by R. W. Stone
Before heading out, Donovan made sure all the tack was properly in place on the dogs. A harness that is fitted correctly will lie flat on a sled dog’s back, go between the dog’s front legs and stretch across the last rib. The very tip of the harness needed to end at the base of the dog’s tail. To do otherwise can cause things to tangle, or, worse yet, create bad sores along a dog’s body that can easily become infected.
Donovan moved to his place at the back of his own team. After taking a look back at the second sled that was carrying his twin brother’s body, he said softly: “We’re going home Jamie.” Lucas then called out to both teams.
“Let’s go, boys. Mush!” He used the bastardized term used by the English Canadians, taken from the original French trappers’ term marche.
The dogs pulled at their harnesses, and though the dogs started off slowly, not used to a double burden, they were soon moving at a fast pace. For Lucas Donovan it would be a harsh two-week trip back to Fort Macleod. It would be two long weeks, filled with loneliness, memories, and the cold hard realization that he would never again experience that unique and special bond that he had shared with his twin brother.
Chapter Six
Some hours later, Lucas made camp in a stand of aspen trees that he picked because the snow was not deep there, and because he knew various uses of aspens he’d been taught by Charlie Two Knives.
Charlie was a Nehiyawak or Cree Indian. Lucas’ father, Joshua, had been out hunting, and he had found the Cree Indian he called Charlie lying near a fallen tree, injured. Joshua Donovan had nursed him back to health. A bond of friendship blossomed during Charlie’s recovery, and the Cree decided to stay on and help Joshua with his expanding ranch. The boys had never gotten the story straight, but apparently the name Two Knives was either a translation from his native tongue or was a nickname bestowed on him by their father because of the Cree’s amazing abilities with knives, both as a tool and as a weapon.
When Donovan’s wife died as a result of complications from childbirth, Charlie Two Knives was there to help raise the twins, a gift Joshua felt he had been given and for which he could never repay.
As the Donovan twins grew up, Charlie Two Knives educated them, as best as he could, both to appreciate the Canadian wilds as well as how to survive in them.
“Nature can be a blessing or a curse,” he would remind them over and over. “She’s a changeable creature, dangersome but giving. Respect her power and you will have a much better chance at survival.”
Heeding both Charlie’s counsel as well as their father’s advice whenever he gave it, the Donovan boys grew up to become strong and capable woodsmen.
As Lucas set up camp, knowing he was low on matches, he removed a small hatchet from his sled and walked over to a large aspen tree where he proceeded to chop into a big knot in the bark that makes an excellent fire starter—something he had learned from Charlie. When the knot was chopped out, Lucas placed it on the ground and loosened its interior. Removing a fire stone from his pocket, Lucas struck the edge of the hand ax on the stone, and in no time at all the sparks ignited the inside of the tree knot’s bole. Once he had the fire going, he could heat food for the dogs from the supply the Donovan brothers always carried on their sleds.
That done, Lucas took a few minutes out to sit down, exhausted. His head was throbbing with pain now, and he was nauseated, having a hard time thinking. As he lay back by the fire, he thought back of the information Charlie had given them on healing properties of things you could find in the wild.
He remembered that, once, when the twins were about eight years old, their father came stumbling in through the door all scratched up and bloody. He had been out trapping and had stumbled across a cougar on the prowl.
“She jumped me from a tree branch. Never heard or saw her till it was too late,” Joshua Donovan had explained.
“How’d you get away, Pa?” Jamie and Lucas wondered in astonishment.
“When she knocked me down, I fell amongst some rocks. While she was pawing me to hell, I managed to pick one up, and I bashed it over her head. That ended that, thank God Almighty. My legs and arms didn’t hurt much at first, but they sure bled a lot. I can barely use them now, and they hurt something fierce.”
Charlie Two Knives had tended to the scratches and gashes. He started by washing the wounds. Then he told the boys: “Go outside and find buds from last year’s aspen growth. The buds are medicinal, good for pain. Look for the darkest part of the twigs. The inner tree bark is good for pain, too, when scraped off.”
Head throbbing, Lucas now began the work of gathering the things he would need to brew the natural medicine for the pain in his head. He knew that what he needed was all around him. He started water boiling for the tea. He then collected several of the aspen buds and ground them together with the scrapings from the inner lining of the bark to add to the brew. While he was waiting for the tea to heat, he also chewed on the twigs. Although relief wasn’t immediate, once he drank the concoction, the pain eventually subsided, and the warmth made him much more comfortable.
Next Lucas gathered together the aspen’s outer bark and scraped off the light powder that forms on its outside. He applied the soothing powder to his face as it had become chapped from the snow and cold.
When the fire began to dwindle, Lucas cleared away a patch of snow near the sleds and sleeping dogs and got the hand shovel from Jamie’s sled. In the cleared area, he dug a trench, which he filled with the hot ashes and glowing embers from the fire. He covered the coals over loosely with the dirt. By placing his sleeping blanket right over the coals and dirt, Lucas knew the radiant heat from below would protect him from the cold all though the night. The last thing he did before stretching out was to check on Jamie in the sled. He gently patted the tarp that held his brother and told him good night.
Red kept watch for a while, but he finally walked over and curled up alongside his master. Before allowing himself to drift off and forget about the day, Donovan checked his rifle and pistol one last time. It turned out to be a restless night for Lucas, despite his exhaustion. The young Mountie tossed and turned while nightmarish images of his brother’s death played out over and over in his sleep.
In the morning, when Lucas first awakened, there was an instant when all seemed well with the world. It wasn’t until he turned to check on his brother, as was his habit, that he remembered what had happened the day before, and it hit him like a punch in the stomach. He wasn’t sure how he could go on alone without his brother. Slowly, that sadness turned to something else, something dark and terrible. It turned to anger, hate, and a burning desire for revenge.
Standing over his twin’s cold body, Lucas swore a personal oath to track down his brother’s killer and to make him pay the ultimate price for what he had done.
Once he had the teams lined up and the equipment stored or ready, he went to his place on the sled, yelling out to Red and the rest of the team: “Home, boys! Mush now, mush!”
Chapter Seven
It took twelve days before Donovan pulled the two sleds in tandem into the town of Macleod, located in the southwest corner of the province of Alberta. The fort that was located there had originally been named in honor of Colonel James Macleod and was now home to the Canadian North-West Mounted Police force.
Lucas pulled his team to a stop in front of the building that housed the headquarters for his unit. He knew that inside was Major Hank Milton, the current commandant of the NWMP here in the district.
Milton was a trim and fit man in his early fifties, known for his steady disposition. He was the type of leader who would not ask anything of his men that he was not willing to do himself. The men of the NWMP recognized that characteristic and respected him for it.
Before entering the office and reporting to Major Milton, Donovan glanced around the grounds of the fort. It felt comforting to be back, and his eyes scanned the barracks on the fort’
s east side, across from the buildings that housed the rest of the men working inside the fort. Then he took in the guardhouses, the hospital, and stores to the south. Behind him, to the north, were the stables and the blacksmith’s shed.
The fort had been relocated here about three years earlier, and at the time Lucas had thought it a good idea. It stood to reason that, sooner or later, railroads would link Macleod with the rest of Canada, and eventually even down into the States.
After being out on the trail for so long, Lucas found it reassuring that everything, here at least, seemed in order and unchanged. He proceeded to unhook his big malamute from the sled, after pulling off his thick gloves—which he secured in the wide leather belt he wore. Next Donovan removed his fur hat, revealing the scabbed-over wound on his forehead, and wiped the inside of the its brim before settling it back on his head. He was now ready to talk with Major Milton.
Donovan entered the headquarters office. Inside, he stopped a couple of steps in from the doorway, stood at attention, and saluted sharply.
Sitting behind the desk, Major Milton removed his briar pipe from his mouth with his left hand and returned the salute with his right. “Welcome back, my boy. Tell me, how’d it go?” Because the force had been hearing about people going missing and a number of murders in the north, the twin Mounties had been sent out on patrol to learn as much as they could about the reports.
“Have a bit of a rough time, eh, Corporal?” he asked, pointing with the stem of his pipe toward Lucas’ forehead when he took off his hat.
“What I have to report, sir, well … I’m afraid it isn’t very good,” Lucas replied with hesitancy.
Major Milton sat up straight. “Say, where’s your brother Jamie? Walking in again?” It had long been Jamie’s habit to get off his sled after a long patrol and walk the final mile into the fort. He said it helped get the cramps out of his legs and clear his mind before reporting in.
With a pained expression, Corporal Donovan shook his head. “Outside, sir. He’s dead, sir. His body’s outside … in his sled.”
“No! Not your brother, lad,” the major gasped, not embarrassed to show his distress at the information. “I’m truly sorry, son,” he said. “He was a fine Mountie. You two were a solid team …” His words trailed off when he realized what he was saying would only make Lucas feel worse. “Sit down. I’ll have men take care of Jamie and tend to the dogs.” He got up, went to the door, and called out the order to Sullivan and Smythe.
His anger festered as he thought about the loss to the force with the death of Jamie Donovan. As he sat back down behind his desk, he asked for details. “Tell me what happened, Corporal.”
“We were ambushed out there, sir,” Lucas began as he slumped down into the chair. “We were after this fellow, name of Emerson, Jack Emerson. Jamie and I were certain that he’s the man who has been doing all this killing and terrorizing up in the north. And we were getting close to him, but he tricked us, set up a false trail. He must have doubled back to lay in wait for us. When we got close to his blind, he shot Jamie. Got him right in the chest. Got me, too, but I was luckier than Jamie.”
Major Milton nodded, cleared his throat. He considered things for a moment before saying: “A service will be held tomorrow. I want you to check in with the doctor, and, after he clears you, take the rest of the day off to recover from your ordeal. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Lucas started to protest, but the major held up his hand as he rose from the desk and headed for the door. “I’ll make sure everything is readied. Whether you feel it is necessary or not, I want the doctor to have a look-see. That is an order. Understood, Corporal Donovan? Oh, and draw yourself an extra ration of rum.”
Following the commandant through the door, Lucas nodded his head. “Understood, sir, and I thank you.”
The major gestured to some of the onlookers. “Lucas, I assure you, the men will take good care of your brother. I will get a full report from you after we have taken care of this very sad business.”
The corporal saluted, turned sharply, and then stepped outside.
“Come on, boy,” Lucas said to Red. “Nothing we can do here. Jamie’s in good hands now.”
Patting the dog on the back, Corporal Lucas Donovan walked slowly toward his barracks with the massive red and white malamute trotting faithfully alongside him.
Chapter Eight
“For as much as it has pleased the Almighty to take out of this world the soul of our friend and comrade, Jamie Randall Donovan, we now commit his body to the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, waiting for that day when the Lord himself shall descend from heaven …”
At that point in the funeral service Lucas’ thoughts began to wander. Almost everyone from the fort had come to the ceremony conducted by Major Milton and the local pastor. He wished that Charlie Two Knives was still alive to be here, but he had died of pneumonia last winter.
Lucas felt conflicted. On one hand, it was gratifying that everyone at the fort thought so highly of his twin brother. That almost down to a man, they had wanted to pay their respects. But on the other hand, Lucas could not help feeling an overwhelming sense of impatience, knowing the man who had killed Jamie was still on the loose. Lucas couldn’t help but feel that standing around reciting platitudes and feeling sad was counterproductive to what he had in mind: revenge.
After the ceremony, the major motioned for Lucas to join him in his office. Once inside, the two men pulled up chairs in front of the desk. The room was spacious, but relatively spartan in design and decor, considering the number of years Milton had been in the force. There was a small picture of the Queen hanging on the far wall and a small certificate signifying Milton’s promotion next to it. The near wall held a large framed map of the province. On the major’s desk was a picture of his wife and daughter, an ashtray, a pipe holder, an inkwell, along with a messy pile of miscellaneous papers. Now it also held the family Bible used in the memorial, which the major had set there when they entered the room.
“I want you to know, Lucas, that you have our sincerest condolences,” Major Milton began in a kindly tone. “I also want you to understand that every officer in the province will devote all they have to catching this Emerson fellow, dastardly coward that he is. I assure you, we shall all make a point of seeing to it that this bastard is brought to justice,” the major added hotly, for the more thought he gave to this Emerson, the angrier he became. “Nobody kills a Mountie and gets away with it.”
Corporal Donovan nodded, but his eye kept being drawn to the map on the wall. “Excuse me for a minute, Major,” he said as he got up and walked over to the map. He studied it for a while before speaking. “You are going to let me handle going after this man, aren’t you, sir?” he asked somewhat anxiously, fearing the answer he might get.
Major Milton shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and then cleared his throat. He slowly lit his pipe, sending up a cloud of smoke that he watched swirl in the sunlight coming through the window. Fort Macleod’s commanding officer seemed lost in thought and didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to be aware of Lucas for a number of minutes.
Eventually, he tapped his pipe nervously in his left hand, and said: “You know as well as I do what the official policy is in these situations. Allowing relatives of the deceased into an official investigation is risky for all concerned. I know how you must feel … vengeful and grief-stricken. But these feelings could adversely influence your judgment in the field. That is precisely why the force’s policy is to reassign those in your position to other duties or place you on administrative leave.”
“But with all due respect, sir, I think I know this Jack Emerson better than any other constable in the force at this point. Jamie and I got close to him. I need to be out there, going after him. We trailed him for weeks. You know I have the best chance of catching him. It may be the official policy, sir, but don’t they leave you with any discretion in these m
atters?” Lucas had to pause so he could calm down, unclench his fists, appear detached from his feelings. “This is just plain wrong, and, begging your pardon, sir, I think you know it.”
The major thought about what Lucas said for a moment, then he shook his head, saying: “I still have to report back to my superiors, and, besides, I’m not sure I do disagree with that particular policy. You weren’t just fellow constables, you were brothers. You need to clear your mind and heal from your loss, gain some perspective. Might do you good to leave the manhunt to others.”
Having his hands tied in this manner was the last thing Lucas Donovan had expected. There were so many thoughts whirling through his head that, for a moment, he actually considered resigning from the force. Deep down he knew he would have to be the one to settle the score with Jack Emerson. He also knew arguing with Milton was pointless at this juncture, but, as he waited silently to be dismissed, a way around the policy occurred to him.
Nodding slowly as if he finally agreed with his commanding officer, Corporal Donovan studied the major as he walked back to the chair. “You mentioned something about an administrative leave?”
Milton’s pipe having gone out, he tamped down the tobacco in the bowl before bringing a match to it. He puffed a couple of times and again appeared to be considering Lucas’ words. Milton was, if anything, a very deliberate man. When the major finally looked up, Lucas was once again staring at the map.
“Yes, that’s right,” Major Milton replied slowly.
“Well, sir, in that case, I’d like to take mine now.”
“Corporal Donovan,” the major said sternly, “I knew your father and I had great respect for him. I do believe I have a fair appreciation of who and what it means to be a Donovan. Believe me when I say that you aren’t fooling me one bit. You have no intention of going on leave, Corporal. The first chance you get, you will be back on this Emerson’s trail, and we both know it.”