Rocky Mountain Warpath (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “That’s real interesting,” Hawkins said. “But it’s got nothing to do with our current assignment of tracking down a gang of snipers.”

  “Perhaps not,” Watson acknowledged. “Your request to enter Canada was initially turned down by higher headquarters. Consequently, my commanding officer Chief Superintendent Tallmadge informed the general staff that while you are here, you would participate in the investigation of those miners. That was enough for permission to be granted.”

  Both Hawkins and Ludlow were miffed. The young lieutenant snapped, “Then you are not involved in anything that is connected with our mission?”

  Watson gave him a hard look. “Correct! But if you do not take the time to help us out, I am authorized to cancel your authorization to travel through Canadian territory.”

  Hawkins knew he was at Watson’s mercy. He spoke through clenched teeth. “In that case, we will do as requested. But why the hell can’t you use more of those Mounties to check out the miners?”

  “We are badly under strength in these parts, Captain. Our main area of operations is the North West Territory.”

  Sergeant Eagle Heart was amused by the whole episode. “American white men use tricks. Canadian white men too.”

  Sergeant Duff glared at the Indian. “But we get our jobs done. One way or the other; we get our jobs done.”

  Eagle Heart showed a sardonic grin. “I bet one big job you do is kill off all buffalo here like white men in America. Make Injuns starve. Aw!”

  Inspector Watson spoke to Hawkins and Ludlow. “We Mounties did our best to get the government in Ottawa to stop the unrestricted hunting of buffalo. They ignored our pleas. And when it was decided the natives should be taught to farm, we advised it wouldn’t work. That too was disregarded.”

  “We had the same problems,” Hawkins stated. “These scouts were wasting away on farms before they enlisted.”

  “They’re lucky,” Watson opined. “Perhaps we’ll be able to enlist natives in our ranks someday. Meanwhile, we have to turn our attention to those blasted gold miners.”

  Since there wasn’t much daylight left, it was decided to spend the night in that location. A quick camp was set up and Sergeant Eagle Heart did his usual job of organizing the guard. At first the Canadians didn’t think it was necessary, but Ludlow explained about the gunfights with the snipers, adding that a night guard is required by U.S. Army regulations.

  “Well, I certainly understand,” Watson said. “I feel bad about not being able to accompany you chaps into America and lend a hand in dealing with those murderers.”

  Hawkins showed a wry grin. “Superintendent Watson, you can’t imagine how bad we feel about that too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On the early afternoon of the next day, the scout detachment and Mounties reached the roadway supposedly used by the miners to take their gold north to the community called Deer Creek. Everyone dismounted to check the wagon tracks on the ground. It was evident the dirt thoroughfare was not heavily traveled.

  Sergeant Duff knelt down and looked at the ruts. “I supposed they drove the wagons north only when they had a large amount of gold.”

  “Yeah,” Hawkins said. “I think you’re right.”

  “And you can tell by the hoof prints they used a good number of escorts when they did.”

  “Right,” Watson agreed. “Gold haulage would be a tempting target for any self-respecting bandits.”

  Ludlow gazed northward. “If they weren’t taking it to that town of Deer Creek, where were they going? And why?”

  “We have no idea,” the inspector replied. “Since it was assumed they were getting their nuggets legally assayed, there was no reason to make an investigation of their group.”

  “But they did come past here from the south,” Sergeant Duff said. “That is obvious.”

  “Right,” Watson acknowledged. “And therefore, it is in that very direction we must go if we hope to find the location of their gold mining activities.”

  Hawkins and Ludlow like that idea. It would get them closer to the American border.

  The best thing about the roadway was that everyone could ride his horse in relative comfort. The horses and mule instinctively took to the shoulders of the roadway where the ground was smoother. Both Scout Tall Bear and Constable Turpin were on point together, leading the way. Lieutenant Dooley and Sergeant Duff lagged behind them, careful to keep in eye contact. Captain Hawkins and Inspector Watson rode at the head of the scouts, who brought up the rear.

  The slow ride eventually entered the forest, but was unimpeded since the trees lined the sides of the dirt pathway. The trek became almost pleasant under a cloudless sky as the sun’s warm rays shined down on the men and animals. Despite these agreeable conditions, however, there was no lethargy among the riders. The uncertainty of their mission kept them alert and watchful.

  After an hour and a half, Ludlow and Duff saw that Tall Bear and Turpin had come to a stop and dismounted. Ludlow signaled back to Hawkins, directing his attention to the point men. The captain and Watson rode at a trot up to the four men who stood in the roadway.

  Ludlow pointed to a stone off to the side. “Have a look, sir.”

  Hawkins and Watson dismounted and studied the object. It was obviously manmade since it was shaped into a perfect square with rounded corners. Some numbers and letters were chiseled into it.

  49TH Parallel North

  Hawkins frowned. “Parallel to what?”

  “Parallel is another name for latitude,” Ludlow explained. “Those are the horizontal lines on a map. What we have here is a bench mark. It’s a reference point that means it is exactly located on the forty-ninth latitude. But I wonder why the longitude isn’t indicated.”

  “I can tell you why,” Inspector Watson said. “Because the forty-ninth latitude north is the border between Canada and the United States. That is the reason for this bench mark.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Hawkins exclaimed. “That means those goddam gold miners are working claims — illegal claims — in the United States. They aren’t prospecting in Canada at all.”

  “They seem to be digging or panning in the United States and hauling the gold into Canada,” Watson observed. He paused thoughtfully. “But where and why?”

  “None of this makes a lick of sense,” Hawkins groused.

  “Yes it does,” Ludlow contradicted. “They are obviously obtaining gold in this area. And this area is the property of the United States Government.”

  “I’ll be damned!” Hawkins swore. “They’re stealing that gold. And now we know why they didn’t want a railroad running through the Haut-Prairie Gap. After enough people moved into these parts, the miners’ operation would be discovered.”

  Watson, both a policeman and soldier, now knew what they faced. “That fellow that you followed into Canada was Métis. A half-breed of French-Canadian and native blood.”

  “George Leroux, our wandering former guide, was also of that ethnical ilk,” Ludlow said. “ But what is the significance?”

  “About five years ago,” Watson began, “the Métis faced being displaced from their lands by a government survey. They rebelled and fought back hard but were defeated. It’s obvious that they’re taking that gold to finance another rebellion.”

  “I see,” Hawkins said. “That’s how they could afford to buy all those Remington rifles. And they’ve committed murder of American citizens and tried to wipe out my detachment twice.”

  “That’s why the prisoner DuBois was willing to die before giving us information,” Ludlow stated. “He is a patriot. And a brave one at that.”

  Inspector Watson eyed the captain. “So what do you wish to do?”

  “The first thing is to locate their mine,” Hawkins said. “Once that’s done we can make our move. We know they’re located in the United States but I have no objection to you joining us. Consider this an official approval of your entrance into the sovereign territory of the United States of America.”

>   “Captain Hawkins, I accept the kind permission you have granted my Mounties and me. This will be most important in dealing with these rebels.”

  Hawkins laughed. “Damn! I’m getting as talkative and wordy as Mr. Dooley.”

  The method of travel changed from that point on. The group moved into the woods, leading their horses and the mule slowly through thick groves of trees, brambles and deadfall. It was slow going, but the chance of encountering any Métis was too great not be cautious.

  That evening the group established a cold camp while it was still light enough to find a secure location. The next morning, stiff and chilled, the column resumed its march. After four hours the point men Corporal Running Cougar and Sergeant Duff raised their hands to signal a halt. Hawkins, Ludlow and Watson went forward and peered through the brush on the hilltop they had just ascended.

  They looked down on a small settlement with a creek running through it. There were sluices along the side where men were shoveling in dirt, allowing running water to flow through it to reveal gold nuggets. Others were farther up and down the waterway, panning in the old fashion way.

  “No women or kids,” Hawkins whispered.

  Watson nodded. “Right. The wives and children of those men are no doubt located at the same place in Canada where the gold is taken.” He scanned the scene. “I estimate there are about two dozen men down there.”

  “I agree,” Hawkins replied. “The rest of ’em are prob’ly at their home village to guard both the gold and their families.” He paused a moment to ponder the situation. “Okay. The Métis may have what they consider a good cause, but they murdered some of my countrymen and tried to kill me and my scouts. That is something that calls for a payback no matter what.” The captain studied the area for a full fifteen minutes, then he, Ludlow and Watson eased back, rejoining the others.

  “Ever’body gather ‘round,” the captain said. “We’re outnumbered a bit more than two to one, but we have surprise on our side.”

  He outlined a plan in which the four corners of the oblong area would be occupied. When everyone was in position, he would call out for the miners to surrender. Any sign of resistance was to be immediately responded to by firing on the individuals who showed any fight. Once the area was under control, they would move down and take the miners — those who survived — into custody.

  “Okay. We’ll be looking down on the site and able to see the entire area. Lieutenant Dooley and I will stay here. Sergeant Eagle Heart will position the scouts at advantageous positions to my right.” He looked at Watson. “You go to the left with your Mounties. Red Moon will stay here with the horses and mule. Remember to wait for me to yell at ’em to surrender before reacting. Any questions? Good. I’ll give everyone thirty minutes to get into position. Move out!”

  Hawkins and Ludlow settled down behind a stand of boulders. Hawkins looked at his watch. “I’m gonna wait forty minutes just in case there’s a delay somewhere.”

  “Good idea, sir.”

  As Hawkins and Ludlow gazed down at the toiling miners, the captain checked his watch now and then. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to Ludlow, Hawkins took a deep breath and bellowed, “Ever’body raise your hands! You’re under arrest!” Then he fired a round in the air.

  The miners whirled around trying to figure where the yelling and shot had come from. One picked up a rifle. Immediately the sound of ten shots split the air. The man was spun around by the impact of numerous bullets, and slammed to the ground, sprawling into a grotesque position.

  Hawkins yelled again. “Anybody that touches a weapon will be shot!”

  One gutsy individual made a rush toward some carbines stacked against a tree. He, like the other unfortunate, was ripped by the combined fire of U.S. Scouts and Canadian policemen. A couple more also ran for the weapons and ended up staggered by bullet strikes before collapsing to the dirt.

  A fifth managed to reach the carbines, grabbing one and working the lever. He didn’t have time to chamber a round as more shots knocked him against the tree. He slid down to a sitting position as blood from a chest wound began soaking the front of his shirt.

  “Put up your goddam hands, you sons of bitches or we’re gonna start shooting until you’re all dead!”

  The miners, confused and shocked, complied.

  Hawkins and Ludlow stepped around the boulders and began to slowly and carefully ascend to the bottom of the gorge. The other eight members of their small force did the same.

  The Métis stood mute and miserable while Ludlow, Sergeant Eagle Heart, and the two Mounties patted them down for weapons. All had knives in scabbards and these were pulled out and tossed over to one side. Meanwhile Corporal Running Cougar and Swift Horse went through the work area picking up firearms and throwing them into the creek.

  With all that taken care of, Inspector Watson ordered the Métis to sit with their legs crossed in front of them. Hawkins carefully checked out the miners who had been shot. “Now looky here!” he called out. “Here’s that asshole who was at Campbell’s Trading Post with the donkey.”

  Ludlow eyed the dead man. “That’s him all right.”

  Hawkins was pleased to note that George Leroux was the one leaning back against the tree. He still showed signs of life. The captain grinned. “Well, howdy do, you rotten son of a bitch.”

  Leroux grimaced, speaking weakly. “You ... are a bon baroudeur, Capitaine. But you ... will not ... defeat us.”

  “I got the North West Mounted Police with me.”

  Leroux groaned, then uttered the last word of his life. “Merde.”

  Sergeant Duff spoke up. “That means ‘shit,’.”

  “A timely statement,” Hawkins remarked. He stepped back and glanced around the site, noticing a shack. He motioned to Ludlow and Watson. “Let’s see what’s inside. Maybe there’s something we can use.”

  They walked over to the structure and opened the door. There were tools in evidence including some rope. Watson was pleased. “Now we can bind their hands, then link them together. That’ll prevent any individual attempts to escape.”

  “That’ll serve us well for the walk out of here,” Hawkins acknowledged. “That’s pretty much like a prison chain gang.”

  Ludlow wandered over to a table. He rummaged through some papers on it, then found something that caught his eyes. “Sir! Come here!”

  Hawkins joined him. “What’ve you got there?”

  “A hand-drawn map, sir. It shows an easy way to the Haut-Prairie Gap.”

  Hawkins studied it. “That’s what those bastards used to find their way to the surveyor camp to shoot up the crews.” He gave Watson a look. “Do you have any objection to staying in the good ol’ U.S.A. for a while longer?”

  “Not if it’s official business.”

  “Well, it is. This map Mr. Dooley found, shows us a good way to get down to Fort Terral. We can turn the prisoners over to the Army there.”

  “That’s a legal undertaking all right,” Watson said. “And we have been officially attached to your unit by our superiors.” He walked over to the rear wall of the shack, grabbing some coils of rope. “I suggest we bind up our guests up properly for the stroll.”

  As they walked out of the shack to prepare for the trek down to Fort Terral, Ludlow Dooley gazed at the Métis prisoners. Sergeant Duff noted his interest. “This is one more bad thing of many bad things that have happened to those dismal wretches.”

  “I remember you said they’d been forced from their land,” Ludlow said. “It was a matter of the weak against the powerful. But they did take lives of innocent Americans, and that’s something I can’t excuse.”

  Duff nodded. “Yes. And they killed a few of our chaps during the rebellion.”

  One of the prisoners said something in French, and Inspector Watson translated. “They wish to bury their dead.”

  “Tell ’em no, goddam it!” Hawkins snapped. “We’re gonna leave the corpses here for the wolves to eat.”

  Watson repeated what
he said in French to the prisoners. One replied, “C’est la guerre.”

  “What’s that mean?” Hawkins asked.

  “He is simply implying that is the way of war,” Watson explained

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Steamboat Far West was boarding cargo and passengers at the Missouri River dock that fronted Fort Terral. Crew, passengers and dock workers stopped what they were doing and gazed in a combination of curiosity and fascination as two ragged-looking columns of men came into view to the west.

  They were plainly returning from some hazardous and challenging experience in the high country. The strangest thing about the sight were the twenty miserable individuals walking with their hands tied behind their backs between the two files of horsemen.

  A traveling salesman exclaimed, “Those fellows are tied together. They must be the worst kind of desperados!”

  His companion, an itinerate preacher, agreed. “I shall pray for their poor souls. They are no doubt unrepentant sinners!”

  Just before reaching the wharf, the group turned left onto the short road up to the fort’s gate. They passed through it, receiving salutes from a pair of sentries, and continued to post headquarters before coming to a halt.

  Everyone in the vicinity — officers, enlisted men, garrison prisoners on work details and civilians — ceased what they were doing to stare at the arrivals. One of the garrison prisoners who had been sentenced to hard labor for drunkenness winked at his companions. “Looky there, lads. There’s some poor bastards worse off than we are.”

  Matt Hawkins dismounted and headed for the headquarters porch, but stopped when Colonel William Nolan and the sergeant major suddenly appeared from the door. The captain saluted. “Sir! I beg to report that our mission is accomplished and we have returned with prisoners in tow.”