The Third Riel Conspiracy (24 page)

“Would you accompany me to the front of the coach please, sir?”

Durrant holstered the Enfield and reached down for his cane. He followed the porter, who was already walking down the aisle. Durrant reached out and grabbed the man's left arm. “Where is my travelling companion?”

The porter looked around at the men and woman in the first-class car. “She's in the water closet,” he whispered. “Please come this way.” Durrant felt a sense of relief. He allowed himself to be led down the aisle of the car to where the
WC
was located. The porter pulled him in close to the luggage, a few feet from the head.

“Is there a problem?” asked Durrant.

The porter's eyes seemed much too large, and sweat still glistened on his ebony skin. “Sir, there is
some
trouble.”

Durrant felt his pulse quicken. “What is it?” He looked around, his hand tightening on the handle of his cane.

“Well, you best be reading this.” The porter handed him a piece of folded paper. Durrant opened it. It was written in Charlene's hand.

Durrant. He has me. We are in the
WC
. He wants to talk with you. He has a gun and will kill me if you try to come in.

TWENTY-EIGHT

DURRANT TOOK THE ENFIELD IN
his left hand and used the head of his cane to rap on the door. He tapped quietly and then quickly stepped to the side. The porter watched from behind the adjacent storage locker.

There was no sound. Durrant looked at the porter, who nodded to indicate that this was the right door. Durrant knocked again. “It's Durrant Wallace.”

“Wallace,” said a deep, angry voice from behind the door.

“That's right.”

“I've got my wife in here.”

“Has she been harmed?”

“Not yet.”

“Will you let her go so you and I can talk?”

Durrant heard a laugh that sounded like the bark of a dog. “You must think I'm some kind of fool, Wallace. I ain't letting my wife out of my sight. Not ever again.”

Durrant looked around him. The space was quite small: he estimated only two feet between the door of the
WC
and the outside wall of the train—not a big-enough space in the lavatory for Charlene and her abductor be confined without being on top of one another. “Mr. Mason, how do I know that Charlene is all right?”

“She's
my
wife, Wallace.”

“How do I know that your wife is all right?”

The man laughed. “I'll let you say hello.”

There was rustling, and then he heard Charlene say, “Durrant, I'm all right.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine.”

“See?” said the man. “She's fine. Now, you and me are going to have a talk.”

“Charlene, do as he asks. Don't try to fight him.”

“Sage advice, Red Coat. I've got my pistol pressed to her forehead. She fights, she dies.”

“Why don't we put the pistol away?” said Durrant. “The train is liable to bump over a sleeper and you might make a terrible mistake.” He felt his hand tightening on his own weapon.

Durrant looked up to see a man making his way down the aisle to retrieve something from the storage locker. He motioned to the porter to cut him off. As the porter did so, the gentleman looked alarmed to see Durrant, pistol drawn, talking to the lavatory door. Within minutes, thought Durrant, everybody on this train is going to know what is happening here. “So let's talk.” His face was pressed close to the door.

“Why have you stolen my wife from me?”

“I haven't. Charlene and I are just friends, nothing more.”

“That's hogwash!” shouted Mason, and several of the passengers now turned in their seats to look. Durrant motioned for the porter. “That's complete and utter bullcrap!” Mason yelled again.

“I tell you, it's true. I've never so much as laid a hand on her. She's still very much your wife.”

“Then why she run off?” His voice was quieter now.

“I think you know why.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me that you were too hard on her.”

“That's a goddamned lie!” There was a sound like a fist hitting the door of the lavatory.

“Mr. Mason?” Durrant stepped back and raised his pistol.

“
What?
”

“We're just talking here. Have you hurt Charlene?”

There was a long silence. “No.”

“Please don't, sir. If you do, it will make things very difficult.”

“For who? For you?”

“And you, sir.”

Durrant looked away from the lavatory door. There were two dozen people crowded around the storage locker, all pressed together and staring wide-eyed at him. Durrant motioned the porter over. “You've got to keep these people back. They may get hurt, and if they spook this man . . .”

The porter nodded and began warning people away. Durrant turned and spoke again to the man inside the
WC
.

“Sir, we're coming up on Medicine Hat. Why don't you let Charlene go? You and I can step off the train and discuss this.”

“No goddamned way,” yelled Mason.

“Then what are your intentions?”

“I'll get off in Swift Current and we're going to ride north again to our place.”

“I don't think that's going to be such a good idea.”

“Why the hell not?” he yelled.

“First off, there will be those who won't like what you've done here. We have laws in the Dominion of Canada against this sort of thing.”

“You mean kidnapping?”

“Yes, that and other laws.”

“It's not kidnapping if she is my wife.” The train started to slow. “It's not kidnapping if I'm married to her.”

“When you use a pistol and take her with force it is.” Through the windows next to the lavatory door Durrant could see the town of Medicine Hat coming into view. He motioned for the porter and whispered to him, “When the train stops, go quickly to wire the Mounted Police detachment. Tell them what's happening. Tell them to send as many men as they can spare, but not to interfere. Do not let this train start again. Understood?” The man nodded his understanding.

“What's happening?” growled Mason from the lavatory.

“It's the Medicine Hat station. There's a thirty-minute stop here, then we'll be on our way.”

“Are you going to try and take Charlene from me, Wallace?”

“No.”

“I don't believe you!” the man roared, and the door to the
WC
took a tremendous thud. Durrant was afraid the door would split open and he would come face to face with whatever horror was behind it.

“You will simply have to, Mr. Mason. I have no improper intentions toward your wife.”

“I'm getting off this train.”

“You said you wanted to ride to Swift Current.”

“I changed my goddamned mind!”

Durrant looked around. Every man and woman in the car had pressed again toward the
WC
, watching the drama unfold. Durrant whispered, “Push these people back to the other end of the car.”

“What's happening?” barked Mason.

“I'm clearing a path for you. There are others in the car. I want them out of the way.”

“You get those people back. They get in my way, they are going to get hurt!”

“I understand,” said Durrant.

“Now you, you put your pistol on the floor where I can see it when I open this door. I don't see that pistol of yours, I'm going to kill her.”

“I thought you loved her.”

“I do . . . I did . . . but if I don't see that pistol . . .”

Durrant laid the pistol down on the floor. The train's brakes began to squeal. He had to reach for the rail to keep from pitching forward.

“And the other,” Mason instructed.

“What do you mean?”

“The other one. The little one you keep in your coat. Yes, I know all about you, Wallace. Read about you in the papers. Charlene here was most helpful when I asked her the right way.”

Durrant drew out his snub-nosed British Bulldog and put it on the floor. “All right, you've got them both.”

“Now get the hell back from the door. When this train comes to a stop, I'm going to open it. I see you standing right in front, I'll shoot you and then her.”

“I'm back to the locker.”

“I'm coming out.”

Durrant stepped back. The train's brakes rattled as the train came to a halt. The porter reappeared and indicated that the message had been sent. Durrant held his breath as he heard the latch on the lavatory door being unclasped. He saw the door open a fraction of an inch and then close again. There was commotion on the platform, and Durrant could see porters from the Medicine Hat station herding passengers away from the car. The pullman porter had done his job.

Then door opened and Mason and Charlene were before him. Mason was immense. He stood over six feet tall and was broad and dark-skinned, with a thick head of greasy black hair that was combed back. He wore a dark suit coat and trousers and a grey waistcoat. Durrant could immediately smell the reek of sweat from him. Charlene looked tiny in his massive arms.

She was clearly terrified, but composed. Her mouth was gagged with a colourful handkerchief, and her hands were bound in front of her. Durrant could see that her left eye was bruised and swelling. He immediately felt a hot wave of fury wash through him and had to restrain himself from lunging at Mason.

Durrant saw the pistol raised to her temple. He locked eyes with Charlene and tried to communicate to her that everything would be all right. “So now what, Mr. Mason?”

“We get off this train.”

“And then? I don't know how far you expect to get.”

“If you come with me, we'll get farther.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“I'm going to make sure no Red Coat takes a shot at me.”

“Very well,” said Durrant.

Mason quickly kicked Durrant's pistols into the
WC
and closed the door. “Get over here,” he spat. Durrant walked toward them, leaning heavily on his cane. “Leave that,” said Mason, pointing to the silver-handed walking stick.

“I do, and you're going to have to carry me.” Durrant exaggerated his dependence on the cane.

“Blue Jesus, let's go!” said Mason. Durrant stepped forward. “Get in front of us!”

Durrant did as he was told. Through the train door's window he could see a crowd on the platform. “Let me clear these people,” Durrant said. Mason kicked him in the back and Durrant jolted forward, slamming into the door. His face hit the window, and he felt the heat of his own blood there.

“Get out!” yelled Mason.

Righting himself, Durrant opened the door. He scanned the platform and was grateful that no Mounted Police had shown themselves.

He stepped down, holding the cane firmly in his left hand. When he reached the platform, he shifted it to his right, took two steps forward, and shouted, “All you people get back!”

Mason came to the door and waved his pistol. “You heard the Red Coat, get back!”

The crowd pushed back enough that there was a path that they might take to the station, which was nothing more than a boxcar set against the broad platform. Beyond, the boxcar opened onto a wide street.

Durrant headed for the temporary station, hobbling with the cane. Mason stepped onto the platform. His massive arm was around Charlene's throat. As Charlene struggled, Mason tightened his grip. Durrant reached the wooden doors set into the boxcar and with his left hand opened them. The space inside was largely empty; all of the onlookers were on the platform.

Durrant looked back. Mason was behind him, half pushing and half dragging Charlene. Durrant locked eyes with Charlene once more, and this time she closed her eyes and nodded.

Durrant took three quick steps into the room; it was dark in comparison to the bright afternoon sun, and the light from the opposite door, leading to the street, created a halo around him. As Mason pushed through the door, Durrant spun around, his left hand drawing the handle of the cane from its staff. In his hand was a small pistol that used the handle of the cane as its grip.

Mason drew up his Colt Peacemaker and tried to level it at Durrant, but Durrant pulled the trigger. The shot from the .22- calibre pistol was sharp and rattled in the confined space. A neat round hole appeared in Mason's forehead. He fell backwards toward the doors, Charlene still in his hold. Durrant reached for her but could not grab her arms, and she and Mason crashed through the doors, glass shattering around them. Mason hit the platform and Charlene landed on top of him, and a great cry went up from the people gathered there.

Durrant hurried through the doors, the tiny pistol still in his hands. Charlene struggled to stand. As she did, she turned over and beat her husband with her bound fists. Durrant reached for her. Several other men came forward. Durrant waved them back; Charlene hit Mason again and again. Finally Durrant took her, crying, in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and he put his right arm around her.

He looked down at the man beneath them, dead with a bullet hole squarely between his eyes.

TWENTY-NINE

JUNE 27, 1885. REGINA.

The couple's eastward progress was delayed several days in Medicine Hat while witnesses were interviewed and Durrant was debriefed by the local North West Mounted Police sub-inspector. Satisfied that the shooting had been in the line of duty and in self-defence, Durrant was allowed to leave, and he and Charlene resumed their journey.

The station in Regina sat against Broad Street, the city's main thoroughfare. When Durrant and Charlene stepped from the train through the veils of steam, Garnet Moberly appeared, along with Mr. Jimmy. “It has been much too long.” Garnet embraced and then kissed Charlene on each cheek. To Durrant he said, “I understand that my gift of the cane has proven handy. Come, let's get your things to the hotel. Saul is awaiting us. There is a great deal we must discuss.”