Highland Justice

by Larry Stuart

  As he read the words his heart almost broke, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Callum

  Stuart

  Born and Died in the Year of Our Lord 1882

  God

  Rest

  His

  Soul

  The cross had been beautifully fashioned from maple or some other hardwood, while at its foot was a plinth made of oak, through which the cross was mounted. Affixed to the plinth was a metal plate with the following inscription:

  Here lies a true pioneer - Born of these plains

  May his spirit live eternally in these hills

  And forever inspire those who follow

  Cameron had promised Catherine that he would ensure a marker of some kind was placed at Callum’s grave. But he knew that, what he saw written there that day, was more than he or Catherine could ever have said. It was a tribute from men whose souls were inexorably entwined with this wilderness, and their words would be forever etched in his heart.

  After breaking camp, Cameron and George headed for Medicine Hat, a town already established near the South Saskatchewan River. Of course, to call it a town might have been a bit presumptuous. For the moment, the settlement consisted of a few grubby cabins, a ramshackle building immodestly called a general store, and a corral containing a few sorry looking nags. Coal had recently been discovered in its hills, which for the time being was being piled into a huge mound while it awaited the coming of the railway.

  Cameron and George arrived on a hill overlooking the town from the east, and when spotted by the town’s occupants were overrun and greeted like long lost family.

  The rest of the day was devoted to setting up their campsite, and as dusk fell they joined their new found friends at an impromptu party organised in their honour.

  The following morning, the area outside the general store resembled a battlefield. Men in various stages of indisposition wandered aimlessly about the town, while the smouldering remains of a large fire sat like a carbuncle in the middle of the main street, surrounded by empty bottles and plates of half-eaten food.

  Another month passed, at the end of which another hundred and twenty miles of stakes had been laid. Up until now, Cameron had measured their progress from the last major town or city, but from this moment on it was measured by how much was left to go. By his reckoning, and assuming there were to be no big hold ups due to weather or terrain, they should be in Fort Calgary by the beginning of September.

  ‘Listen, George. I’m going back down the line tomorrow to find the “end of track” camp. Then I’m going to telegraph Catherine and get her to meet me in Regina for a few days. If your family is anywhere near here, why don’t you go and see them?’

  ‘My band now near Winnipeg…I stay here…find many things to do.’

  ‘All right… I’ll be back in four or five days. Why don’t you do a run back to the bridging crew’s camp to restock our supplies? In fact, I’ll drop off our list on my way by…then you’ll just have to pick them up.’

  Late the following afternoon, Cameron found the bridging crew starting the span over the river at Medicine Hat. After a quick stop for a drink, he handed over his supply request to the foreman, before once more setting off. Three hours later, the chaotic scene that was the “end of track” came into view.

  The next day, Cameron met Catherine when she stepped down from the Winnipeg Express, and after a prolonged greeting on the platform, they strolled out through the station onto Regina’s main street.

  The sidewalk was crowded with workmen hurrying from job to job; however, Catherine’s rather obvious condition ensured that she and Cameron were always given a wide berth.

  ‘Where are we staying?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know…it’s some hotel down at the end of the street.’

  When they entered the Royal Hotel, the lobby was a seething mass of humanity. Thanks to Cornelius Van Horne, the suite permanently reserved for the C.P.R. was made available to them, and on entering their room, Cameron could barely contain his mirth as he looked at Catherine’s face.

  She was dumbstruck, having never expected such luxury to be available in all but the largest of modern cities – and certainly not in Canada’s mainly untamed wilderness. Quickly recovering, she turned towards Cameron and with her eyes squinting and her lips pursed, pummelled him with her fists.

  Cameron smiled, folding her into his arms before giving her a long and tender kiss.

  Over the next few days the weather was perfect. They spent hours relaxing in their “suite” and walking and exploring the new city. On their third day, Cameron hired a horse and trap, after which they headed out towards Fort Qu’Appelle and its Hudson’s Bay Trading Post. As they journeyed along the recently opened road, wagon after wagon loaded with logs for the new mill at Regina, passed them by. Finally, just after midday, they left behind the last side road leading to the logging sites.

  ‘Why don’t we stop over there by that stream…and see if we can find a nice spot for our picnic lunch?’

  Catherine turned to face Cameron, her fingers tapping like a Morse key on his upper thigh.

  ‘Did you say lunch, Sir?’ she replied, with a coquettish smile on her face.

  Cameron sat alone in the caboose, as the supply train hurried him away from Catherine. Their parting had been difficult, and was accompanied by floods of tears and concerns for his safety. All too soon, the whistle on Catherine’s train had sounded and, with endearing words of love and reassurances about his safety, he had helped her up the steps and into her seat.

  He knew it was difficult for her, but hoped she realised this wasn’t what he wanted either. Last night over dinner, they had talked about their future, and both had agreed it was not to be with the railway. Thankfully, when he had mentioned cattle ranching Catherine seemed quite keen, so for the rest of the evening and into the night, they had talked over his plans. And not for the first time did it cross his mind that, what better way could there be for him to fade into obscurity than to be out in the country, where your nearest neighbour was miles away.

  Between them, they had set aside a nice sum of money. But the problem now was that the price of land was increasing daily as speculators got wind of the route of the railway. It was clear to Cameron they would have to start out small, but hopefully over time they would be able to increase the size of their ranch.

  A blast of air and noise accompanied the opening of the door at the front of the caboose.

  ‘We’re nearly there, Mr Stuart. Hope you enjoyed your trip back to Regina. Are we gonna see you ag’in?’

  ‘Thanks, Charlie…Yes…You probably will. How’s everything going out here, anyway?’

  ‘Just fine…Though some days I do see some strange sights.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘I sure do…Why just the other day…’bout four miles back…we passed a bunch of Indians. They were just sittin’ on a hill…’bout fifty of ’em…starin’ at us as we went by.’

  ‘What’s so strange about that?’

  ‘Well, you see, three hours later…on the return trip…there they were ag’in. They hadn’t moved. It’s as if they were scared to cross this ’ere set of tracks.’

  ‘Yea…I see what you mean, Charlie.’

  ‘And you know…even stranger…the week before there was a whole herd of Bison on the south side of the track. And apparently they never crossed over either…’cause three days later John says he seen them near the same spot…but this time they were headin’ south…from where they came, I guess.’

  ‘No wonder some of the Indians aren’t very happy with us.’

  ‘You know, Mr Stuart…somethin’ tells me that, although we’re joinin’ this country from one side to the other, at the same time we’re kinda dividin’ it from top to bottom.’

  Before Cameron had a chance to reply to this amazing insight, the train began to decelerate, and Charlie left through the rear door – signal flag in hand.

  There was no mistaking where th
ey were. The noise greeting Cameron as he stepped down from the caboose was like nowhere else on earth. The loco was already chuffing its way back to the other end of the train, its whistle screaming its warning to the seemingly deaf workers on both sides of the track; while all around him sledgehammers rang out, their metal-to-metal contact almost painful to those not used to their symphony. In the distance, horses and mules whinnied and snorted as they strained at their harnesses; and men shouted and cursed as they struggled to position impossibly heavy loads. Yet amazingly, thought Cameron shaking his head, above all this could still be heard the bellowing of the foremen as they tried to cajole the navvies into working faster.

  Gazing around him, he once more marvelled at the spectacle laid out before him. That unique mobile community, known as “end of track”, was sprawled out across the plains, constantly on the move, only stopping to serve a meal or two before moving on again. Tents stretched off in haphazard groups as far as the eye could see, and in the centre of it all were the wagons and corrals, now his destination.

  Over the next few weeks, the two men crept towards the horizon. The going was easier now that the plains had become rolling hills cut by much smaller rivers. But as George had already warned, there was one more area to get through that would surely test their metal – and everyone knew it as “the badlands”.

  This name did not derive from some historical enmity between tribes and white settlers, but from the roughness of the terrain itself. It was mainly sandstone hills and cliffs, interspersed with small clumps of prickly brush, sharp rocks and boulders. And the only realistic way of passing through this desert-like ground was to follow the route of a dried up river bed.

  After reaching it, Cameron and George spent days doing their best to straighten out the twists and turns of the long forgotten water-course, until finally, on rounding one last rocky outcrop, the land once more became lush green meadows; and the last great impediment to the railway was behind them.

  ‘Now buffalo country. Every year my tribe chase buffalo here. In my father’s day, on foot…use bow and arrow and club. Near here famous place…Indian call “Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump”.’

  ‘What the hell kind of name is that?’

  ‘You listen…I tell you story my father tell me…and his father tell him.’

  And so that afternoon, Cameron learned the history of how the Indians used to catch buffalo before the advent of the horse.

  North of where they now stood, and close to Fort MacLeod, was a long escarpment leading to a thirty-foot cliff. According to George, his ancestors used to stampede the bison over that cliff and then club and stab to death any surviving the fall. The story went that one young brave decided he wanted to see the whole process from the bottom. But sadly, the first buffalo over the cliff landed on top of him and smashed in his head.

  Even George had to admit that it did sound a bit far-fetched, but it was a tale that had been passed down from generation to generation. Of course, now they hunted on horseback with rifles, and no longer needed to stampede whole herds to their deaths.

  At the end of another week, Cameron and George reached the Bow River. For once, instead of struggling to cross another river, they were able to parallel its path – the staked route now only needing to straighten out the worst of its excesses. With approximately twenty miles to go to Fort Calgary, they came across what Cameron thought was the most beautiful piece of land he’d seen since leaving Winnipeg. The area was on the south side of the Bow, where a fast flowing stream joined from the southwest. Cameron and George took the time to wander up this waterway, which at times vanished from sight as it wound its way back and forth between eroding banks festooned with ferns and reeds. Its boundary was crowded with spruce and fir, interspersed with small stands of cottonwoods, some growing as high as a hundred and fifty feet and looking like sentinels guarding the majestic forest. Overhead, light-grey Goshawks and grey-brown Prairie Falcons floated on columns of air, as they patrolled their bits of airspace and juggled for supremacy. While below them, their mates roosted on nests of twigs, one eye always on the lookout for easy meals nearby.

  This is where I want to live, thought Cameron, as his eyes gazed out at the almost endless meadows of grass, swaying in the gentle breeze like the surface of a tranquil sea.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Fort Calgary and the structures around it were built on a bend near the junction of the Bow and Elbow rivers. The settlement itself was made up of four main buildings: the NWMP barracks; the mission; Hudson’s Bay Company post, and a general store belonging to I.G. Baker. Scattered in an arbitrary fashion around these buildings were a dozen or so log cabins accommodating the permanent residents and a large number of tents providing temporary refuge for those just passing through.

  Cameron had hoped to spend a few peaceful nights catching up on some sleep, and relaxing after the rigours of the past few months. But it was not to be. Fort Calgary was already another railway city in the making, with men loudly hawking land and questionable goods all day long, whilst drunken revellers staggered out of the temporary saloons throughout most of the night.

  On the morning of their third day, having made arrangements for the safekeeping of the C.P.R.’s carts and equipment, Cameron and George set off on horseback. The two friends travelled light and fast, carrying only a few personal items and their Martini rifles. Cameron was in a hurry. The baby was due sometime in the next three weeks. He was determined to be there for the birth, while at the same time he wanted to look into the ownership of the piece of land he’d just seen along the High River, hoping to purchase it before the real estate agents pushed its value beyond his reach.

  At the end of the first day, they came across the bridging crew striving to span the Bow River forty miles south east of Fort Calgary. This would be the last bridge required on the prairie crossing, and as they rode by, Cameron sensed that the men knew they would soon be out of a job.

  Mid-morning the following day, he and George were able to spot their destination from a distance of ten miles. The dust being thrown up by the mules and horses, mixed with the smoke from the kitchen fires, was like a straw-coloured storm boiling up on the horizon; and two hours later they rode into the man-made tempest, and corralled their horses for the last time.

  As the supply train accelerated out of the railhead towards Regina, Cameron and George sat in the caboose in two old armchairs. Cameron’s face bore the strained look of months of hard work, while George, as usual, showed little behind his steely, dark eyes.

  ‘Well…I guess this is it.’

  George continued to stare at a point somewhere over Cameron’s left shoulder; and after a few minutes silence, Cameron continued.

  ‘I would never have survived if it hadn’t been for you, George…and I owe you a debt which I’m sure I can never repay. I know how you must feel…being treated the way you are…but I want you to know that, to Catherine and I, you are more than equal to anyone we know. ’

  For a few seconds, George’s emotionless character and stern visage appeared to soften, but in a short time a mask of solemnity once more covered his face.

  ‘You need me…Sergeant MacDonald will find.’

  Cameron nodded, and then leaned back in his chair. For the next little while, his thoughts were of Catherine and their future together. But then, as if poked by a sharp stick, he sat up and looked at George.

  ‘I don’t suppose you and your family would like to help Catherine and I start up our cattle ranch? I’m going to try to buy that piece of land we saw beside the High River.’

  ‘Sorry …must go back to tribe…soon old chief die…then me chief.’

  On September 30th, the new addition to the Stuart family duly arrived safe and sound. This time the labour only lasted for three hours and, with the help of a doctor and two nurses, Anna was brought into the world. Catherine talked all the way through the delivery, as if it was just a slight inconvenience in her otherwise busy day; while Cameron stood proudly in the wait
ing room, puffing on 25-cent cigars and offering one to any men coming his way.

  The following Monday, Cameron had only been at his desk for a few minutes when one of the young clerks from the outer office knocked at his door.

  ‘Yes, come in.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Stuart…The General Manager would like to see you when you have a moment.

  ‘All right, thank you. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve checked my mail.’

  ‘But, he said….’

  ‘Thank you, William…I have the message.’