by Larry Stuart
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The first snowstorm of the season hit Winnipeg on the third weekend of October. Cameron was just stepping up to the rear platform of the private car attached to the supply train, when the big flakes of snow started swirling about. Oh great, he thought, that’s just what I need, snow and freezing winds to help me on my way.
Opening the door, he stepped into the railway carriage and was immediately taken aback by the lavish interior. Then his eyes fell upon the chief engineer, sitting behind a large mahogany desk and welcoming him in with the wave of his hand.
‘Come in, Mr Stuart. How do you like our lovely weather? Not exactly what either of us wanted, I suspect?’
Cameron made his way towards the desk, while at the same time taking in more of the private car’s interior.
The warmth in the car was sustained by a pot-bellied stove standing midway up the right-hand side between two comfortable looking armchairs, while a three-seater settee covered in the same chintz material as the two armchairs, was positioned behind a long, low coffee-table liberally spread with current newspapers and periodicals. The walls were panelled in a honey-coloured maple and hung with paintings by Canadian artists such as Kane and Verner, while finishing off this opulent interior were polished wooden floors, scattered with colourful rugs imported from the Far East.
Not a bad way to rough it on the prairies, thought Cameron, as the carriage jerked forward.
‘I don’t suppose you can leave this car at the end of the track for me?’ he asked, cheekily.
‘I’d be more than happy to…but I think Mr Van Horne might have something to say. He likes to think this is his personal railway carriage. I was lucky to appropriate it for our little trip…but I’m afraid I had to promise to bring it back as soon as possible.’
For the next two hours, Cameron sat listening to the briefing given to him by the Chief Engineer. The Major was a dynamic looking person, with deep probing eyes and a manner to match. He displayed a full head of white hair, with matching bushy whiskers effectively masking any clue of his facial expressions, and his personality was one that took over a room, except possibly when in the presence of one Cornelius Van Horne.
As time went by, the Major’s manservant kept them liberally supplied with hot and cold drinks, and then at midday served them dinner prepared in the small galley kitchen at the other end of the carriage.
Without doubt, Cameron was suitably impressed. It was certainly agreeable to be treated like someone of substance. But he was not a fool, and knew full well this was all part of a softening up exercise aimed at keeping him from quitting the moment he saw what he was up against.
In what seemed like no time at all the train arrived in Brandon, where it began to off-load some of its cargo. It was then Cameron noticed that a few large snowflakes in Winnipeg had turned into a full-blown blizzard, with visibility down to less than a hundred yards.
When they finally got underway again, the train crawled forward at a speed not much greater than walking pace. The driver couldn’t possibly see more than a few carriage lengths ahead, and so was not taking any chances.
‘Well, we’re almost there, ’said the Major, peering out the window. ‘The day after tomorrow, the last of the construction gang will be travelling back on this train…then all we’ll have left out here will be the six men maintaining security at the yard.’
‘That sounds like an awful lot of security for the middle of nowhere.’
‘I’m afraid we’ve learned the hard way that unattended inventory tends to disappear. The Métis, who’ve been trading in this area for the last hundred years, and the local Indian tribes, both look on anything unguarded as trade goods…to be exchanged for food and bullets…or worse, alcohol.’
The shrill sound of the engine’s whistle interrupted the two men’s conversation. In all likelihood the blizzard would have muffled the normal approach of a train, but there could be no mistaking that ear-splitting sound. The rest of the goods on the train needed to be off-loaded, so the sooner the men got on with the job, then the sooner they would be able to get back to their accommodation and out of the weather.
Looking out the windows from the warm carriage, Cameron did begin to wonder how successful a tent was going to be at providing a place of comfort in this kind of weather; and he was now beginning to suspect that he knew why the company had had such difficulty in finding a replacement surveyor.
As their private carriage was shunted to a solitary position ten feet short of the end of the rails, the snowstorm finally abated. Major Rosser still sat at his desk, carefully studying maps, drawing lines and pointing out various locations, while Cameron stood quietly by his side, making notes and voicing his own observations about the route over the next few hundred miles.
The light outside the windows began to fade, and so too did Cameron’s concentration. Before long his mind returned to his departure that morning and the tears in Catherine’s eyes.
She had been in a foul mood since the announcement of his new job. And as the day for his departure had drawn nearer and her displeasure had grown, he accepted that what he’d done was wrong. Unfortunately, he’d been fixated on the new challenge and the large increase in salary, without any consideration whatsoever of Catherine’s feelings. Within days, he knew it had been a mistake to accept the job without consulting her, but by then it was too late. He couldn’t go back on the promise he’d made to the General Manager, even though he now knew his decision had been hasty and totally selfish.
In the last few days he’d tried to mollify her, promising he’d be back before Christmas, and would then have a week off. But it had not been enough, and she’d still cried her heart out when he left.
‘I shall be laying out the table for supper in five minutes. Can I get you two gentlemen a drink?’ asked the Major’s steward.
‘Whisky and water for me, Abraham.’
Never again, thought Cameron. I always did what I wanted in the past and look where that got me.
‘Mr Stuart...Excuse me, Mr Stuart. Would you like a drink?’
‘Oh sorry…I was somewhere else. Yes, I’ll have a whisky.’
The following morning, Cameron watched as Major Rosser donned two sweaters, heavy woollen pants, two pairs of socks, boots, a heavy parka and lined, deerskin gloves.
‘Do you really think it’s going to be that cold, Major? I mean…I certainly hope not, because I don’t have anywhere near that amount of clothing with me.’
‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll outfit you from stores.’
A few minutes later, as the two men trudged their way through the snow towards the depot, Cameron looked on with some trepidation as his breath puffed into the air like clouds of steam from a loco.
‘Keep in mind, Cameron, this is only October. If this was January or February you’d have to cover your face as well to protect you from frostbite.’
On Cameron’s right, smoke poured from the chimneys on the top of the triple bunk cars as they were shunted into line at the head of some empty freight cars in preparation for the next day’s departure, while directly ahead of him stood two substantial wooden buildings, surrounded on all sides by cut logs stacked at least six feet high. One of these was obviously the main office, and the other, he assumed, must be the accommodation building for the men over-wintering in the yard.
When he and Major Rosser rounded the corner of the office, another much larger structure loomed into view on the opposite side of the road. Large double doors held shut by two iron bars fronted this building, while high on its walls were rows of small windows, well out of reach of any curious onlooker.
The front door of the office suddenly swung open, to reveal a tall figure dressed from head to foot in sealskins and furs.
‘Sergeant MacDonald, nice to see you again,’ said the Major, as he removed his glove to shake the man’s hand. ‘I’d like you to meet Cameron Stuart. He’ll be spending the next little while west of here surveying the line. You’ll probabl
y run in to each other from time to time over the next few years, so why not come back into the office, have a cup of coffee and get to know each other?’
The last thing Cameron wanted to do was become acquainted with a member of the North West Mounted Police. Although he doubted anyone was looking for him, he was still a little wary of being questioned, particularly by someone with a Highland name.
Thankfully, he soon discovered that the Mountie was second generation Canadian, and had never set foot in Scotland; and although he did seem a likeable fellow, and appeared only to be interested in hearing about whisky smugglers, Cameron was still a little unsettled in his presence.
After the Sergeant departed, the volume of conversation once more returned to its previous level, with abundant good humour and raucous laughter.
Unexpectedly, the door opened again, and into the room came one of the oddest-looking human beings Cameron had ever set eyes on. He was covered from his shoulders to below the knee with a dark-brown shaggy coat, which Cameron surmised must be one of those made from buffalo skins. On his feet was some type of moccasin boot encompassing his leather leggings and reaching halfway up his calf, while on his head was what could only be described as a sort of flat turban, made from what looked like colossal handkerchiefs and secured to his head by a band of tooled leather.
Although Cameron was a newcomer to the “wilds” of western Canada, there was no doubting this man’s race, with his high-cheeked face, long hooked nose and hair which hung in two braids down to his chest.
Major Rosser was the first man in the room to make a move.
‘Come on over, Mr Stuart. I’d like you to meet your new assistant. This is Spotted Bear,’ he said, placing his hand on the Native’s shoulder. ‘He’s a Blackfoot Indian…and knows these prairies better than any else in these parts.’
From the start, Cameron was a little unsure how this relationship was supposed to work. After a brief introduction, during which the most Cameron got out of his new assistant was a few grunts, they were led by one of the depot staff to the large warehouse’s doors – and once opened, they were left there on their own.
Inside the building were a couple of strange-looking wagons, numerous horses and various leather harnesses and bridles. Spotted Bear immediately looked over the horses and picked out two he deemed suitable. Next, he signalled Cameron to join him near the front of one of the wagons.
These must be the infamous Red River Carts, thought Cameron, having heard that they’d been in use in Canada and the U.S.A. for years. They had two huge wheels approximately five feet in diameter, which were set almost in the middle of the cart. Apparently, these big wheels kept the body of the wagon high off the ground, thus ensuring it would easily clear stumps and rocks, and if a river ever had to be crossed, they could easily be removed allowing the cart to be floated across. Their axles were never greased as they would only have absorbed dirt, thereby wearing them down; the only problem being that this made them terribly noisy, and they could be heard coming from miles away. The wagon’s body was made from rough softwood, and was held together by wooden pegs and strips of rawhide. And although the carts regularly broke down, there was no metal in their construction so they could easily be fixed with the materials at hand.
Having ascertained that all was in order, Spotted Bear harnessed up two of the horses before mating each with a cart.
‘You bring other horse…we take outside…make ready for tomorrow.’
So, he does actually speak, thought Cameron, grasping the reins of the dark mare and following the native out of the building.
A few minutes later, the horses were secured near the open door of one of the two
freight wagons sitting on a nearby siding. In these wagons were the goods required to sustain them for their upcoming journey, so without further discussion, Spotted Bear vaulted inside and started passing out their stores. The list of supplies, had it been written down, would have taken up at least two pages. But Spotted Bear needed no written inventory.
First to be loaded were their food supplies. Now, to Cameron, this seemed a little strange as, surely, they would want to get at these fairly soon? Next to be packed were their sleeping bags and extra blankets, and by this time Cameron was totally perplexed. These were followed by lanterns and kerosene, after which Spotted Bear lugged a wood-burning stove to the open doorway of the freight car.
Finally, Cameron began to understand. Everything was to be loaded into the carts in reverse order of its need when setting up camp. The last items to be put on board the first cart were two tents, enough wood to keep the stove going for the first night, and implements for clearing their campsite of brush or snow.
Cameron’s companion had so far been a man of few words so, unsurprisingly, when the time came to fill the second cart he just stood back, and pointing at Cameron said, ‘You now’.
For a moment, Cameron stared at the stack of surveying equipment and the other various piles of wood lying about on the floor of the second freight wagon. It never occurred to him that the order in which these were loaded would make any difference; after all, they were mainly just long poles, wooden cross pieces and a few tools. However, after a few minutes contemplation, it did strike him that the theodolite and its spare were pretty important, so after first wrapping them in a few spare blankets, he carefully placed them under the driver’s seat.
By the time they moved the loaded carts back to the warehouse, the sun was low in the sky and it was becoming very cold. After saying goodnight to Spotted Bear, Cameron began to amble his way back to Mr Van Horne’s private railway car. Before long, his ears began to sting, and his eyelashes to stick together as the sweat from his previous exertions dripped down his forehead and froze. Picking up his walking pace, Cameron realised he’d just learned another salutary lesson.
Nobody ambles in Canada during the winter, unless of course, they’re partial to freezing to death!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The following morning the weather was magnificent, and not a cloud marred the vast expanse of aquamarine sky.
Cameron stood on the car’s rear platform, casting his eye over the clean, fresh world around him. Yesterday, he’d been too busy to pay much attention to anything outside the yard, but today he could see for miles. Mind you, the glare from the sun was almost blinding him, he thought, as his hand automatically lifted to shade his eyes.
His final briefing from Major Rosser had been short but succinct.
‘Mr Van Horne is relying on you. He expects to be achieving four to five miles a day next year…so, the more you can get done before winter shuts you down, then the better the head start you’ll have next spring.’
‘I appreciate that…and you can be sure we’ll do our best.’
‘One more thing. I’ve had the yard manager load up two new rifles and a box of ammo on your cart. They’re a gift from Mr Van Horne. I think you’ll be quite impressed. They’re the new Martini-Henry Mark 111s…and from what I’ve heard, they’re the best guns in the world. I’ve also got one of those new Colt 45 handguns here for you to try out,’ he said, handing Cameron a shiny, hinged box.
‘I’m afraid I’ve never had a reason to use either before,’ Cameron replied, rather hesitantly.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’m sure your friend will give you all the instruction you need. Anyway, best of luck… and we’ll see you back in Winnipeg.’
There was a sense of anticipation in the air as Cameron headed across the tracks towards the office. Looking to his right, the yard engine was already moving down the yard to pick up the Major’s car, while all around him men scurried about the yard, happy to complete their final tasks before shipping out for the winter.
Nearing the main building, he spotted his fellow adventurer leaning against the log pile at the side of the front door. And along with his previous strange dress, he now sported a large deerskin pouch, hanging at his waist by a long strap over his shoulder.
Maybe he’s packed lunch for u
s, Cameron mused, breezily strolling up to him.
‘Listen, Spotted Bear. We’re going to be together for a long time, so…my name’s Cameron. Now, what do you want me to call you?’
‘George…good. Most white men call me that.’
Reaching into his pouch, he then produced what appeared to be a pair of wooden glasses, with two slits in place of glass lenses.
‘Here…take…you need. ’
An hour later, the two carts left the yard following the line of stakes left by the previous crew. Initially, there was nothing in the distance but a wavy white line forming