The Third Riel Conspiracy (12 page)

“Mr. Lambert, I know you have suffered a terrible blow, but I must ask you a question. Did you find a way into the zareba, make your way to Wake, use his pistol, kill him, return to the river, and cut your own wrists?”

Lambert looked at Durrant. “If I had killed him, I would have gone to my family and told them immediately. If I had been able to dispatch this beast, I would have gladly declared it to the world. My only crime is not having avenged my family's disgrace.”

Durrant stood up, pressing hard on the cane as he did. Now there were three men who would have gladly killed Reuben Wake, all proclaiming their regret for not having been able to do it.

WHEN THEY RETURNED
to the zareba, Durrant and Saul returned Mr. Lambert to the infirmary and instructed a member of the North West Field Force that he was not to be allowed to leave without Durrant's consent. They quickly went in search of Garnet Moberly and found him with other members of the Surveyors Intelligence Corps, preparing for the evening meal. “Ah, Durrant, and the good Doctor Armatage, you must both join us for supper.” About thirty men sat around a roaring blaze. They wore no uniforms but instead bore the dress of men accustomed to living and working in rugged country: sturdy boots and heavy coats. Each had a rifle leaning on a leg or close at hand, and several had pistols tucked into their belts.

Garnet stood on a crate of tinned meat and introduced, with some rhetorical flourish, the company's two guests. The surveyors clapped and hurrahed and then tin plates were passed to the men. Durrant tucked in and looked at Garnet. “This is not the bully beef we've grown accustomed to. This isn't from the main cook tent, is it?”

“No, sir! My Mr. Jimmy has been serving as company cook and steward since we assembled with Wheeler this last month.”

“Luckiest company of soldiers in the field force.” Saul ate appreciatively.

“Let us tell you what we have learned,” said Durrant.

“Excellent,” said Garnet, “and I have news for you, but I'm afraid it complicates matters further.”

“I should expect nothing less,” said Durrant. He shared his information with Garnet.

“That sounds eerily like the confession of Terrance La Biche,” said Garnet. “It would seem that few who knew this man Wake did not wish him dead.”

Durrant continued. “It turns out that after Mr. Lambert was confined to the infirmary for his self-inflicted wounds, he actually laid eyes on the deceased man, only to witness two men carting him off, supposedly for burial.”

“Might he identify these men?”

“He may. We've posted a watch and will continue our conversation with the man in the coming days. Now, what news do you bring?”

“These good fellows have been charged with being my eyes and ears about the camp and through the surrounding country. I trust them and they are careful observers,” said Garnet, regarding the surveyors. “Word has come to my ears this afternoon that there is a small encampment of Dakota Indians on the western bank of the river. These were men cajoled into fighting in Dumont's army after he hazed off their livestock and browbeat them to take up arms. They did little in the way of actual fighting, and most fled when the going got hot, but I have learned that there is one man who also had a history with Reuben Wake.”

“Good Lord Almighty, is there no man in the North West Territories that Wake did not cross?”

“It seems that Wake was an Indian Agent some four years ago, and at the time committed some grievous wrongs against the Dakota, including one of the warriors in this particular band. That man is still in the camp.”

Durrant put down his plate. “I suppose come first light we shall have to inquire about a ferry.”

TWELVE

MAY 17, 1885.

Durrant woke to the sound of birdsong. He rose, affixed his prosthetic, and gathered his greatcoat about him as he went in search of coffee and something that might pass as breakfast. The zareba was noticeably quieter. Nearly one third of the twelve hundred men had marched west the previous day. Within an hour, he, Garnet Moberly, and Saul Armatage were warming their hands by a small fire.

“I think it best if just we three visit the Dakota camp,” said Garnet. “The lads from the survey corps would gladly come along, but I don't think it would serve our cause.”

“I aim to make our presence there about more than just this inquiry.” The doctor finished his coffee and tapped his cup out on a rock next to the fire. “I'll be bringing some medicine and will ensure that those who are willing are doctored.”

“It's a good idea, Saul,” said Durrant. “Maybe Garnet and I might see if we can liberate any of the cook's biscuits and beans and offer them as a means of easing hunger and suspicion. I'll ask Tommy Provost to help secure some of these supplies. He has an air of authority about him.”

Garnet smirked. “I'm not certain that those biscuits would be considered a peace offering. More like a declaration of war.”

Durrant found Provost and by nine o'clock the four men, along with a fifth horse loaded with supplies, were riding out of the zareba. They rode through the town and were greeted with suspicion and contempt by the Métis, who were hard at work repairing holes in roofs and walls.

“Jacques Lambert told us yesterday of the starvation among the Métis, Cree, and Dakota,” said Durrant.

“The Queen, upon signing the treaties with these people, promised them relief from famine. In the direst of circumstances, it was promised that stores would be brought in from the east,” said Saul, “but still these people starve. The bison were hunted to extinction, and the agents who were to provide lessons in farming have failed to do so. They are more interested in keeping what they can for themselves.”

Provost seemed uncomfortable with the subject matter. He stood stiffly next to his mount and looked down at this boots.

“You told us yesterday that Reuben Wake was an Indian Agent,” said Durrant to Saul.

“He was. I can well imagine how he must have meted out both his knowledge and the stores to which he was entrusted.”

Provost cleared his throat. “These agents were to serve the Indians, not make their lives miserable.”

“I'm afraid that human nature breeds its share of malfeasance,” said Saul.

The ferry was nearing the eastern shore of the Saskatchewan, and the four stepped up their mounts. When the rig was ashore, they pressed the animals forward. Garnet spoke to the ferryman in French and they began to cross.

“You constantly astound me.” Durrant regarded his friend.

“How so, Sergeant Wallace?”

“You speak French?”

“Of course. After the trouble with the Zulu”—he put a gloved finger to the scar that ran down his face, dissecting his left eye—“I was asked to serve Her Majesty for two years as an assistant to the attaché in Côte d'Ivoire. I suppose I was a sort of bodyguard. Needless to say, French was a necessity.”

The men rode away from the river. In five minutes they were at the Dakota camp, where a dozen tipis were set back from the trail and surrounded by a grove of what would be gentle poplars later in the spring but were now the skeletal remains of winter. The four men slowed their approach. Several mange-stricken dogs advanced from the camp.

A pair of men emerged from the nearest tipi to greet them, pulling heavy buffalo robes around their shoulders. They were cradling rifles in their arms as they approached the riders, who all swung down from their mounts. When the two Dakota men were before them, Garnet stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Do you speak English?”

“A little bit.” The first man offered his hand from under the robe. The naked arm looked thin, even emaciated, to the men. Saul's face grew sombre.

“We come with food and medicine,” said Garnet.

“My English name is Iron Crow—
Kangi Maza
in our own words. This is my brother-in-law, Stands-his-Ground. We are Dakota. Dumont and his Métis forced us to fight. Our cattle were run off. Now we have nothing.”

“We can help.” Durrant spoke in Sioux.

“You speak our language?” asked Iron Crow. Durrant noticed for the first time that Iron Crow had lost several of his teeth.

“I speak Lakota, in the Sioux tongue. I was stationed at Fort Walsh for many years. Although the dialects are different, we may understand one another a little bit. I am here to ask questions, because among you there is one who may help me understand a murder that I am . . . interested in. What we have brought with us we will leave whether or not there are answers. My friend, the doctor, would be happy to help anybody who might be ill.”

Iron Crow turned and looked at Stands-his-Ground. He spoke again in English. “As for the ill, that would be nearly all. As for your questions, ask what you like. I am the one who can tell you what you want to know. I will sit with you now.”

DURRANT WAS WELCOMED
into Iron Crow's tipi. There in the darkness were half a dozen other people. The space was warm and smelled faintly of leather. Heavy buffalo hides had been stretched out to create a comfortable floor. Iron Crow spoke in Dakota to the others in the tipi and asked them to leave.

Durrant spoke in the Lakota dialect of Souix as they gathered their robes about them and made for the door. “They can stay.”

“It is best. Some things should only be spoken between men.”

Durrant realized that there were only women in the tent, and wondered how many men were left in the encampment.

“Let us speak in English, so we might understand one another better. Please, sit,” said Iron Crow, and Durrant awkwardly lowered himself to the floor. “You are the one-legged Red Coat. I've heard your story. Did you catch the men who did this to you?”

“Not yet. But I haven't stopped looking.”

“That's the thing about you whites. You never stop looking. Our leader, White Cloud, fled when the soldiers stormed Batoche. I am an old man and did not do any real fighting. I just scouted. But I fear that the whites will not stop looking for someone to take their anger out on.”

“I can't promise you that Middleton's soldiers won't.”

“Most other whites would try to tell me a lie. They would say that nobody would harm my family if only I would tell them what they want to know.”

“I learned to parley with the Lakota in the Cypress Hills when they fled the Dakota Territory after Wounded Knee. Sam Steele told me never to lie. Never. I won't lie to you. Do you know who the man was who was murdered inside our camp?”

“He was the white man called Reuben Wake. Some years ago, when my people came to the Saskatchewan Territory, Mr. Wake was an Indian Agent in the Willow Valley, to the east of the Cypress Hills. We settled awhile there. We hoped to hunt but were told that we had to farm instead. Since the start of time, my people have been hunters moving with the seasons to follow the animals. Mr. Wake, and others, told us that we had to live in sod huts and grow crops. He told us that Macdonald would take care of us if we did. Some of us tried. When things didn't work, we decided that we had to move north to find game. Mr. Wake told us that we could not.

“He told us the good country in the Qu'Appelle Valley and along the Saskatchewan River was for the whites, and that the Métis had already been driven off. I was a younger man then, and stronger. When Wake told us this, we quarrelled. He told me that if my people didn't remain where we were, he would kill my family.” The fire popped and a cluster of sparks rose and circled toward the opening in the ceiling. “What could I do? I knew for him it was about money. He was stealing the money that he was supposed to use to buy food and blankets. We Sioux had fought for and lost our homes in America. Now we were going to lose our homes again? We had a council, and it was decided that we would wait for our own chance to live once again as we always have.”

“How did Wake take this news?”

“He put a knife to my throat and told me that if I rode to town he would kill my wife and my children. I could have killed him, but there were other whites in that place who believed we were savages. I waited. It seemed as if the waiting was the right thing to do, because the following year Wake left. It was only later I heard that he was filled with more evil than I could have known.”

“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.”