Chapter 29
Frank lunged across the camp and took hold of Salty’s arm. “Come on,” he urged the old-timer. “We need to get up there in those trees.”
Reb was already grabbing their packs and kicking dirt and rocks over the fire to put it out and hide the signs of it.
“Who do you reckon it is?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Frank said, “but the way things have been going, chances are it’s not anybody friendly.”
He helped Salty up the slope into the trees that covered the top of the knoll. Reb came behind them, bringing both packs and his Winchester. They took cover behind the thick trunks of the pines and waited.
The riders were coming from the west, down the long, shallow valley between hills that Frank and his companions had been following. The sun had started to rise, casting its garish light over the landscape. That light was an explosion of red as the riders trotted around a bend in the trail and came into view.
The splash of color wasn’t just from the early-morning sunlight. The riders wore scarlet coats, along with black trousers and tan, peaked, flat-brimmed hats. The brass buttons on the coats gleamed in the sunlight.
Frank recognized the uniforms, and so did Salty. They had encountered a number of North West Mounted Policemen at Whitehorse the year before.
“Tarnation!” Salty exclaimed. “It’s the Mounties!”
Relief went through Frank, especially at the sight of the riderless horses being led by several of the red-coated men.
“It looks like they’ve got our horses, too. They must have stampeded back toward the mountains when Palmer and Lundy attacked us.”
Frank had gone in that direction, as well as searching north, south, and east of the camp, but he hadn’t found the horses. The Mounties had swept up the animals during their patrol, though.
“You two stay here,” he went on. “I’ll stop them.”
He stepped out of the trees and pointed his rifle skyward. Quickly, he squeezed off three shots, the universal frontier signal for somebody in trouble. Down below, the Mounties reined in their horses and wheeled toward the knoll.
Frank saw some of the red-coated constables draw rifles from saddle sheaths. He figured they had spotted him by now, so he waved his Winchester over his head in a sign that he was friendly. The Mounties came to a stop and waited.
Frank turned and waved for Salty and Reb to follow him. As he started down the slope, they came out of the trees behind him. Frank glanced over his shoulder and was glad to see that Reb had a hand on Salty’s arm, helping the old-timer.
One of the Mounties walked his horse out ahead of the others. Frank recognized the insignia of a sergeant on the man’s uniform. He had a ruddy face and watched Frank with narrow, suspicious eyes.
“We’re sure glad to see you, Sergeant,” Frank greeted him. “Are you in charge of this patrol?”
“That’s as may be,” the Mountie snapped. “Who am I addressing, sir?”
“My name’s Frank Morgan.” Frank nodded toward his companions as they came up to join him. “This is Reb Russell and Salty Stevens. We’ve been set afoot out here. Been walking for a day, and our feet are mighty sore.”
“Americans, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
The sergeant’s forehead creased in disapproval. “You American cowboys are too accustomed to riding. Even though we’re mounted police, myself or any of these lads could walk halfway across Canada if need be.”
Frank kept a tight rein on his impatience as he said, “I’m sure that’s true, Sergeant. But those are our horses you’ve got there, and we’re mighty glad to see them, too.”
“I suppose you can prove that, as well as the identities you claim?”
Salty burst out, “Dadgum it, mister, why would we lie about such a thing?”
The sergeant regarded him coolly. “The men we seek are wanted for numerous crimes, including robbery and murder. I hardly think that they would shrink from telling a falsehood or two.”
“You’re after the gang that stole a bunch of gold,” Frank said as he realized what was going on here.
His statement just made the Mounties more suspicious. The men holding rifles never took their eyes off of him, Salty, and Reb.
“What do you know about that?” the sergeant asked sharply.
“I know the men you’re looking for are somewhere ahead of us to the east,” Frank said, pointing in that direction even though it wasn’t necessary. “While you were circling through the hills to the north yesterday on your patrol, they slipped past you and headed for Calgary.”
He was only guessing that the Mounties’ horses were responsible for the tracks he and his friends had found the day before, but the look of surprise on the sergeant’s face told him that he was right.
“You do know something about this matter,” the man said.
Frank nodded. “I sure do. More than you might think, because I also know they’re Métis revolutionaries, and they have four Gatling guns as well as the gold.”
Shocked muttering came from several of the Mounties. They fell silent abruptly as the red-faced sergeant twisted around in the saddle and gave them a stern look. He turned back to Frank and said, “I think you had better explain yourself, Mr. Morgan.”
“I’d be glad to.” Knowing that Meg was still Palmer’s prisoner made any delay chafe at Frank, but he thought it would save time in the long run to lay his cards on the table for the Mountie sergeant. “Why don’t you and your men get down off those horses? There’s coffee in the pot, and we can always brew more.”
The man hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded and said, “All right.” He ordered his men to dismount and added, “At ease, lads.”
The Mounties swung down from their saddles and fetched tin cups for coffee from their packs. The sergeant clasped his hands behind his stiffly held back and faced Frank.
“Now, then, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “My name is McKendrick. What can you tell me about these Gatling guns?”
“I figure they were stolen from the U.S. Army. I know they were smuggled across the border by an outlaw named Owen Lundy and his gang. They delivered the guns to those Métis revolutionaries I mentioned, in return for a payment in gold … which the Métis turned right around and stole back from them a little later. They ambushed Lundy’s bunch and killed all of them except a man named Palmer, who’s gone after them. Palmer took a friend of ours, a woman named Meg Goodwin, with him as a prisoner. I figure he plans to use her as a hostage if the law catches up to him. Clear enough, Sergeant?”
McKendrick frowned at him. “Clear enough … but decidedly far-fetched.”
Frank shrugged and said, “Maybe so, but that’s what happened.”
“What’s your connection with the guns?”
“There isn’t any, except that Lundy used one of them to try to kill us a couple of days ago. I think he was probably demonstrating it to the Métis, and we happened to be handy targets.”
“Then what are you doing here on Canadian soil?” McKendrick demanded.
“We were on Palmer’s trail. He stole some money from Salty a while back, and we hoped we could recover some of it.”
“That’s right, Sergeant,” the old-timer put in. “Palmer was part o’ Soapy Smith’s bunch over at Skagway, if you heard about that.”
“Skagway is in Alaska, out of our jurisdiction,” McKendrick said. He added, “But I do recall hearing something about the rampant lawlessness that went on there before the vigilantes rose up and restored the rule of order. Should have been done by the proper authorities, of course.”
Salty said, “There wasn’t no law to do it, so folks had to take care o’ things their own selves.”
McKendrick sniffed. “Such things would never happen in Canada.”
“Do you believe what we’ve told you, Sergeant?” Frank asked. “We could sure use those horses of ours you’ve got. I don’t think we could walk much farther.”
“You have bills of sal
e or any other sort of proof the animals belong to you?”
“As a matter of fact,” Frank said, “we do. We bought them in a place called Powderkeg Bay, on the other side of the mountains.”
“I’ve heard of it. Never been there.”
“I’ll see if I can find those papers,” Frank said.
Frank had the bills of sale from Parkhurst’s Livery in his saddlebags, which he had slung over his shoulder along with the pack of supplies. Actually, a couple of these horses hadn’t come from there, but the descriptions on the papers were vague enough that McKendrick didn’t notice the discrepancy. Anyway, Frank thought, three horses were three horses, under sore-footed circumstances like these.
“Very well,” the sergeant said as he handed the bills of sale back to Frank. “Everything you’ve told me seems reasonable enough to accept, Mr. Morgan, although it does take a bit of imagination. Do you have any idea what the Métis plan to do with those Gatling guns?”
Frank shook his head. “No, but they’ve been responsible for two armed rebellions against the Canadian government. I have a hunch that whatever their plan is, it won’t be anything good.”
“Indeed,” McKendrick said. “My men and I will proceed with all due haste to Calgary, so I can wire my superiors with this news. You and your companions will accompany us.”
“That was what I figured on doing,” Frank said.
A hint of an icy smile appeared on McKendrick’s lips. “You don’t understand. You have no choice in the matter. For the time being you may consider yourselves under arrest.”
“Arrest!” Salty yelped in surprise. “What in tarnation are you arrestin’ us for, you … you danged redcoat!”
“You’re being held for questioning as suspicious characters,” McKendrick said.
“That don’t sound like no real charge to me!”
Frank said, “Take it easy, Salty.” To McKendrick, he went on, “We’re coming with you anyway, Sergeant. What’s the point in placing us under arrest?”
“It gives me the authority to demand that you surrender your weapons.” McKendrick carried a revolver in a holster with a flap over the butt of the gun. He rested his hand on that flap now.
Frank could have drawn his own Colt half a dozen times or more in the time it would take McKendrick to unfasten that flap and haul out the holstered revolver. Outnumbered four to one, though, he didn’t want to get in a shooting scrape with the Mounties.
It wasn’t just a matter of the odds, either. Sergeant McKendrick might be a stiff-necked, overly suspicious son of a gun, but he was just doing his job the best way he knew how. Wrong or not, he didn’t deserve a bullet for that.
“All right, Sergeant,” Frank said. “We want to go to Calgary anyway, so we’ll cooperate … for now. Don’t get spooked. I’m going to hand you my gun.”
“Carefully,” McKendrick advised.
Frank reached over with his left hand to slide the Colt from leather and surrender it to the Mountie. Salty grumbled about giving up his gun, but he did it.
That just left Reb. McKendrick turned toward him and said, “You, too, Mr. Russell. Hand over your weapon.”
Reb looked torn. Suddenly, he stepped back, and his hand flashed to his holster with blinding speed. He drew the ivory-handled gun before any of the Mounties could hope to stop him and trained the weapon on McKendrick.
“Hold it right there, Sergeant,” Reb said. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to. You’re not gettin’ my gun.”
Chapter 30
“Reb, what in blazes are you doing?” Frank demanded. He glanced at the Mounties. Several of them had raised their rifles and pointed them at the young man. They might have opened fire if Sergeant McKendrick hadn’t lifted a hand to stop them.
“Hold on there, lads,” McKendrick said. “No shooting unless we absolutely have to.” He glared at Reb. “What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Russell?”
“The meanin’ is that I ain’t handin’ over my gun to you,” Reb drawled. “I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t arrest me, either.”
Again that frosty smile touched McKendrick’s lips. “I beg to differ with you, sir. I can arrest anyone I please.”
The gun in Reb’s hand didn’t waver as he said, “Well, I reckon you can try to arrest me … but you’re liable to be in mighty hot water with your bosses if you do.”
“Oh? Why, pray tell?”
“Because they’ll be in hot water with the U.S. government. The Canadian government knows I’m here.”
Quietly, Frank said, “Reb, I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Yeah,” Salty added indignantly.
Reb smiled but didn’t lower his gun. “I’m gonna reach in my pocket,” he said. “Sergeant, tell your boys not to get itchy trigger fingers.”
“You heard the man,” McKendrick told the other Mounties. “I’d like to see what this … gentleman … thinks is going to change my mind.”
Reb slid his free hand inside his buckskin shirt. He brought out a small leather folder. “I’ll toss it to you, Frank,” he said. “You can show it to the sergeant.”
Frank nodded. “All right.”
Carefully, Reb lofted the folder through the air to Frank, who caught it and flipped it open before handing it to McKendrick. A badge and an identification card were pinned inside the folder.
“So you’re really Captain Russell,” Frank said.
Reb nodded. “That’s right. Attached to the U.S. Secret Service right now. I was sent up here to try to get on the trail of those Gatlin’ guns. Once I did, I was supposed to contact your folks, Sergeant, and let you know where they were so the Mounties could recover ‘em. If we were somewhere you could send a wire to Ottawa, you could confirm that pretty quick-like.”
“But we’re not, are we?” McKendrick snapped. “So I’m left with the decision of whether or not to accept this preposterous story.”
“It’s not preposterous,” Reb said. “You’ve got my badge and bona fides right there.”
McKendrick shook his head. “Anyone can have a badge and an identification card made.”
“You don’t give up easy, do you?”
McKendrick gave him a flinty look. “I’m a sergeant in the North West Mounted Police. Of course I don’t give up easily.”
Frank said, “For what it’s worth, Sergeant, I believe him. Ever since I met him, my gut’s been telling me there was something I didn’t know about Reb, and I reckon this is it.”
Salty squinted at the young man. “Was you really at the ro-day-o down in Pecos?”
“Yeah,” Reb replied with a grin. “I’ve been travelin’ around competin’ in rodeos for a while. Gives me a good excuse for bein’ where I need to be when the Army and the Secret Service send me on a job.” He looked at McKendrick again. “How about it, Sergeant? Are we gonna work together, the way your government and my government intended, or does there have to be a ruckus?”
“You’re heavily outnumbered, you know,” McKendrick reminded him. “You can’t hope to prevail.”
“I’ll take my chances. And you’re the one I’ve got my sights lined on, remember.”
Frank finally lost his temper. “Blast it, while we’re standing around here jawing, the varmints we’re after are getting farther away. All the signs indicate that they’re headed for Calgary, Sergeant, so that’s the way we all want to go. There’s no need for a bunch of argument.”
McKendrick drew in a deep breath, held it for a second, and then said, “I suppose you’re right, Mr. Morgan. There’s no need to press the issue. Would you like your weapons returned to you?”
“I sure as hell would,” Salty said.
McKendrick handed the revolvers back to Frank and the old-timer. “Consider yourselves no longer under arrest.”
“I never really did,” Salty said as he pouched his iron.
“We’ll call this a truce,” McKendrick went on.
Frank said, “That works for me. We don’t have our saddles a
nymore, but we can rig blankets on our horses and use rope for hackamores.”
Getting ready to ride didn’t take long. Frank helped Salty onto one of the horses. The old-timer was still pretty stiff and sore from his wound.
Reb had holstered his gun, but he kept a wary eye on McKendrick and the other Mounties as the party moved out, heading east. The three Americans rode at the head of the group with McKendrick.
“How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Calgary?” Frank asked.
“If we’re not delayed, we should reach there late this afternoon or early this evening.”
Frank nodded slowly. “The Métis have enough of a lead that we can’t catch them. They’re going to get to the settlement before we do. That’s going to make it harder to find them.”
“There are several thousand people in Calgary,” McKendrick said. “It’s going to be a difficult task.”
Reb said, “It’s worse than that. They’re havin’ their annual livestock exhibition, with that rodeo comin’ up any day now. Folks from all over this part of the country will be in town for that, so the population’ll be two or three times what it usually is.”
McKendrick looked over at him. Even the sergeant’s usual self-control was shaken. “My God,” he muttered. “And you say these so-called revolutionaries have Gatling guns?”
“Four of them,” Frank said, “and from the sound of it, a perfect opportunity to raise plenty of hell with them.”
Calgary was both frontier cowtown and bustling industrial city these days. The downtown area had numerous brick buildings rising several stories high, but around Victoria Park, on the Elbow River where the stream curved up from the south to join with the Bow River, Calgary still looked like the cow country settlement it had been more than fifteen years earlier when it first grew up around the North West Mounted Police post established there.
There was even a hotel called the Drover’s Rest. That was where Joseph and Charlotte Marat found themselves this evening, along with Anton Mirabeau.
Joseph had tried all day to talk Mirabeau out of his plan, but the man would not be budged. Attacking the Mountie post was one thing. The Mounties had killed Métis in the past.
Dead Before Sundown Page 20