Highland Justice

by Larry Stuart

  Cameron could no longer contain himself, and burst into laughter.

  That night, Catherine knew she’d found true happiness. They were living on their own land, with their daughter safe in a cot beside them. And soon, she would have a beautiful house, which could finally be called home.

  After his initial teasing, Cameron confessed that the cabin was only a temporary home and, after their new house was built, would be turned into a stable and store room.

  The only niggling doubt Catherine now harboured was the distance between here and the nearest civilization. Was it really safe to be out here by themselves in the middle of nowhere?

  The following morning, shortly after dawn, the peace and quiet was disturbed by the squeaking and rattling of wagons and the snorting and whinnying of horses. The men sent by Baker’s duly moved into their temporary canvass quarters, and then got to work on the Stuarts’ new house.

  The next six years sped by, and during that time Cameron and Catherine’s “C&C” branded cattle continued to grow in number. He had decided to break with tradition, and was breeding Texas Longhorns, as opposed to the more normal short-horned variety. He knew from his experience working on American ranches that they didn’t put on weight as quickly as their short-horned cousins. But their ability to almost take care of themselves, especially during the long, cold winters of southern Alberta, should more than make up for the slightly longer fattening time. Their herd had now grown to ninety head, and this year, Cameron hoped they would produce another twenty-five calves. It had been hard work. However, he was now making a tidy profit. In fact, the money they’d made over the last two years had already allowed him to repay half of his debt to the government. And next year, he would almost certainly be able to pay off the rest.

  Of course, the herd wasn’t all that was growing. He and Catherine had purposely decided not to have any more children until their new livelihood was well established. And having now reached that point, Catherine was once again pregnant.

  Anna seemed more than happy with her outdoor way of life, and although Catherine was doing her best to tutor her young daughter, she and Cameron both knew a more formal education would soon need to be found.

  During the last five years, two new neighbours had arrived, both within a twenty-minute ride of the C&C ranch. One family was Scandinavian. They had immigrated to Canada three years ago, and were now running a pig farm, three miles away. The other family were Irish, having arrived from County Down nearly five years ago. Their family was made up of Kieran, the father, and Colleen, the mother, a son called Liam and a five year old daughter named Megan. But what interested Cameron most was that Kieran was breeding shorthorn cattle, which inevitably became the main topic of conversation whenever they got together.

  Of course, what pleased Catherine was not just the progress of their cattle, but the fact that she now had a good friend close by, and other children with whom Anna could socialise.

  ‘Honey…Look who’s here!’ Catherine shouted one day, while standing outside hanging up her washing.

  Cameron stepped out of the kitchen door, and then stared down the track to where four horses could be seen approaching in a cloud of dust. The grey stallion and dark brown appaloosa were horses Cameron and Catherine both knew well, having belonged to George and Lomasi since the Stuarts had first known them, but the other two riders on Palominos were at first indiscernible. Finally, as the ill-defined group drew nearer recognition dawned, as George and Lomasi’s sons’ raised their arms in salute.

  By dusk, the wind had died away to nothing. They all sat cross-legged around the fire, as the sparks and smoke lifted straight towards the heavens. And apart from the occasional ‘who…who’ of a great horned owl, and the crackling and snapping of the blazing logs, the night was silent.

  Anna spent the first few hours of the evening staring in awe at the two young men, and then, much to her disgust, had been ordered to bed.

  For the next little while, the six reminisced about the old days and their time spent together on the plains; but once the sacred pipe had been passed around, they all slipped into an almost reverential silence – not necessarily because of the rigours of the day or sudden belief in the Great Spirit, but more likely due to the psychoactive effects of George’s “special” tobacco.

  ‘You know, Cath,’ said Cameron later as they prepared themselves for bed. ‘I know

  this sounds weird…but I could have sworn I did feel some kind of spirit out there…or at least something making me feel…I don’t know…kind of at peace with the world.’

  Receiving no reply, Cameron turned, looking at Catherine lying peacefully beside him. She was already asleep. But maybe her reply, he thought, was the almost serene look spread across her tender, expressionless face.

  Not long after the sun had begun to rise over the plains to the east, they were all sitting on the banks of the High River enjoying a picnic breakfast. A wispy breeze rose, rustling the leaves on the nearby cottonwoods, while at the same time the long grass surrounding them seemed to be constantly changing colour, as it swayed in the morning’s freshening gusts.

  All too soon it was time to say goodbye. George got up from the blanket, momentarily drawing Cameron aside.

  ‘I have favour to ask.’

  ‘Of course, George. You know I’ll do anything I can for you.’

  ‘Many night…I sit in front of fire listening to Great Spirit. Now I understand… Indian way of life on plain almost gone. We must change…or will die. My two sons must learn new way…like white man.’

  ‘You’re probably right, George. Listen…Next spring when you head north again, why don’t you leave the boys with me? I can always use more hands during round up time.’

  As they stood watching George and his family ride off, Cameron had one arm around Catherine’s back while his other rested on Anna’s shoulder.

  ‘You know, Cameron…it’s such a shame we don’t see them more often. Life just seems…Oh I don’t know…more tranquil, when they’re here.’

  ‘Yes, well tranquil it may be, but right now I’ve got over sixty, three and four year old steers to move to the railhead by the weekend. So, I’ve got to ride over to Kieran’s and see if I can get him and his cowboys here on Friday to give me a hand.’

  ‘Be careful!’ said the taller of the two men, knocking the binoculars down from his partner’s eyes.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Colin…Can ye no see the sun over there? It could easily reflect off them glasses an give us away.’

  The two men squatted behind a large bush, on the edge of the wood behind the Stuarts’ corral. Neither was in the best of moods, having just spent the night hiding in the woods while being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

  The man doing the talking was certainly not the friendliest looking person, with his acne-scarred face, thin cheeks and thick black eyebrows; while the other man, named Colin, was short and rotund, with tiny low-set ears, curved eyebrows and a broad nose.

  ‘Thank God, them bloody Indians be gone! Now maybe we can get on wi’ what we be here for.’

  ‘Are ye sure he be the one?’

  ‘Aye...Ah’ve spent twelve years huntin’ him down…ever since that dumb nurse, Annie, went an opened her big mouth in the pub an Sergeant Boyd’s sister done heard her. Ah know he be Cameron Stewart, an pay day is comin’,’ he said, rubbing his hands with relish.

  ‘But…surely no the woman an bairn?’

  ‘Listen…old man Campbell said all of ’em.’

  Catherine was forced from her peaceful sleep by an intermittent slamming noise from somewhere outside. Rolling over, she prodded Cameron, rousing him from his slumber.

  ‘Cameron, wake up. I think the barn door is open. I can hear it banging.’

  ‘What…oh, all right,’ he yawned.

  ‘Bloody door,’ he murmured, throwing off his covers.

  After rolling out of bed, he picked up his socks from the floor. Then for a moment he hesitated, hoping what Catherine had heard had b
een in her dreams. But seconds later, a dull thump resounded, so he continued to get dressed.

  Quietly shuffling passed his daughter’s door, Cameron turned left, descending the stairs, and then turned left again before ambling through the kitchen to the back door. On swinging it open, a momentary flash of recognition passed through his brain, then darkness as he pitched forwards to the ground and oblivion.

  ‘Come over here, Colin. Hurry up…let’s be gettin’ on wi’ this.’

  ‘Christ…did ye need to whack him so hard? He’s bleedin’ all over the place.’

  ‘Does no really matter. There’ll no be any sign of that later. Now…have ye got that wee bottle wi’ you?’

  ‘Aye. It be here…in ma pocket,’ Colin replied, patting his side.

  ‘Follow me then…quietly.’

  Moments later, Catherine was woken by the feel of a damp cloth being forced over her nose and mouth, followed by a pungent smell invading her nostrils. Her hands clawed at her face, but within seconds she began to feel dizzy and passed out.

  ‘Right…come on…let’s be draggin’ her out of here,’ whispered the tall man. ‘We can lay her down over there, at the top of them stairs.’

  Having helped to arrange her body to his partner’s satisfaction, Colin stood up.

  ‘Now what we be doin’?’

  ‘Now we go an get Cameron Stewart.’

  The two men dragged Cameron’s body up the stairs, leaving him lying in the hallway a few feet from his daughter’s bedroom door.

  ‘Right…ye get in there an use that stuff to make sure the wee lass is out of it, while

  Ah go down to the front room an open a window.’

  ‘Why ye be doin’ that?’

  ‘Do ye no remember anythin’? The idea is they’ll find the broken kerosene lamp layin’ below the window an assume a gust of wind knocked it to the floor. Now… when yer finished come downstairs…then Ah’ll drop the lamp to start the fire. An make sure ye no leave that bottle behind. Remember this must be lookin’ like a mishap.’

  A few minutes later, a crash in the front room was followed by a loud whoosh as the liquid burst into flames.

  ‘Right, that be it…Come on, Colin. Let’s be gettin’ out of here.’

  The two men rushed out through the kitchen, making sure they closed the back door before scurrying across the yard.

  ‘Hang on a minute, Colin. I just want to be sure it goes up proper.’

  As they watched, the flames erupted from the downstairs windows, turning night into day.

  ‘That’ll do, let’s go.’

  Both men turned, heading towards the tree line behind the corral.

  Suddenly, a scream filled the night.

  ‘What the hell! Ah thought Ah be tellin’ ye to put her out.’

  ‘Ah could no do it. She looked so innocent. Can we no just let her go?’

  ‘No! Are ye crazy? Now we’ll just have to wait an make sure she no get out.’

  Cameron’s head pounded; and after putting his hand to the back of his skull it came away sticky. Where was he? Why was he lying on the floor? A roaring and crackling filled his ears. And then, as a searing heat worked its way through to his senses, he realised where he was and what was happening. Looking down, he was horrified at the sight of flames beginning to devour the legs of his trousers, and desperately beat at them with his bare hands.

  Just then, a piercing scream broke through the confusion surrounding him. Anna’s heart-rending plea stabbed at his soul, dispelling any thoughts of his own pain. Rising to his knees, Cameron inched towards her door. Smoke now filled the corridor, blinding him and taking the place of what little oxygen was left in the blistering air.

  Suddenly, a crashing sound from above was followed by him being slammed to the floor – his last mental picture being the skin on the backs of his hands blistering and shrivelling as his pain melted away.

  While the two men waited in the shadows by the barn, the flames got higher and higher. At the same time Anna’s heart rending cries overwhelmed the crackling and spitting of the inferno, sending shivers up both men’s spines.

  But in the end, it was the harrowing little face at the bedroom window, agony exhaling with each breath from her tortured mouth, which Colin knew he would take to his grave and his certain journey to hell.

  EPILOGUE

  Alex pushed Morty on as fast as he dared. While he did, his mop of unruly red hair began to freeze in disorderly tufts and his ears to sting, reminding him of his ill-advised haste in leaving home without a hat.

  The leaden sky and clammy air felt as though it was pressing down on the earth, and he knew it was only a matter of time before snow would start to fall.

  On both sides of the track the fields were covered in snow, apart from the odd patch of last year’s stubble breaking through the dull white surface. While in the distance, a rising column of smoke above the trees showed him the way.

  In due course, Alex entered the woodland, which was made up of sugar maples and the odd scattered conifer and birch trees. Many years ago, his father’s family had planted the trees, and their maturity now ensured a good source of extra income. The grainy wood was always in demand with furniture makers, while in the spring, the sale of maple syrup was a welcome addition to the family’s earnings at a time when the farm produced little.

  His progress slowed to a walk. He and Morty weaved their way through the trees, as care was required to make certain the buckets hanging from the metal taps drilled into the trees were not disturbed. Horse and rider were guided by the sweet odour in the air, until at last; the clearing came in to sight.

  ‘Pa...Quick! Ma wants you home right away!’

  John looked up, momentarily halting his stirring of the syrup in the huge, iron pot suspended over the fire.

  ‘What is it, Alex? Is she sick?’

  ‘I don’t know... I don’t think so. Constable Girarde rode over to our place, and the next thing I knew Ma was telling me to hurry and get you.’

  ‘All right, give me the reins...I’ll take Morty back. You can finish bottling up for me and then saddle up Blackie and come home.’

  John swung up into the saddle, heading back down the trail at a trot – the risk of collisions with the buckets no longer seeming so important. He sensed something must be terribly wrong, as he knew Margaret would never have sent Alex down to him without an explanation unless things were seriously amiss.

  Reaching the backyard, he reined in Morty, and then leaping from the saddle, bounded up the steps and yanked open the back door.

  ‘Maggie…Maggie, where are you?’

  Holding his breath, a barely discernible response could be heard coming from the front of the house.

  John hurried down the hall, ignoring the wet marks he left on their new hall carpet. As he entered the front room, Margaret ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and

  sobbing into his shoulder.

  ‘What is it? Are you sick?’

  Then, his eyes fell on the dusty old bible, and his breath caught in his throat.

  By the time Alex had finished siphoning off the rest of the bubbling liquid, it was almost dark. Placing the large demijohns into the storage shack, he retrieved Blackie’s saddle and hurried outside.

  It had now been snowing for over an hour and the light was fading fast. Alex galloped clear of the tree line, and it was only then he became aware of how poor the visibility had become. The cold, snow-laden wind was whipping across the open fields, with drifts quickly building across his path. Finding his way home was not the problem. Blackie could do that blindfolded. But what did worry him was what he would find when he got there.

  The storm worsened by the minute; and he and Blackie took on an almost ghostly appearance. Finally, the farm’s outbuildings loomed into view, and with an encouraging ‘yee-hah’ he pushed Blackie on.

  As they drew nearer, the sight that greeted Alex pushed all thoughts of personal discomfort to the back of his mind. Not only was Morty not stabl
ed, but he was now wandering loose in the backyard, his saddle, blanket and mane covered in freshly fallen snow. Quickly dismounting, Alex grabbed both horses’ reins and, tying them off on the back rail, sprinted for the house.

  Worryingly, as he stepped through the kitchen door, the house was silent. Normally, his mother would have been in the kitchen preparing their evening meal, while his father would either be passing the time of day with her, or checking their customers’ orders on paperwork spread over the kitchen table.

  ‘Ma…Pa, where are you?’ he shouted, heading for the front room.