The Third Riel Conspiracy Read online

“I’ll just stand watch.”

  “A spot of breakfast might return some feeling to my fingers and toes,” the young man conceded.

  “Hurry along.”

  The constable disappeared toward the mess. Durrant pulled himself up onto the seat of the wagon. Terrance La Biche was not there.

  Durrant stepped down into the back of the covered buckboard. There was a set of chains for securing a prisoner, and a worn grey blanket was curled up in one corner. Durrant put his hand on the blanket. It felt warm to the touch, but he could not decide if that was simply the feel of the heavy wool or if it had been slept in and cast aside just recently.

  He was holding the blanket in his hands when he looked up to see a face regarding him from behind the wagon. He instinctively put his left hand on his Enfield. It was Sub-Inspector Dickenson.

  “I heard that you were a little jumpy, Wallace. Going to throw down on me?” The sub-inspector was grinning.

  Durrant straightened. “Where is Mr. La Biche?”

  “I think you are forgetting that I am a superior officer, Sergeant.”

  “Where is Mr. La Biche, sir?”

  Dickenson laughed. “He’s being attended to by Middleton’s physician at the present moment. He seems to have come down with something of the flu.”

  “Sleeping out without a blanket will do that.”

  “As you can see, he has been furnished with one.”

  Durrant stepped down from the wagon and faced Dickenson. “You knew I was coming to speak with this man. You’ve moved him so that I can’t question him.”

  Dickenson laughed. “Sergeant, you really do believe that there is some kind of malfeasance afoot, don’t you? The simple fact is that this man was caught red-handed trying to kill Reuben Wake.”

  “He told me yesterday about his encounter with Wake at Fish Creek.” Durrant tossed the blanket back into the wagon.

  “He readily admits that his aim was to kill Reuben Wake, Wallace.”

  “What a man does in the heat of battle and what he does in cold calculation are two different things, Sub-Inspector. The facts don’t add up to justify this man’s arrest for murder. Charge him with conspiracy, if you must, but I believe that the real killer is still afoot, and may be still within our camp. There is too much that is circumspect to simply open and shut this case.”

  “You are deluding yourself, Sergeant. The matter is plain to see. La Biche freely admits to his effort at Fish Creek. He has told you that he was under the command of General Dumont when his forces ambushed us at Fish Creek on April 24. I was there. I saw it occur.”

  “Surely you confuse an act of war with attempted murder.”

  “No, Wallace, it is you who is confused. It was no act of war. This man who you seem to think is innocent, when seeing Wake holding fast to a team of quarter horses and carts, broke away from the fighting and on his own flanked our position. He took up a post high above the fray and took aim to do Mr. Wake in. I saw this with my very eyes. Had my company not fired a volley into the grass where he lay taking a bead, Mr. Wake would not have survived the Battle of Fish Creek, and would now be with the ten brave loyalists who were buried in that coulee.”

  Durrant pondered this information. He compared Dickenson’s version of the Battle of Fish Creek with the tale told by Terrance La Biche. That the man wanted Wake dead and tried to kill him during the battle was obvious, but that Dickenson had witnessed this act and had previously said nothing seemed suspect.

  “By La Biche’s own account we know that he wanted Reuben Wake dead, Sub-Inspector. That is not in question. What is in question is whether he, or some other person, delivered the fatal shot here, in the zareba. While I do not doubt the veracity of your claim, there are others who had cause to see Wake murdered, and your interference in my efforts to unearth these other motives is very curious indeed. What is your stake in this matter? Why are you so determined to hold La Biche for this crime?”

  Dickenson laughed. It was a harsh, staccato sound and it made Durrant think about a caged animal. “Sergeant Wallace, the only interference that I am posing is to your unauthorized and unbecoming intrusion into a case of murder you have no right to investigate. I suggest that if you wish to keep your stripes you go back to Fort Calgary at once. Maybe there you can find some gentle undertaking that won’t tax your handicaps and result in you being ousted from the force.” Dickenson’s laughter trailed off and he fixed Wallace with a dark stare. “If you’re not careful to mind your own business, Sergeant, you may find yourself knocked down to the rank of private before this campaign is through.”

  Dickenson strode off, leaving Durrant standing alone. It was time to investigate Sub-Inspector Dickenson’s role in the death of Reuben Wake.

  SEVEN

  SINS OF THE FATHER

  MAY 15, 1885.

  They walked out the half-mile between the zareba and the cemetery on the Mission Ridge, overlooking the town of Batoche. It was early in the afternoon and the sky was light and there were birds flying through the groves of aspens in small flocks, dodging this way and that, all together as if one giant synchronized creature.

  “We’re not going to find him here.” Garnet had his Martini-Henry over his shoulder and was aware that several of the Métis loyal to Riel had not been caught, including Gabriel Dumont.

  “If we don’t look here, then we can’t eliminate it as a possibility.” Durrant’s voice betrayed his own resolution that the body of Reuben Wake would not be discovered in the cemetery on the Mission Ridge.

  “It’s a nice afternoon for a walk,” said Saul, breathing deeply. “With the exception of a few hours on the last day of fighting when I set up a field station in the village, I haven’t been outside of the zareba.”

  Garnet looked at him and said, “Marvellous country, this Saskatchewan Territory. Completely understandable why the Métis didn’t want to give up their access to the Saskatchewan River. Without it, it would be tough to farm. Here we are,” he said as they came upon the church.

  “Looks like the mission didn’t entirely miss the sting of battle.” Durrant pointed with his cane at the corner of the building, where it had been raked by the Gatling gun on the first day of the struggle. The three men turned south at the church and followed a path down through a small ravine and up onto the plateau where the cemetery was cloistered, overlooking a broad bend in the South Saskatchewan River.

  “Not a bad view if you have to suffer it for eternity,” said Saul.

  Durrant noted that the fence had been demolished and several of the headstones knocked to the ground during the fray. He set one right.

  “Any sign of recent activity?” Durrant asked. Both of his companions shook their heads. “Let’s look around in the trees. If someone was to bury our man Wake, and wanted to do it in secret, then it’s unlikely that they’d line him up in a plot all neat and tidy.”

  The three men fanned out and searched through the woods. They found no evidence of recent digging except for several Métis rifle pits, each pocked and scarred by the heavy fire from the Dominion soldiers who had attacked along this bluff.

  “No sign, Durrant,” said Saul.

  “His corpse could be just about anywhere,” conceded Garnet.

  Durrant looked at his two friends. “What are we to make of this disappearance?”

  “It’s bloody well odd,” said Garnet. “The man’s not been dead for thirty-six hours and someone has spirited away with his cadaver.”

  “It’s certainly not normal battlefield procedure, and despite him being in charge of the horses, he would have been given a proper burial by the Dominion. Middleton won’t be happy. He stands on ceremony.”

  “Would he have been taken back to Regina?” asked Durrant.

  “Unlikely, unless someone did it clandestinely. There has been no official movement south since before the ninth of May. If someone did take him that way, it’s for reasons passing my understanding,” said Saul.

  “Why would someone abscond with the corpse of
Reuben Wake? With the case supposedly open and shut against our Mr. La Biche, why disappear with the body?” asked Durrant.

  “Someone has something to hide, lads,” said Garnet.

  “We need to find out who, and what,” concluded Durrant.

  IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON when they walked back through the ravine and up the hill toward the rectory. They had missed the midday meal, and they were ready to retire to the zareba for a brief rest before resuming their inquiry when the door to the church burst open and a man in black robes came toward them. Garnet and Durrant each had their rifles aimed at the man before he could take two steps. Durrant held his Winchester 73 short-barrelled rifle with one hand. “Hold fast!” he called, and the man in black came to a stop, his face white and his eyes as big as saucers.

  “State your business!” Garnet held his weapon easily against his shoulder, his face relaxed as he took careful aim.

  “My business is God,” said the man, holding out his arms in a gesture of supplication.

  “If you are armed you’ll have the privilege of meeting him,” said Durrant, lowering the Winchester. “Step forward. Who are you?”

  “My name is Father André Lefèbvre. I am a priest. I am assigned to the mission at St. Laurent, up that trail.” He pointed over his shoulder at the track that headed north through La Jolie Prairie. “I am here in Batoche as I often am to minister to the Métis.”

  “Have you been here through the fighting?” Durrant asked, as Garnet lowered his rifle.

  “I have, and for several weeks before. These are my people, and I had to watch over them.”

  “What can we do for you? You seem agitated, Father Lefèbvre,” said Durrant.

  “I got word that there were men in the woods robbing graves, so I meant to come out and put a stop to such wickedness.”

  “We’re not grave robbers. We were searching for a recent burial, but we didn’t find what we were looking for.”

  “The Métis are to be buried in a common grave over on the plain.” The priest pointed toward the cemetery. He turned back to look at Durrant. “Who is it that you are looking for?”

  Durrant looked at Saul and then at Garnet. “We’re looking for a man who was murdered on the last day of fighting in the field force’s encampment. His name was Reuben Wake.” At the mention of the name the priest’s face went pale, and he crossed himself. “You know this man?” asked Durrant, stepping forward.

  “Que le Seigneur ait pitié! God have mercy on my soul. I know this man. He was the devil himself.”

  THEY SAT IN the church, the three inquisitors on a bench that had most recently been used as a gurney for the wounded, and Father Lefèbvre on their right. The room was warm and smelled of incense and pine. Though none said it, it felt good to be indoors and warm.

  Durrant studied the priest. He guessed the man to be seventy, though he looked healthy. “Tell us about this man, the one you call the devil,” commanded Durrant.

  “He was as Lucifer,” said the priest, shaking his head and clasping his hands before himself.

  “So you say, but in what manner?”

  The priest drew a deep breath. “I don’t know how much I should tell you, to be honest. You are a Mounted Policeman, are you not? You have Terrance La Biche in chains. Mr. La Biche was a parishioner of mine, and a friend. He is a good man, honest and God-fearing, and I don’t wish to impugn him with my words.”

  Durrant leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs. He looked up at the priest. “Father, Mr. La Biche has told me that on May the ninth he allowed himself to be captured for the sole purpose of entering the zareba of the Dominion Field Force to kill Reuben Wake.” The priest sat back and shook his head. “Do you doubt the veracity of my claim?”

  “No. No, I do not.”

  “What I have not told you, sir, is that he insists that while he had every intention of killing Mr. Wake, he did not get his chance.”

  “He says that someone beat him to it,” said Saul.

  “What can you tell us that might support Mr. La Biche’s story?” asked Durrant.

  “Reuben Wake had many sins,” the priest began. “He has been a man of trickery, evil deeds, and many crimes over his sixty years. Mr. La Biche has known of this man’s foul nature for much of the last twenty years, but alas, La Biche is new to our congregation, and to Batoche, and so we have not had the benefit of his long history with this man to guide us. Despite this long list of complaints against Wake, I believe that it is the man’s most recent act of deception and evil that would cause Mr. La Biche to wish to end his life.

  “When Gabriel Dumont went to Sun River last May to call back his leader to advocate for the rights of the Métis, he took but a few trusted men with him. These were men who had been in the service of his cause for many years. The preparations were arduous, but when it came time to leave, the teamster for the journey could not be found. They searched everywhere, but he had disappeared.

  “With time running short and other matters pressing on their minds, another man was asked to serve the mission. This was a man who had been in and around our community for some time, but that few in this area knew well. This was Reuben Wake.

  “At the time, we knew him as a driver and agent who brought goods by wagon train to Batoche from Regina. He had proven himself trustworthy, and Dumont, in need of a man to handle the stock on the overland journey, brought this man into the fold for the mission to return Riel to the North West.

  “Dumont and the others had more pressing concerns than the lineage of the teamster tending the horses: how they would get back and forth across the border, if the Red Coats . . . if the Mounted Police would allow their passage, and what response they would get when they finally met with Riel in Montana. He had been in exile all these years. A schoolteacher, with a family! They never suspected that they had signed on an agent of the enemy whose sole purpose was to undermine their efforts, both in convincing Riel and in securing safe passage.”

  “Did they learn of Wake’s true purpose?” Saul’s excitement was apparent.

  “Not until it was too late. They got as far as Sun River before they learned of Wake’s ploy.”

  “What happened in Sun River?” asked Durrant.

  “I’m not sure. Those who returned have vowed not to speak of it.”

  “Wake did not return to Batoche after that?” asked Durrant.

  “No! All I know is that Riel and the others returned, and Wake was never seen here again, until he arrived with the Dominion soldiers. There were rumours . . .”

  “What sort of rumours?”

  “I don’t know. Whispers, really, that something happened while Wake was in Sun River. But none have spoken of it. Terrance La Biche came to live among us late in July and he told us the story of Wake’s long history of evil stretching to a time when Wake was an Indian Agent on the Dakota reserve. He had violent ways in Winnipeg and Regina.”

  “You don’t know what might have transpired in Sun River, Father?”

  “All I know is that Wake was apart from the mission to return Riel for some time, and when the party rode north with the prophet, Wake was no longer among them. Dumont never spoke of it, nor did the others.”

  Durrant sat up straight. “Is it possible, Father, that you take sides with La Biche and his fellow Métis because of how close you have come to be with them?”

  “It is true, Sergeant, that I have come to love these people and can relate to their struggle. Time will tell if what has happened here on the banks of the Saskatchewan will mean anything to the future of this young nation. It may not. It may have all been in vain. If I were not a man of the cloth who viewed murder as a mortal sin against God, I may have walked into your zareba and killed Wake myself!”

  The church was silent a moment, the words of Lefèbvre leaving the holy space completely still. There was a shout on the road outside the church that startled each of the men from their amazement. Durrant stood and went to the door. The priest was right behind him. In the fading light o
f the afternoon a small caravan of troops could be seen moving up through the forest from the village toward the church.

  “Dear Lord, no!” said the father.

  “What is it?” asked Garnet, moving behind the men in the doorway.

  The priest broke from the portal and rushed to where the road lay. The column of troops passed. With them was a man with long, wavy hair, his beard in disarray but his stride measured and purposeful. The prisoner turned to regard the priest who was rushing toward him. He held up his hand in a gesture of greeting. The priest reached out and took the man’s hand and kissed his fingers, and then, after he had passed, dropped to the ground to weep, his face buried in his hands.

  “What the hell is going on?” Saul was behind them and could not see the road.

  “It’s Riel. He’s been captured,” said Garnet.

  EIGHT

  THE FIRST CONSPIRACY REVEALED

  MAY 16, 1885. BATOCHE.

  It was six o’clock when reveille was sounded in the camp. While the Battle of Batoche was won and the Métis defeated, Big Bear of the Plains Cree was still on the march. He held a dozen prisoners taken from Fort Pitt and Frog Lake who had to be rescued. General Middleton had given orders. In just a few days’ time, the Dominion Field Force would break camp and begin to march toward Fort Pitt, where they would rendezvous with General Strange’s Alberta Field Force and Sam Steele’s Scouts. Before they could decamp, there was still much to be done to secure the township around Batoche and ensure that the Métis were hunted down and brought to trial.

  As Durrant awoke, his first thought was, Where is Terrance La Biche? For two days now, Sub-Inspector Dickenson had been spiriting La Biche around the encampment, keeping him from plain sight. Soon the prisoner would be sent south along the trail to Regina. Durrant knew that if he was to have any chance to question the man again, it would be during this period of upheaval while the next phase of the campaign was planned. Durrant wondered, too, about Jacques Lambert, the Métis man who had been captured and was now being held in the hospital with cuts on his wrists. While all of his fellows had fled as the fighting came to a close, this man had been caught on the banks of the Saskatchewan below the zareba.