watched a man slip the loop over Charlie’s head and tighten it around his neck.

&nbs
p; The men around the tree stood in anticipation, but several looked hesitant, having been friends with Joshua Donovan. Suddenly an eerie silence fell over the group as several grabbed hold of the rope end, ready to hoist Charlie up. At the same time, the twins were released and shoved roughly against the trading post’s wall. But there was no relief for them because there was nothing they could do to help their friend, since Charlie Two Knives had insisted they leave their guns at home.

  Neither twin could understand how Hancock had gained so much influence and power in the town in such a short time.

  “Blake,” Lucas asked, “why is this happening? Who is this Hancock and how did he turn everyone against Charlie?”

  There was no response from the trader, who looked as white as a ghost.

  “Go ahead, pull him up!” Hancock ordered from under the oak.

  All eyes were focused on the Cree when a shot rang out. The men turned as a lone man rode up, atop a large black stallion. The stranger held a Henry rifle and had it pointed in the direction of the men surrounding Charlie.

  “Take that noose off that man right now and back away!” the man called out. His voice was deep and firm. Directing his aim at Hancock, he levered another round into his repeating rifle, as if to emphasize his words. He had on a buffalo-skin coat and wore a white pith helmet. The man’s face was clean shaven across his sculpted square chin.

  “There will be no hanging today, boys,” the man announced with finality.

  Someone in the group yelled back. “Yeah. Who says so? Who the bloody hell are you?”

  “My name is Frank Davidson, and I order you to take that noose off right now.”

  Two of the men stepped out and removed the rope from around Charlie Two Knives’ neck, and quickly backed away as Charlie collapsed to the ground.

  Deliberately, the tall man replaced his rifle in the saddle scabbard and dismounted.

  Hancock squared off and immediately challenged the stranger.

  “I don’t know why you want to get involved in something that clearly ain’t none of your affair, but this man here murdered our friend Henry La Pierre, and we intend to see that justice is done.”

  “Is that so? Well, lynching someone without a fair trial isn’t justice, so I’ll take it from here if it’s all the same to you.”

  “And what gives you the right to tell us what to do?” Joe shouted, moving over to the noose and grabbing it.

  Never taking his eyes off Hancock, the stranger shook himself out of his buffalo-skin coat and tossed it over his saddle.

  At the sight of the scarlet-red coat and the wide belt with a flapped pistol holster at its side, several of the men stepped back with an inhalation of breath.

  “I am Constable Davidson, and my authority comes from the Canadian government. In the name of the Crown, I order you all to disperse.” He walked straight toward Hancock and stopped only inches from him, facing him square on.

  “He’s one of them new North-West Mounted Policemen the government recently formed,” Jeff Blake explained to the twins. “I sent for him.”

  “That so?” Hancock said, trying to appear in charge as he puffed up his chest. But his voice cracked a mite. “Well, that doesn’t change the fact that this Injun here killed our friend.”

  The Mountie looked around at the other men. “What proof have you? Who says this man is the murderer?”

  “We found this knife sticking out of Henry’s back,” Hancock said, producing the stag-handled knife. “Mister Blake, who runs the trading post here, he recognized it as belonging to the Cree.” He handed the blade over to Davidson.

  The Mountie turned the knife over in his hands. “Yes, it does looks like a Cree could have made it. This yours?” he asked, holding out the knife so Charlie could see it clearly.

  The Cree simply nodded.

  The Mountie then placed the knife inside his own belt.

  “See, he admits it,” Hancock said, his voice brusque and dismissive.

  As the Mountie stared down Hancock, the twins hurried over to Charlie and helped him get to his feet. They backed him up to a position behind the Mountie, feeling there was no one here, other than the Mountie, who they could trust, including Blake, a man they had been friendly with for years.

  “That’s a lie!” Lucas shouted in rebuttal to Hancock’s statement.

  But the Mountie ignored Lucas, and stepped back from Hancock, his gaze moving over the faces of the men under the oak.

  “I wonder what motive he might have for killing a neighbor?” Davidson said. “And for that matter, what business is it of yours? You call Henry your friend, but you’re an American, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, we’re from the States,” the Yank replied confidently. “We came up here to invest in some land. No harm in that, is there?”

  “No, none whatsoever,” Davidson replied. “But again, what has all this to do with La Pierre’s murder?”

  “Well, it’s easy enough to figure,” Hancock said. “See, my friends and I got to know Henry pretty well. We told him about our plans and made him a very good offer on his land, and he agreed to it. We paid him, and Henry up and left his outfit with the cash money. Stands to reason this Injun must have found out about it. Must’ve hunted him down and killed him on the trail on his way outta here. It’s always about the money, ain’t it?”

  Again, the Mountie nodded. “Oftentimes, yes, it is. Three things lead to murder in my experience … money, jealousy, or anger.”

  “Right you are,” Hancock agreed, gaining confidence at the thought of winning over the Mountie. He smiled in Joe’s direction.

  “Where’s the money?” the Mountie asked.

  “We figure the Injun must have hidden it,” Hancock answered.

  “So, it’s really just your word that Henry was paid off, right?” the Mountie asked. “How much was it exactly?”

  “Well, yes,” Hancock paused, “but my four other friends were there, too, and they can swear witness.”

  “Of course. There is that,” Davidson said, as he appeared to be thinking about what Hancock had said. “I suppose you have actual written documentation of the sale?” the constable asked.

  All eyes turned to the Yank as his response wasn’t so fast this time.

  Finally, Hancock smiled. “Sure do. I got the bill of sale right here in my coat pocket.”

  The constable’s hand drifted down to his holster, and he unfastened its leather flap.

  “Nice and easy now,” he warned.

  “Sure thing,” Hancock replied, slowing his movements. “You’ll have no problem with me.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it over. “It’s all right there in black and white. See for yourself.”

  Frank Davidson glanced at the paper, and then said: “Is Jeff Blake here?”

  Blake stepped closer to the Mountie, saying: “Yes, I run the trading post. I’m the one who requested help here.”

  Without turning, Davidson handed the document over to the trader. “Hold onto this a moment for me, will you, Mister Blake?”

  Blake nodded. “Of course, Constable. I’ll be glad to.”

  Turning back to Hancock and the group of men, the Mountie continued his interrogation. “So, you’re saying that after La Pierre took this money that you claim you paid him, he rode out. You believe that Henry must have come across Charlie Two Knives out on the trail, who then stabbed him in the back and stole all the money he was carrying? Do I have that right? Is that what happened?”

  Hancock nodded, as did Joe.

  “Makes sense, don’t it, Constable? After all, Henry didn’t have the money on him when they found his body. And he did have that Injun’s knife sticking out of his back,” he said, pointing at the Mountie’s belt holding the Cree’s knife.

  The Mountie stood stock-still, his gaze driving into Joe.

  Feeling there was
finally an opening in which he could speak, Jamie said: “It’s all a lie, Mister Davidson. Some weeks back, those Yanks tried to force us off our ranch, and when that man over there”—he pointed at Joe—“drew a pistol, Charlie threw his knife at him in self-defense. Last time we all saw that knife, it was sticking out of that man’s right arm as he rode out.”

  “That’s true, I was there, too,” Lucas added.

  “They’s just trying to protect their friend is all. It’s obvious he’s guilty as hell!” Joe yelled out.

  “Well, that’s easy enough to prove,” the Mountie said, his eyes shifting to catch a glimpse at Hancock before returning to Joe. “Roll up your sleeve.”

  Joe looked anxiously over at Hancock and back at the Mountie. “You ain’t serious? You gonna take the word of these two kids over ours? Grown men?”

  “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you do seem to be favoring your right arm a mite. Mind rolling up your sleeve?”

  Jamie added: “When the knife hit his arm, he dropped his gun. It’s back at the ranch.”

  “The hell with that,” Joe cried, darting his eyes at the twins. “You can’t prove the pistol is mine.” He shifted his gaze to the Mountie and moved closer to him. “You want to see my arm …,” he started to say, then suddenly swung his left arm in a wide roundhouse punch that was aimed at the constable’s head.

  Frank Davidson lifted his right arm up to block the man’s punch, then grabbed Joe’s right arm and gave it a wrenching twist. The Mountie made it appear effortless, but it took its toll on Joe, who cried out in pain, cradling his arm as he dropped to his knees.

  The officer quickly reached over Joe’s back and tugged his shirt right out from behind his belt and pulled it up. Joe kept his arms locked, trying to fight Davidson from exposing his arm. However, the Mountie had no quit in him, and he yanked Joe’s arm free and pulled the sleeve up, exposing his arm so the men who had backed him and Hancock could clearly see the bloody bandage covering the wound.

  Several men moved forward and grabbed both of Joe’s arms, pinning him down to the ground, Joe moaning as he tried to get away.