The Third Riel Conspiracy

by Stephen Legault

  “What do you mean?”

  “Several of the young women in our camp had been . . . hurt by this man. I wish now that I had killed him when I had the chance.”

  “So six years pass, and you find yourself in Batoche?”

  “When Wake left, a new agent arrived and we were allowed to leave and come here. We have been hunting in these woods and plains ever since. There are no buffalo, but there are deer and bear. We have some cattle. We have made peace with our half-blood brothers and with the Cree.”

  “But then the Métis rebelled.”

  “We wanted no part of it, but Dumont told us we had to fight or we would be sent back to America and hung. He ran off our cattle and told us the only way we would be given food was if we killed the soldiers. Several of the young men took up with White Cloud to fight.”

  “And then Reuben Wake appeared.”

  “I recognized him at once. It was on the second day of the fighting. My brother-in-law and I had hid for much of the first day. The second day was quiet and Dumont sent us to scout the enemy camp. We snuck past your soldiers and got inside the camp.”

  “How?”

  “It was easy. We climbed over your crates and crawled past sleeping soldiers. Wake was with the horses. He was laughing. My brother stopped me from killing him. There were too many other men with him. We came back to report to Dumont.”

  “Did you return to kill Wake?” asked Durrant. Iron Crow shook his head. “You didn’t come back to the camp on the last day of fighting to finish what you should have all those years ago?”

  “No, I did not. You see, Sergeant, I am sick. I lost my will, seeing Wake tending to the horses and laughing at a man’s joke. The fighting on the third and fourth day threatened to overrun Batoche, and our camp. I stayed behind to protect my family.”

  “You didn’t leave the camp at all during the last two days of the battle?”

  Iron Crow was quiet for a moment. Durrant watched the play of light on his face. “On the final day, I went down along the river to see if I could find once more a chance to exact my revenge on Wake. But I could not. There were too many soldiers.”

  “How far along the river did you get?”

  “To a place just below the soldiers’ camp.”

  “Can you recall what time of day?”

  “It was in the afternoon, as the soldiers were coming into Batoche.”

  “Did you see anybody else there along the river?”

  “There was nobody else there.”

  “If you had gotten into the camp, how would you have killed Wake?”

  Iron Crow watched Durrant for a long time. “I would have used my tomahawk. It would have been most painful.”

  THIRTEEN

  SEVEN SUSPECTS

  IT WAS LATE IN THE afternoon when the four men made the return trip. “I think we had best keep our suspicions to ourselves,” concluded Durrant, “for the sake of peace and for the safety of those people.”

  “You believe that Iron Crow might be involved in Wake’s death?” asked Garnet.

  “He’s not above suspicion, but he is not my prime suspect. It seems as if men are tripping over themselves to confess their hatred for Wake. The range of motives is astonishing.

  “Terrance La Biche certainly had means, motive, and opportunity,” said Durrant. “He had Wake’s pistol, but we shall need to spend more time with Mr. La Biche, if we can get close enough. He has motive for certain. He was on the verge of revealing it when Sub-Inspector Dickenson spirited him away.”

  “You think it’s possible La Biche might have found enough time to rummage around Wake’s wagon for a murder weapon?” asked Saul.

  “It might have been pure luck that led him there. Maybe he had the meat hatchet and was searching for Wake when he found the pistol and decided to use it instead.”

  “What motivates a killer is likely to influence their choice of weapon,” explained Saul. “I’ve been participating in a conversation, held entirely through correspondence, with some of my learned colleagues on this matter. A man motivated by hatred that is personal chooses a means that brings him into contact with his victim. He wants the satisfaction of feeling the man beneath his weapon. Strangulation is the most intimate of killing methods, and stabbing or butchering comes close behind it. Poisoning is the most remote. Shooting a man, even at point-blank range, is a little more detached.”

  Durrant considered this for a moment. His recent conversation with Iron Crow came to mind: the Dakota Sioux man had said he would have killed Wake with his tomahawk. “So a man whose hatred is political, say, or even ideological, might not feel the same vehemence and choose a more distant method of killing?”

  “That’s why political assassinations are often done by poison or with a pistol,” said Saul.

  They rode a moment in silent contemplation of the doctor’s revelations. “Terrance La Biche isn’t the only man who has confessed his ill will.” Durrant indicated the silent rectory as they rode past its bullet-riddled eastern wall. “Even the good Father Lefèbvre has confessed to an unnatural hatred for this man Wake.”

  “Any man is capable of murder. A dedication to God has not kept men from massacring one another over the long arc of history,” Garnet stated.

  “Father Lefèbvre could come and go in the zareba as he saw fit,” said Durrant. “And if he had gotten to know him over the time that Wake was here in Batoche, it is possible that he may have known where this man kept his pistol. I would say that the priest is not above any of this.

  “I suppose, given that there are Métis loyal to the Dominion in the service of General Middleton, it is conceivable that Mr. Lambert could have made his way into the zareba with only nominal disguise—”

  “Yes, say as a tradesman or even acting as a teamster—” Saul interjected.

  “—and therefore found his opportunity. Then, wishing to atone for his sins, he compounded them by attempting to take his own life.” The zareba had come into view as the four rode and talked. Durrant pulled up on the reins and they stopped in the road. “Iron Crow has told me that on the twelth of May, as the town was being overrun, he returned to the zareba. He claims not to have been able to get past the sentries.”

  “How is it that he was able to infiltrate our compound just days before, but not on the final day, when most of the soldiers were rushing the field?” asked Tommy Provost, breaking his silence.

  “It’s a good question, Staff Sergeant. What I also found interesting was that he made no mention of seeing Mr. Lambert on the banks of the river. He says that this was his path, but Lambert was nowhere to be seen.”

  “It’s possible that Lambert was farther along the bank from where the Sioux traversed,” suggested Saul.

  “It’s possible that while Iron Crow was entangled in our pickets, Mr. Lambert was dispatching Mr. Wake. That’s why he didn’t see him,” added Durrant.

  “Among those we have discussed here, the Sioux man seems the least likely to have committed the murder,” said Garnet.

  “And why is that?” asked Durrant.

  “I simply don’t think the man physically capable.”

  “Just because he is of diminished physical stature,” said Saul, “doesn’t mean he could not have taken Wake by surprise.”

  “He did admit an ability to steal into the zareba unseen,” said Durrant. “But he told me that he would have used his tomahawk on Wake, and I believed him.”

  “What about Dickenson?” asked Garnet.

  “I should dearly love to find him responsible for this crime, but I simply can’t see it,” Durrant confessed. “He is involved in this debacle somehow, but I don’t think he killed Wake. He didn’t have the opportunity. Sub-Inspector Dickenson was indeed on the charge down the Mission Ridge at the moment Reuben Wake was dispatched. He was back in time to take charge once La Biche was in irons.”

  “He could have killed the man before he rode from the compound,” said Saul. “It was chaos, and he might have had time, given that Wake was
killed so close to the stables.”

  “I won’t discount your theory,” Durrant said. “What might have been his motivation?”

  “I have no idea, Durrant. I’m a doctor; I’ll leave the matter of motive to the lot of you.”

  “So there you have it,” Garnet summarized. “La Biche, Lefèbvre, Lambert, Iron Crow, and possibly Sub-Inspector Dickenson. Five men who could have killed Reuben Wake.”

  “Not so fast, Garnet,” said Durrant. He had his left hand resting gently on the pommel. “Five is a good beginning, but one thing I have learned is not to discount the obvious. There is another man who seems to be entangled in this that we cannot overlook: the newspaperman, Block. Mr. Block has a long relationship with Wake. I need to learn more of this. He came and went throughout the camp freely, so there was every opportunity.”

  “Is there anyone else you suspect?”asked Saul.

  “Jasper Dire,” Durrant replied.

  “He arrested La Biche. He found the weapon,” Saul protested.

  “Who better to surreptitiously plant the same?” asked Durrant.

  “None, I suppose,” admitted Saul.

  “Why not simply arrest the whole field force?” asked Garnet.

  “It may come to that. The trouble, dear friends, is that as yet there is no investigation, and I have no authority.”

  “When have you ever let a simple matter of authority stand between you and an inquiry, Durrant?” asked Provost.

  “Not often, I will confess.”

  “And so how do we proceed?” asked Garnet.

  Tommy Provost let out a short grunt at this question. “Remember, gentleman, as Durrant said, you have no authority to investigate anything here. I fear that you may be treading on ground you are not welcome on.”

  “A man’s life is at stake, and another man is dead, and as a Mounted Police officer I have an obligation, regardless of the circumstances, to investigate.” Durrant looked toward the zareba. “I suggest we proceed carefully. I shall take it upon myself to ascertain the whereabouts of the murder weapon itself. Something might be gained through its examination. Both Dickenson and Dire have told me that the weapon had been discharged twice.” Durrant turned to the doctor. “You examined the body of Reuben Wake. How many times was he shot?”

  “Once that I saw, but my examination could not be taken for a post-mortem assessment.”

  “Unless the killer missed on his first shot, or deliberately wounded Wake first, say with a bullet to the knee, then where did the second round go? Did the killer miss at point-blank range?”

  Garnet held up a hand. “He didn’t miss. He misfired!”

  “That is a fair likelihood,” agreed Durrant, “and another reason to examine the Colt.”

  “And what of the body?” asked the doctor.

  “If it’s been committed to the river, as we suspect, then we may never have the chance to learn its secrets.”

  FOURTEEN

  PHYSICAL EVIDENCE

  THEIR ARRIVAL BACK AT THE zareba did not go unnoticed. Sub-Inspector Dickenson met them at the stables. He had three other men with him, all in the plain dress of the militia that had been assembled out of Regina. Tommy Provost had already gone, leaving Saul, Garnet, and Durrant to face Dickenson alone. Durrant was unsaddling his horse when Dickenson stepped before him. “I’ll have a word with you, Wallace.”

  “You’ll have a mouth full of saddle if you don’t stand down, sir. I’m not as steady on my feet as I once was.”

  “I’ve learned that you and your fellows here have raided our stores to give comfort to the enemy. My scouts have followed your actions. I’ll have you in shackles for that.”

  As Durrant swung the saddle up onto the sideboard of a buckboard wagon to dry, he missed Dickenson’s head by a few inches. The officer took a step backwards. “Sub-Inspector, the food, medicine, and blankets were drawn with the permission of General Middleton himself and taken from the surplus that arrived in the care of the Surveyors Intelligence Corps, with whom Mr. Moberly is lieutenant. The medicine was drawn from Doctor Armatage’s stores, which he purchased with his own resources before leaving Regina.”

  “You have given comfort to those who wished to harm and kill members of the field force.”

  Durrant leaned against the wagon and regarded Dickenson coolly. The man was red in the face. Behind him, the three militiamen stood with arms crossed. Several wore pistols in their belts. Durrant was aware of Garnet’s careful positioning, his back to a wagon. A fight with these men in such close quarters had to be avoided, for their own sake.

  “White Cloud, who took up arms, is on the run, and I have no doubt he’ll be hunted down and put to trial,” said Dickenson.

  “Your time on the force may be too short to know this, Sub-Inspector, but those of us who made the March West were ordered to make peace, not war, with the Sioux, the Assiniboine, the Cree, and the Blackfoot. That’s what we did. This is the Dominion of Canada. Need I remind you of that?” The words felt strange coming out of Durrant Wallace’s mouth; he had been reminded of this very fact while settling scores with his fists or pistol many times over the course of his career. “I find your presence here very curious, Sub-Inspector,” he continued. “Such strong emotions surrounding this venture, and all of it seemingly directed toward me and my questions about Reuben Wake.”

  “What is curious is your insistence on interfering with this matter, Wallace. It’s none of your business. You have no standing.”

  “As a member of the North West Mounted Police, my interest is in justice. I simply wish to ensure Mr. Wake’s demise is given the full benefit of our policing powers.”

  “And so it has. A man is in shackles. The matter is closed. He shall stand trial, and hang, and that will be the end of it.”

  Durrant could feel Garnet Moberly standing completely still and alert a few feet from his side. Saul Armatage shuffled uncomfortably. “Tell me, Dickenson”—Durrant dropped the respectful title of the man’s rank—“what is it that you are hiding? What are you trying to mask with this façade of confidence about Terrance La Biche’s guilt in this killing?”

  “Not a goddamned thing, Wallace! You keep your nose out of this matter. You poke around in this, and you’ll likely as not end up like Wake himself.”

  At that, two of the men behind Dickenson took a step forward, and as fast as lightning Garnet drew his twin Webley revolvers and set their hammers at full cock. He aimed the pistols into the cluster of men behind Dickenson. One of the men made to reach for his revolver, but Durrant said loudly, “Stand down! All of you! Dickenson, you’ve threatened me for the last time. I suggest you and these ruffians take the first wagon train back to wherever you come from. You might outrank me, but I have the force of right on my side, and if you so much as lift a finger in the direction of my friends again, I’ll see to it that the force throws you in leg irons.”

  A moment passed and then Dickenson began to laugh. “We shall see, Wallace, who it is in irons at the end of this affair.” He turned and said, “Lads, we’ll have our fun soon enough.” All four men left the confines of the wagons, sneering and looking back over their shoulders.

  Garnet deftly holstered his pistols. Durrant looked at Saul, who had broken into a sweat despite the chill.

  “What do you say we find some dinner, gentlemen?” suggested Durrant.

  “I’m a mite peckish.” Garnet patted his stomach.

  THE MUCH-NEEDED PHYSICAL evidence in the mystery surrounding Reuben Wake came the next morning on the bow of the steamer Northcote. The surveyors patrolling along the river could clearly see a body laid out on the bow deck of the steamer and reported the news to Garnet. Garnet alerted Saul and Durrant, and the three of them rode down to the ferry crossing. A crush of men were taking in supplies. Durrant made his way through the throng and stepped onto the deck of the boat. The captain of the Northcote received them.

  “Captain, I’m Sergeant Durrant Wallace of the North West Mounted Police.”

  “Y
es, Sergeant. Very good. I’m glad you’re here. We found a body floating in the river, maybe twenty miles downstream. It was caught up on a log boom.”

  “Recently dead?”

  “I’m no expert, but I believe so.”

  “Let’s have a look, shall we, Doctor?” Durrant turned to Saul, who stepped forward. The main wheelhouse of the Northcote concealed them from the view of the men unloading crates from the steamer. Saul stepped to the body wrapped in tarps and squatted beside it. “I don’t expect this will be a pretty sight if he’s been in the river for these many days. Thank goodness it’s May and not July.” Saul turned to Garnet. “Here, lend a hand, will you please?” The two of them gingerly pulled back the tarp. Durrant and the captain looked on.

  “Blue Jesus,” muttered Durrant at the sight of the cadaver’s face. The eyes of the man had been pecked out; only remnants of the gelatinous orbs remained. His hair fell in thin, tattered patches across his forehead. His face was bloated and white, but there was, very clearly, a half-inch-wide hole in the side of the head, near the temple.

  “Any doubt that this is Reuben Wake?” asked Durrant.

  “No,” said Saul. “I would say not. I’d say by the look of him that he has been in the water since his corpse was removed from the zareba on the twelfth. You see his skin? It’s developed cutis anserine.”

  “In English, Doctor?” said Durrant.

  “Gooseflesh. Pimpling of the skin.”

  “Let’s get this body under cover and find a place where you can do your work, Doctor.”

  FIFTEEN

  THE CONTENTS OF THE CRANIUM

  “WE’LL HAVE TO MAKE THIS quick. Before you know it, Dickenson and his thugs will set upon us and we’ll have to fight just to complete an autopsy on this corpse.” Durrant peered around the deck of the steamer. “Can we load him into that pushcart and make for Batoche? We’ll find a place there for the doctor to do his work.”