The men, delighted to be nearing home, urged their horses into a trot, and in a short while, they'd reached the spot among the poplar and aspen bluffs along the riverbank that the men called Gabriel's Crossing. Here, they informed Paige, Dumont operated a free ferry. Batoche was ten miles away.
The man who brought the ferry over to collect them wasn't Dumont, however. He called to Paige's captors long before the ferry drew close enough for them to board, his voice excited and his rapid French indecipherable to Paige. There were wild cheers from Urbain and Pierre, who swiftly translated whatever he'd said for the Indians.
Whatever the news was, it caused pandemonium among the men. They cheered and leaped about, all but upsetting the flat-bottomed scow being used as a ferry.
"What is it? What's going on?" Paige tugged at Pierre's sleeve. "What did he say?"
"Riel and Dumont have attacked the trading posts and seized the ammunition we need for our cause. We are going to teach those damned Anglais a lesson now."
Paige gripped the side of the ferry, barely able to stand erect after the hours she'd spent on horseback. She shivered in the cold breeze coming from the river. Utter weariness and a feeling of unreality made her giddy. She began to giggle and couldn't stop, even though the men were staring at her and frowning.
Her history teacher would have been so impressed. Here she was in Batoche, in 1885, and it looked at though she was about to find herself in the exact middle of the Riel Rebellion. Professor Wood would be ecstatic if he knew.
Her laughter soon turned to tears she couldn't control. The men were unnerved by her collapse. They held a spirited discussion and when the scow reached the far side of the river, they hurried her over to a large, two-story log house.
A short, thin woman, her cheeks flushed scarlet, her graying dark hair braided and wound around her head in a coronet, came to the door. She was wearing a dark dress and a white apron, and what Paige noticed was how clean she looked. The men said something to her, obviously about Paige.
Paige, mortified by her tears but unable to stop, was still sobbing. The little woman clucked her tongue, put her arm around her, and led her gently inside the warm house. She turned to let loose a volley of angry French at the shamefaced men hovering on the porch. She shut the door on them and then conducted Paige into a large kitchen and sat her down on a chair, fishing inside the neckline of her dress and drawing out a large white handkerchief.
"Here, Madame, wipe your eyes," she instructed in a gentle tone. "I am Madeleine Dumont, Gabriel's wife," she added. Her English was accented but good. She poured a cup of steaming coffee from an enamel pot on the back of the stove, added milk and a generous scoop of sugar, and handed it to Paige. From a pot, she spooned out a bowl of thick soup.
"Drink, eat," she ordered. "It will warm you, and then we will fill the tub for a bath."
Famished, Paige spooned up the soup, swallowing between sobs that wouldn't quit. After a moment, the delicious warmth of the room and the comfort of the hot food allowed her to gain some control. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes on Madeleine's pristine handkerchief. The white cotton was smeared with dirt from her face and Paige realized her hands were filthy as well. Her hair felt as though it was caked with dirt, and the rest of her body felt itchy. She must look wrecked—she certainly felt it.
"Thank you so much, Madeleine," she choked out. "Lord, I need to wash. My name is—" she began, but Madeleine shook her head, motioning to the bowl.
"Hush now, and eat. I know who you are, Madame Docteur. We all know; Armand has spoken of you. Those stupid men have worn you out, you must eat and regain your strength. Then you can bathe and rest."
It sounded like heaven. For the first time in days, Paige was warm. There was good tasting food, and the promise of hot water and soap, and even a bed with sheets and a pillow.
Those simple, everyday comforts now seemed like the most lavish of luxuries, and she couldn't think beyond them. She relaxed slowly, surrendering herself to Madeleine's motherly care.
The news of Paige's disappearance traveled swiftly through the fort that first night, and just before dawn the next morning, Rob Cameron searched out Myles.
"Sir, I'm coming with ye. I want to help ye find her. I hunted with Armand last summer, and he taught me a fair bit about scouting and reading sign."
Myles looked at the young Scot and gratitude filled him. He was going to need help, and he knew that with the alarming reports now coming steadily over the telegraph wires concerning the uprising of the Métis and the Indians, few men could be spared to search for Paige.
He told Rob the few details he'd gathered. "I believe Paige and this Indian boy must have at least started towards the Quinlans' farm. We'll ride out that way as soon as dawn breaks."
Myles had paced through the hospital ward all night long, unable to sleep or even to sit. It was an enormous relief when at last the inky blackness outside the window slowly began to turn gray, and he and Rob could saddle their horses, load the saddlebags with the provisions Myles had gathered, and ride.
Because of the warm weather, the ground had thawed slightly, and Rob was able to easily pick out the marks of the unshod Indian pony once the town was behind them. He followed the tracks for a few miles, and then, near a small grove of willows, he drew his horse up and dismounted.
He walked around for some time, intent on the marks on the earth, and Myles tried to curb his impatience.
"Several other horses joined them right here." Rob's face was somber when at last he spoke. "They all veered off the trail and started riding due east. Two of the horses were shod, but I'd guess the others were Indian ponies."
Sick at heart, Myles turned Major toward the eastern horizon.
Their progress was sporadic, because Rob stopped often to make certain they were still on the trail. They'd been riding about two hours when the smell of smoke and the sound of guns drifted to them on the chill air.
"It's coming from just over that hill," Myles guessed. The flat prairie had given way to rolling hills and clumps of trees.
Myles and Rob urged their horses to a gallop and crested the hillside. The hill dropped away on the other side to a flat plain, and a settler had built a house and some outbuildings in a small grove of trees at the base of the hillside.
Myles stared down, hardly able to believe his eyes at the horrifying spectacle taking place on the homestead. It was immediately apparent that the settler and his family were in mortal danger.
Half a dozen Indians in war paint, whooping and firing their rifles from the back of ponies, were dodging in and out of the grove of small poplars that surrounded the log house. With fiery arrows, they'd set fire to the tarpaper roof. It was burning fiercely, and even as Myles and Rob gaped in horror, the door of the cabin burst open and a man with a rifle appeared, desperately trying to provide cover for the woman clutching two small children who cowered behind him. The roof was about to cave in, and they had to get out.
Quickly, Myles motioned to Rob to ride along the crest of the hillside and come down toward the Indians from a different angle, making it appear that there were more than just the two of them. As far as he could tell, the Indians weren't yet aware of their presence, although he and Rob were clearly outlined against the morning sky. Myles drew his loaded rifle from the scabbard beside his saddle and aimed at one of the Indians.
That bullet missed, but a second one sent an Indian careening from his horse, drawing the attention of the others and alerting them to his presence.
The marauders now turned their attention to Myles, and he urged Major into a gallop, riding low and dodging until he could throw himself from Major's back and take cover behind some low bushes.
The settler had shot one Indian, but his gun was now out of bullets, and he was desperately trying to reload. Myles did his best to provide cover and draw the Indians' aim toward himself, but even as he fired twice in rapid succession, Myles saw a whooping brave, hanging low on his horse's neck, head toward the burning bui
lding, raise his gun, draw aim, and fire.
The man in the doorway crumpled and fell. The Indian raised his gun again, aiming at the woman, now trying to run toward the shelter of a pole barn with one child clutched tight to her body, a second being half-dragged along by the hand.
Rob suddenly appeared from the opposite direction, riding at full gallop into the midst of the fighting, his revolver in his hand. Before the Indian could pull the trigger, Rob had shot him, but he was now in the very midst of the remaining three Indians, his scarlet tunic an obvious target.
"Rob, no, get back!" Myles wasn't aware he'd shouted.
Rifles roared, and almost instantaneously, Myles saw Rob topple from his saddle, his body sprawling face down in the muddy farmyard.
Myles was on his feet now, oblivious to the target he provided. His rifle was out of bullets and he was firing his revolver, one shot after the other, desperately trying to hit the crazed Indian who, tomahawk in hand, was now racing his mount toward the woman and children, almost at the doorway of the barn.
The tomahawk sliced down through the woman's skull even as one of Myles's bullets found its mark. The woman fell to the ground and the child she was holding tumbled like a rag doll from her arms.
There were only two Indians left, and with bloodcurdling whoops they came riding straight up the incline toward Myles, rifles ready.
He took careful aim, aware that he was almost out of bullets. He squeezed the trigger, and the man he'd aimed at screamed and went flying from his horse. Myles tried to fire again at the remaining Indian galloping at full speed toward him, but his gun was empty. He dove behind Major as the screaming brave took aim and fired, and then disappeared over the crest of the hill.
The sudden silence was broken only by the sound of a child's hysterical crying. Myles got to his feet just as Major's forelegs gave under him, and the huge animal slowly toppled to the ground. The big horse was dead.
Quickly, Myles reloaded his revolver, aware every second that the Indian could return. He hurried over to where he'd dropped the rifle and reloaded it as well, and then ran down to the farmyard.
Bodies lay scattered everywhere. The Indians were all dead, and it was obvious the homesteader was as well, but Myles wasn't sure about Rob. Taking him by the sides of his tunic, just below the armpits, Myles dragged him quickly toward the barn, depositing him just inside the door. He then raced back outside for the children.
The boy was sitting in the dust, dazed and silent, but the little girl was clutching her mother's body and screaming at the top of her lungs. Myles scooped them up in his arms and hurried back into the shelter of the barn.
The girl wailed and fought him like a small, fierce animal, struggling to go back to her mother. Myles was forced to pinion her small, squirming body against his shoulder while he scanned the hill. There was no sign of the Indian returning. Myles knelt beside Rob and was immediately aware that the young constable was dead.
His reckless bravery had saved the lives of the girl in Myles's arms and the little boy still crouched silently in the corner where Myles had set him. Looking at the freckled, young face of the constable, Myles could only feel an overwhelming rage at the circumstances that had brought Rob Cameron here to die.
It had been years since Indians were on the warpath, murdering settlers. There was no doubt in his mind that this tragedy was linked to the larger uprising of the Métis.
Myles stood in the doorway of the barn for a long time, watching and waiting, but there was no sign of the Indian returning, and at last the little girl quieted, her screams giving way to shuddering sobs against Myles's shoulder. The house was now engulfed in flames, the roaring of the fire the only sound in the sudden silence of the farmyard.
All the dead Indians' horses and Rob's mount as well had bolted. A few chickens clucked from a fenced enclosure some distance away, but there was no sign of any other livestock.
Myles walked over to the boy and squatted down to the child's level. "What's your name, son?"
The boy's brown eyes were glassy with shock, and he was sitting with his arms wrapped tight around his legs. He stared at Myles, his throat convulsing as he tried to answer.
"Da-Da-Danny."
"And what's your sister's name?"
"Miss--Missy."
"Well, Danny, you're a big, strong boy. How old are you anyway?"
"Si-six. Missy's only three." He gulped hard and then said in a quavery voice, "Are you a Mountie?"
Myles nodded. "I am, but I'm also a doctor."
Danny thought that over. "Should I call you Doc?"
"My name's Myles, but sure, you call me Doc. You know, son, you and I are gonna have to take care of Missy, us being men and all. You think you can help me out right now by sitting down here on this pile of hay and holding on to her for a few minutes? There's some things I've got to do outside."
Danny got to his feet and moved to the place Myles indicated, and Myles transferred the chubby little girl, hardly more than a baby, to her brother's arms. She turned her face into his dirty flannel shirt, taking a fistful of the cloth in her hand, and began to cry again, a soft and hopeless sound. She had a long, curling mop of brown hair, the same kind of wild, unmanageable curls Paige had.
Myles had to swallow hard, looking at the two children.
"She wants Ma." Danny's voice was desolate.
"I'm sorrier than I can say about what happened to your folks, Danny." Myles tousled the boy's sandy hair, wishing to God he could have somehow saved Dan's parents. "Sometimes there doesn't seem much sense to these things, does there?"
Myles thought of Paige, and had to swallow hard before he could summon up a reassuring wink for the wide-eyed boy cradling his sister. "Danny, I'm going to make certain those Indians are gone, so I've got to leave you alone with Missy for a few minutes in here. But I'll be right back, so you just stay put. All right, son?"
Danny nodded, and Myles slipped out the door of the barn, moving from one bit of cover to the next. He made a full circuit of the barn and surrounding area. There was no sign of anyone.
He went from one body to the next and rapidly picked up guns and any ammunition he could see and put them inside the door of the barn. He'd find a safe hiding place for them later.
Back outside, he had neither the time nor the energy to dig graves, but mindful of the children, he carried the bodies of their parents over to a small shed that housed a buggy and some tools, and laid them on the floor. He went back into the barn and heaved Rob's body up and over his shoulder, putting him with the others in the shed. He shut his eyes and murmured a quick prayer, then went out and closed the door tight, bracing it with a rock.
He left the Indians lying where they'd fallen.
There was a ladder propped against the back of the barn, and he carried it around to the front and propped it against the wall. Climbing up it, he realized he could see quite a distance in three directions. There was no sign of any living thing, including Rob's horse.
He climbed down and went back inside. Missy had fallen asleep in her brother's arms, but both children were shivering in the chill air. They had no coats on, and only Danny wore boots. Missy was barefoot.
Myles slipped his bloodstained tunic off and wrapped it around the little girl, hollowing out a bed for her in the hay.
"We're gonna let Missy have a nap in here. You and I have work to do." He took Danny's hand and led him outside.
The boy looked immediately to where his parents had fallen.
"I put your ma and pa in the shed over there," Myles explained gently. Danny's eyes filled with tears, but he nodded.
"I need your help, son. My horse got shot, and I have to go up the hill a ways and get my saddle and things. See, one of the first rules a policeman learns is never to leave any equipment for the enemy. Now I'll be right up there." Myles pointed to where Major lay. "I want you to climb up this ladder and keep a good eye out for anything moving. If you see anything at all, you holler to me, get down fast, and run in the
barn."
Danny scrambled up the ladder, agile as a cat. Myles ran up the hillside. Major lay on his side, and it took a great deal of effort to release the saddle from underneath the horse's body. Myles had to use his knife and cut away the stirrup that was trapped under Major's side before he could heave it free.
He placed a hand on the horse's head in a final goodbye. Major had been a fine, faithful mount.
He carried saddle, saddlebags, medical bag, and bedroll down the hill again.
"You're a good sentry, son." Danny came down the ladder and helped carry some of the load into the barn.
Myles opened up his bedroll and wrapped it around Missy, putting his tunic back on. He took out the buckskin coat he carried in his saddlebags and held it for Danny.
"Best put this on so you don't freeze."
Danny shoved his arms into the sleeves. They hung down a good eight inches over his fingers. Myles wrapped the coat around the boy and used the tie from his bedroll as a belt. He turned the sleeves up as much as possible.
Myles felt as if he'd been here for endless hours already, but he knew it was only a couple of hours past noon. His brain flew from one thing to the next, trying to figure out a plan that might save his own life and those of the two children.
He had no doubt that sooner or later, the Indians would return to collect their dead. Somehow, he had to get these children out of here and back to the fort as fast as possible. If there'd been six rampaging Indians on the warpath, chances were good there were many more out there.
In daylight, Myles and the children would be easy targets on the open prairie. Their only chance for survival was to travel at night—but nights were still icy cold, and Myles was without a horse. On foot, the children might the of exposure before they ever reached the fort. Silently, Myles cursed Rob's mount—the horse was young and spooky, and there was little chance of it coming back the way Major would have done in similar circumstances.
Making his way back to the fort on foot with two small children in the black of night was next to impossible. He desperately needed a means of transportation.
Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle Page 29