by J. T. Edson
‘Good evening, folks,’ the newcomer greeted, with the accent of a Highland Scot, glancing at Canche’s feebly moving body in passing. ‘The name’s Sandy Mackintosh and I’d be obliged if you’d tell me who you are.’
‘I see that my letter reached Colonel French,’ the Englishman replied, having sent details of Arnaud Cavallier’s scheme to the commanding officer of the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police before leaving Chicago and being aware of the Scot’s connection with that force. ‘So you may have heard of me as “the Remittance Kid”.’
‘The Colonel didn’t say anything about it when he sent Jerry Potts and me to keep an eye on le Loup-Garou’s crowd,’ Mackintosh stated, bending to thrust the blade of his dirk into the ground. Having cleaned off the blood, he returned the weapon to its sheath. ‘And I can’t say I’ve heard of you.’
‘I’m Captain Patrick Reeder, Rifle Brigade, seconded to the British Secret Service,’ the Kid introduced. ‘These ladies are Belle Boyd and Calamity Jane.’
‘I heard of you when I rode under Jeb Stuart in the War, Miss Boyd,’ Mackintosh declared and his tone showed he approved. ‘Are you still working for Dobe Killem, Miss Calamity?’
‘I sure am, Sandy,’ the red head agreed, then put down the shotgun and pointed to Vera Gorr-Kauphin. ‘I’d best take a look at her. She hit the wagon a hell of a crack with her head as she went down.’
‘And we’d better disarm those blighters, dear girl,’ the Kid suggested, indicating the two drivers. ‘Then Mr. Mackintosh can tell us how he came on the scene at such an opportune moment.’
‘It’s going to be more than the Metis le Loup-Garou’s trying to get on the war path,’ the Scot explained, after the precautions had been taken and he had exchanged information with the Rebel Spy and the Englishman. ‘They’ve brought a young war chief from each of six Indian tribes down here for a powwow.’
‘Where is it to be held?’ Belle asked.
‘In a valley about three miles from here,’ the Scot replied. ‘I left Jerry keeping watch and followed Raoul there, Vieux Malheureux Lacomb and Roland Boniface until they met le Loup-Garou. He sent Lacomb off and brought the other two here. I was going to keep after him, but thought I’d better stay for a while longer when Raoul came sneaking back. So I stayed until I knew who was who among you and stopped him shooting.’
‘It’s fortunate for us that you did,’ the Kid stated, glancing to where Calamity was keeping Lincoln and his employees covered with the now cocked shotgun, having decided she could do nothing for the unconscious actress. ‘What are the chances of Cavallier persuading the Indians to join his uprising, old chap? After all, you say they are from different tribes,’
‘Aye,’ Mackintosh confirmed. ‘There’s one each from the Crow, Bannock, Blood, Cree, Assiniboine and Blackfoot. They’re all young hot heads and trouble-causers who are known as itching to go to war with anybody just for the hell of it.’
‘Aren’t some of them traditional enemies?’ the Kid asked.
‘They are,’ the Scot confirmed. ‘But they’d be willing to come together if the Jan-Dark made an appearance.’
‘What is the “Jan-Dark”?’ Belle put in.
‘Not so much “what” as “who”, ma’am,’ Mackintosh corrected. ‘It’s an old Indian legend that all the tribes have. The Jan-Dark’s a warrior maid armed with a war lance who’ll come from nowhere and unite the tribes in an uprising that’ll see all the white folks, British and French alike, driven out of Canada.’ 38
‘And you think this Jan-Dark girl is due to make her appearance?’ the Kid guessed.
‘It could be what le Loup-Garou has in mind, or something like it,’ Mackintosh admitted. ‘Although, good as she is with a lance, that gray-eyed klooch of his will need to change her appearance before she’ll get them to believe she’s the Jan-Dark. Her hair’s too short and the wrong color and her skin’s a touch too light for her to get by.’
‘Making the necessary changes wouldn’t be difficult,’ Belle pointed out, thinking of the selection of wigs and other items in her trunk which allowed her to make realistic alterations to her appearance. ‘But will the chiefs really believe she is the Jan-Dark arrived at last?’
‘They’ll be ready to pretend to believe it, even if they don’t, to get a share of the repeaters in the wagons,’ Mackintosh declared. ‘Taken both together, Jan-Dark and the arms, they’ll each be able to get up a following to go on the war trail. When they do the Government’s going to start hitting back. Once that happens, it’ll grow and no matter who wins, only I can’t see it being the Indians and Metis, blood’s going to flow like water from one end of Canada to the other.’
‘Your presence is disturbing the chiefs, “M’sieur Devlin”,’ Arnaud Cavallier announced, his voice seeming friendly and almost apologetic. He was also employing English for the first time since he, the anarchist and Roland Boniface had arrived by the fire in the large clearing at the bottom of an otherwise wood covered valley which had been selected as the site for the powwow with their intended allies. ‘Although I have assured them that you whole-heartedly support our great cause, they consider it would be bad medicine for a white man to be here.’
Aided by the fire’s glow, which illuminated the whole of the clearing, “Matthew Devlin” looked at the Indians. Swinging his gaze from Many Horses of the Crow tribe to Bois D’Arc of the Bannocks, via Red Arrow of the Crees, Loud Thunder of the Bloods, Swift Water of the Assiniboines and Wolverine of the Blackfoots, he could sense the hostility in their cold eyed return scrutiny. All were young, clad in the ceremonial attire of their respective nations, with eagle feather war bonnets, bear claw necklaces, dyed horse-hair shirts, fringed buckskin trousers and fancy moccasins. Knives and, or, tomahawks swung from every belt. While each had either a rifle or carbine to supplement his close range armament, not one of the firearms was a repeater and only three were chambered for metal-case cartridges.
‘You mean they want me to leave?’ the anarchist asked, bringing his eyes back to le Loup-Garou.
‘They do,’ Cavallier confirmed, still in the same amiable fashion. ‘And so you must go. It is the only way I can win them over.’
‘All right,’ “Devlin” assented, coming to his feet. ‘Shall I wait by the horses?’
‘That won’t satisfy them,’ Cavallier answered. ‘You’ll have to go back to the wagons. I’ll have Roland take you.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ the anarchist stated, not averse to having an opportunity to speak with the Metis who had been left to keep watch on the rest of the party without his countrymen being able to hear them. ‘I’ll be able to find my own way.’
‘As you wish,’ le Loup-Garou replied.
Walking towards the horses, which had been left at the fringe of a particularly dense clump of common juniper shrubs at the edge of the clearing, “Devlin” felt vaguely uneasy. He could not help wondering if Cavallier rather than the chiefs had been responsible for his dismissal from the powwow. As all of the somewhat lengthy conversation had been carried out in the lingua franca evolved over the years by voyageurs and others to allow communication with members of the various Indian nations and neither of the Metis had offered to translate for him, he could not understand anything of what was being said. He had noticed that the assembled chiefs, who all were much younger and less impressive than he had been led to expect, had not regarded him in a friendly fashion.
On the other hand, “Devlin” remembered there had been few occasions during their association when Cavallier had treated him with such polite friendliness and he found it disturbing. In the past, such an attitude had only been in evidence when the person at whom it was directed would soon be in some kind of difficulty. With that thought in mind, he unbuttoned his jacket to give access to the Colt Storekeeper Model Peacemaker tucked into the waistband of his trousers.
All in all, though, the anarchist was not entirely sorry to be told to leave. He had decided he was not going to learn anything of use to his primary purpos
e of attending the powwow, which had been in the hope of meeting a more suitable candidate with whom to supplant le Loup-Garou as the leader of the Metis’ rebellion. However, there was only Boniface there and, not only was he lacking in qualities of leadership, he seemed completely devoted to Cavallier’s interests. Nor had the elderly, miserable looking man who had been with Boniface and Canche, but did not accompany them to the wagons, strike “Devlin” as being more acceptable.
The anarchist wondered whether Raoul Canche had the qualities he was seeking. Or, if not, whether he should tell Lincoln to turn back with the firearms instead of handing them over to Cavallier. Should he decide on the latter alternative, he reminded himself, he would not only have to kill Canche, but either win over, or dispose of the Remittance Kid. While he would prefer to get rid of the Englishman, he had to concede the former choice would be more advantageous. Le Loup-Garou and the Indians would give chase as soon as the desertion was discovered, so the support of an extra gun could prove most useful.
Before “Devlin” could decide which line of action to follow, his thoughts were diverted from their treacherous course. He was still some yards from the tethered mounts when the silence of the night was shattered by a savage yell, feminine in timbre yet menacing for all of that, followed by the snort and other sounds of a horse being set into sudden and rapid motion. Snapping his gaze towards the source of the commotion, the sight which met his eyes stilled him with open mouthed amazement and brought him to a halt.
Sitting astride a large and powerful palomino gelding’s high-horned Indian saddle with the easy grace of one well versed in equestrian matters, a rider emerged from the darkness. Passing swiftly through a gap between two clumps of juniper shrubs to the anarchist’s left, the newcomer made straight for him. He needed only a single glance to know why this should be, but he was so taken aback that he momentarily gave no thought to reaching for his revolver. Cradled between the rider’s right forearm and side, a long lance was pointing in his direction. For all the savage demeanor being displayed, its wielder was not a man.
Coal black hair was held back by a brightly colored cloth band decorated with medicine symbols and taken into a plait on either side of the head. They framed a coppery bronze face with similar, if more beautiful, features to those of the Indians at the fire and which were distorted by a savage elation enhanced with the bands of red and white war paint running diagonally across the cheeks and vertically down the nose and chin. As if to prevent there being any doubt about the newcomer’s sex, all she wore was a knee length buckskin skirt, an Indian-made belt supporting a bone handled hunting knife on its left side and moccasins. The scanty attire displayed a magnificently curvaceous figure “Devlin” would have appreciated under different circumstances. Nor did the hard and well developed muscles playing under her smooth skin detract from her sensual and primeval-seeming pulchritude.
‘It’s the Jan-Dark!’ le Loup-Garou yelled, rising from his heel-squatting position. ‘She’s come to bring death to the palefaces!’
The name was repeated in tones of awe by the six young chiefs as, snatching up their firearms ready to defend themselves against any intended treachery, they too were bounding to their feet. Seeing the newcomer and accepting her as what she was pretending to be, each of them felt sure she meant him no harm.
Hearing Cavallier’s shout and recognizing the name even though unable to understand the rest of the words, “Devlin” could not prevent himself from starting to turn in the speaker’s direction. He had heard the legend of the Jan-Dark from le Loup-Garou and had been told she was to make an appearance at the powwow to persuade the assembled chiefs to join the uprising. However, he had not suspected how the “warrior maid with the war lance” was to be brought into view. It was now clear that, wanting to make her arrival as spectacular and dramatic as possible, Cavallier was intent on sacrificing him.
Unfortunately for the anarchist, his appreciation of the situation came an instant too late for him to halt the ill-advised if involuntary action of turning around. By taking it, he was making Irène Beauville’s task considerably easier and less dangerous. Even as he was trying to swing back to face her and started grabbing at the Colt Storekeeper’s butt, she was within striking distance.
Giving another ringing screech which expressed the sensation of bloodthirsty elation filling her, the girl thrust with the lance as she had when running the buffalo. Powered by the impulsion of the swiftly moving palomino gelding, the weapon’s diamond section head could have sliced through “Devlin’s” rib cage if necessary. Instead, it entered his back and, penetrating his heart, flung him from his feet.
Turning the lance as she had been taught in passing, Irène drew it free. Without as much as a backwards glance at the man she had killed in cold blood and feeling no more remorse than when she had brought down the buffalo, she galloped by the group around the fire. A feeling of exultation and delight filled her at the sight of the expressions on the faces of the young chiefs. If the way in which they were staring at her was any guide, every one of them believed her to be the genuine Jan-Dark. That this should be was a tribute to her ability in bringing the palomino through the darkness of the woodland to the vicinity of the clearing without making sufficient noise for them to be aware of her presence.
Approaching the bushes at the other side of the clearing and some fifty yards from her audience, the girl brought the palomino around in a rearing spin which caused it to paw the air with its front legs. However, when its hooves returned to the ground, she made no attempt to join the men. Although her features would let her pass as an Indian even in daylight since she had stained them and her body to an appropriate coppery bronze and had a wig covering her short-cropped tawny blonde hair; at close quarters her grey eyes would betray her Metis birth. So, signaling her mount to remain motionless, she swung the bloody-bladed lance above her head in both hands. Shaking it triumphantly, she lowered it to rest across her knees and awaited the next development.
Having kept the chiefs under observation, Cavallier was duplicating Irène’s summations regarding the effect of her unexpected and dramatic appearance was having on them. Until she had burst from the juniper shrubs and he called her name, there had been no mention of the Jan-Dark during the powwow. So, due to the silence in which she had approached and waited until the opportune moment, the arrival of a girl who could be her had been as much of a surprise to them as it was to “Devlin”. Although they were almost certain to discover that they had been tricked later, at present they were all convinced that the ‘warrior maid with the war lance’ had finally materialized to unite the Indian nations and drive the white people out of Canada. Knowing the kind of men with whom he was dealing, he was confident that each would see the wisdom of continuing to pretend she was the Jan-Dark even after they learned of the deception. Admitting they had been tricked would cause them such a grave loss of face that none would be willing to announce it had happened.
Being aware that he was not the kind of dupe desired by the anarchists, le Loup-Garou had felt sure “Devlin” and Vera Gorr-Kauphin hoped to replace him with a more compliant leader of the rebellion. So he had intended to terminate their acquaintance as soon as the arms and ammunition were within reach of his supporters. It had been Irène’s suggestion, passed to him by Jacques Lacomb – who had remained to guard the wagon after notifying her that the powwow would go ahead as planned – that the disposal of “Devlin” could be carried out in a fashion which would create a powerful impression when she made her first appearance as the Jan-Dark. While conceding the point, knowing nothing of the hunting of the buffalo, Cavallier’s only reservation had been that she might lack the ability in wielding the war lance and fail to kill her victim outright. For this to have happened would have ruined everything. However, on hearing how she had already proved her skill in no uncertain fashion, he had yielded to Lacomb’s and Boniface’s assurance that she could carry out the task and their confidence had not been misplaced. He had done his part by con
triving to have the anarchist accompany him alone and sending “Devlin” away so she could launch the attack. Now he must press home the advantage she had gained for him.
‘Well, my brothers!’ le Loup-Garou said, bringing the attention of the chiefs to him. ‘Now everybody will know who is destined to lead your nations’ warriors against the white people. It is to you that Jan-Dark has appeared. She knows who have the courage and spirit to carry out the prophecy. That is why she has waited until she could appear before you. When you carry the word of her coming back to your villages, so many will flock to ride with you that nobody will dare oppose your right to lead them.’
There was a rumble of concurrence from the Indians. Each was a chief, but of a subordinate status and with little authority when it came to dictating matters of policy. With the generally beneficent and fair manner in which the British governed Canada, the leaders of the respective nations had tended to restrict hostilities and keep the peace. So they had lacked the opportunities for personal aggrandizement which accrued to successes gained on the war path. Being mutually ambitious, all appreciated how being present when the Jan-Dark had at last made her long awaited appearance could do much to bring about the situation and conditions each desired.
Listening to the response elicited by his speech, Cavallier found it most satisfying. No longer were the assembled chiefs watching each other with wary suspicion, as they had been so far. Convinced that the purpose of the powwow had been achieved and the potential leaders of the six nations were united in their willingness to create an uprising against the white people, he decided Irène could depart. She was waiting in case her exhortation was required. As it was not, she could retire to the wagon. When Boniface and Canche joined her, she would return to Canada and make ready for her subsequent appearances as the Jan-Dark.
Chapter Sixteen – Let’s See If You Can Kill Me