The Third Riel Conspiracy (6 page)

“Let's back up a moment, Mr. La Biche. Tell me what happened on May 9, the first day of fighting.”

“It wasn't the first time that we gave hell to General Middleton and his men. I was at Fish Creek, yes? That was the twenty-fourth of April. It was cold as hell. That's where this all started, this business with Wake.

“I was with General Dumont when we ambushed Middleton's men there. That old fool split his troops and had half of them marching up the west side while the other half marched on the east of the creek. It was easy for us to bear down on one column of his men without much risk to ourselves. General Dumont assigned me to lead a company of men who would pick off Dominion troops from the hillside. We worked our way around to try and flank these soldiers and that's when I saw Wake.”

“You knew this man?”

“Of course I knew him. I had known him for many years. Known him and come to hate him!”

“After you saw Wake, what happened? Where was he?”

“He was minding the horses, just like he always done. Just with the horses. I recognized him right off, as he had been up to Batoche several times over the years. That is how I have come to know him: his trips here to Batoche. He had come in the guise of a friend, but soon we were to learn that it was all trickery.

“I simply couldn't believe my luck it was him. I wanted to kill that man right then. I broke off from my companions and made my way along Tourond's Coulée, trying to get close enough that I could shoot him right between his eyes. But I couldn't get a good shot at him, and I didn't want to reveal myself and miss. By the time I was in position, Middleton had found a scow and his second column was crossing the river. We'd killed ten and wounded more than forty, so the day belonged to us. Dumont ordered a retreat. I was the last to leave. Dumont ordered us to retreat to Batoche. It took General Middleton more than two weeks to pull himself together again.” La Biche grinned.

“When Middleton finally reached Batoche, I was dug in just near a ravine and had a good shot at your Dominion soldiers as they came up through the trees. The whole time I was looking for Wake, but because he was with the horses, I couldn't find him. I knew I would have to do something if I was going to get close to him, so when the soldiers started to fall back to take their supper, I slipped out of my trench and headed up the Humboldt Trail. I got a bit of luck there and come across some cattle that had been spooked, so when I gave myself up I looked just like a farmer. Told the Dominion soldiers that took me that I was tired of Riel's religious ranting and that I didn't want to fight for him any longer. What do you think they did?” He laughed. “I think they were happier to see those cows than they were a deserter such as myself.

“They marched me back here and made me dig trenches all night, and the next day I got put in with the cooks. I kept trying to get away to find Wake, but he was always out tending to his horses. Until that last day.” La Biche was suddenly serious.

“I saw that he got his arm shot up at La Jolie Prairie, and I knew that was going to be my chance. I had even put away a meat hatchet I was going to use to do the job. The battle cry went up and all the men were charging this way and that. I lost track of Wake. The next thing I know, there are these two men on me, dragging me away from the pots I was scrubbing and putting me in chains. Now here I am. And Wake is dead, but I didn't kill him.”

“When they took you away, they said you had Wake's Colt in your possession.”

“I didn't have a gun. How could I have gotten a gun? When I gave myself up they searched me. I was unarmed. I had the hatchet hidden in one of the stores, but like I have told you, I didn't get a chance to use it on the man.”

“Where exactly did you stow it?”

“I had it hidden under a sack of flour in the cookery. Go and see for yourself.”

“Sub-Inspector Dickenson has told me that you had Wake's pistol in your coat and that there were two rounds fired.”

“I didn't have the pistol when the men came for me.” He made an “empty” expression with his hands. “They took my coat from me when I was arrested. I slept last night with just this,” he said, his fingers holding the light fabric of his tunic. “No blanket. Not even a hot meal, just one of those terrible biscuits. I didn't even get to eat that damned cow!”

“You knew Wake from before. You said that he'd been here over the last year?”

“He had been here several times. In fact, he was here when General Dumont and his companions went to Sun River, south of the Medicine Line, to bring our father, the prophet, home.”

“What did Reuben Wake have to do with the business of bringing Riel back to Batoche?”

Suddenly Dickenson appeared in front of the wagon. There were two men with him, wearing the uniforms of the Regina volunteers of French's Scouts. “That will be enough questions, Sergeant. We've orders to move this man.”

“I'll need just a few more minutes with him, Sub-Inspector.”

“No, Sergeant, you'll not need just a few more minutes. He's my prisoner, and I will interrogate him now in my own way. I aim to learn what I can from this man about the whereabouts of Gabriel Dumont and Louis Riel and see what I can find out about further plots to assassinate our proud Dominion boys. Then he's for Regina and the noose.”

“I assume, Sub-Inspector, that this man is to be transported to stand trial?”

“That's correct,” Dickenson answered, stepping forward and unlocking La Biche. He grabbed the man's arm so hard that Durrant thought he might break it.

“Will you see that he is properly cared for? He hasn't had a meal or a blanket to sleep under. This man is
your
prisoner. You are responsible for his care. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sergeant, if you don't show respect for my rank I'll see that
you
are in irons too. This man is a traitor against the Crown and a murderer and will hang for his crime.”

“That may well be so, but he will stand trial first or his blood will be on
your
hands. Mark my words.” Durrant stayed seated on the bench of the wagon as Dickenson and the volunteers marched La Biche away.

FIVE

“DID YOU EXAMINE THE BODY
of Reuben Wake, Saul?” Durrant was standing in the hospital tent where Saul Armatage was about to operate on a man's leg. The soldier was propped up on his elbows, watching the undertaking. Saul was using what looked like a pair of pliers to pull a nail from deep in the man's shin.

“They ran out of ammunition, so they started shooting nails or anything else they could load in their guns,” he explained. The patient winced as Saul pulled out the nail. A jet of blood followed, and Saul quickly applied pressure to the wound and dressed it. When he had finished, the soldier pulled on a pair of trousers and, using a stick for a crutch, made his way out of the tent.

“I saw the body. Pronounced him dead. Saw that he had a head wound, but there were ten others who were alive that I needed to attend to, so I didn't do an autopsy. You think something else killed Mr. Wake other than the bullet wound in his head? To me it seemed pretty obvious—”

“I don't know, Saul. But I can tell you this: I doubt very much that Terrance La Biche killed him. He wanted to, and that was his purpose in surrendering—to get close enough to Wake to murder him. I don't believe it was him that killed Wake. If La Biche had done the deed, he'd be telling everybody he met.”

Saul took off his apron, hung it up, and walked to where Durrant stood at the door. He was still rubbing his hands.

“I don't suppose the body is still in your morgue?” asked Durrant.

“It should be. We've buried the dead from May 11, but not yet from yesterday. They're being sewn into blankets to be laid to rest today.”

“Can we have a look?”

“Of course, Durrant. Shall we fetch Garnet first?”

DURRANT, SAUL, AND
Garnet entered the morgue, a drab tent behind the hospital. There were five bodies laid out on the ground, and two young soldiers were sewing blankets over them. When the three men entered the tent, the soldiers looked up and then returned to their work.

“Which one of these is Reuben Wake?” asked Saul.

“Not sure,” one of the soldiers replied.

Saul muttered under his breath and went to inspect the tags affixed to each corpse's shroud. He went through all five and then turned and looked at his colleagues.

Garnet stepped forward and withdrew a knife from his coat, bending to slit the stitching on the blankets. The soldiers looked on in disgust. “What the Sam Hill are you doing?”

Garnet looked up at the boys. “You're addressing a lieutenant in the Surveyors Intelligence Corps, gentlemen. I suggest you keep quiet until asked a question.”

“He's not here,” Saul said when all five mantles had been slit.

“Then where the hell is he?” asked Durrant.

“GENTLEMEN,” SAID DURRANT
as they left the tent, “I need to attend to a matter in the cookery. When I spoke with Mr. La Biche an hour ago he claimed that his coat was taken from him when he was arrested, which is where Wake's pistol was found. La Biche says he had put aside a meat hatchet of some sort to use on Wake. While I look into its whereabouts, I wonder if the two of you might make some discreet inquiries around the compound as to what might have happened to the corpse of Mr. Wake.”

They agreed to gather again after they had completed their assigned tasks. Durrant found his way through the labyrinth of wagons and tents to where the central kitchen had been set up. While many of the regiments had their own cooks and kitchens, General Middleton's mounted infantry, and several other companies, shared a common scullery that occupied a tent set close to the general's quarters.

It was midafternoon as Durrant approached, and the kitchen was beginning to prepare the evening stew. Half a dozen men were cleaning pots from the lunch meal in a vat of water simmering over an open fire. Nearby three more were chopping onions, potatoes, and carrots, and another was butchering a cow. Durrant stepped into the gloom. The cook who was doing the rough work with the cow looked up.

“You missed lunch. Come back in two hours.” He hacked at the carcass.

“I've eaten, thank you.”

“What do you want? I got eight hundred mouths to feed—”

“I'm Sergeant Durrant Wallace of the North West Mounted Police. I want to ask you about Terrance La Biche.”

The cook stopped hacking. “I've already told the other Red Coat about La Biche.”

“I thought that I might save some embarrassment and clear up some of the facts. You had him working here with you?”

“He was there, with the other half-breeds, cleaning up.” The cook pointed with his cleaver at the men washing pots.

“Did he do anything other than wash up?”

“Sometimes he helped with the meals.”

“Yesterday, after the noonday meal, there was a general charge sounded. What was Mr. La Biche doing around that time?”

“He was doing the pots.”

“It's been said that at about that time he was able to leave your watch and make his way across the compound and kill Reuben Wake.”

“That's what they said when they come to take him away.”

“Did Mr. La Biche not leave the kitchen around that time?”

The cook was silent.

“He did,” said one of the men cutting potatoes.

The cook glared at him, then looked back at Durrant. “He said he had to use the lavatory. I'm not going to make him soil his trousers.”

“I'm not here to question how you manage your kitchen or how you watch over those whose charge you have been given. I'm trying to establish if Mr. La Biche had the opportunity to kill Mr. Wake.”

“He left for a moment. He'd been well behaved the last three days. Never tried to run off so I let him go to the lavatory. I didn't think nothing of it.”

“How long was he gone?”

“Just five minutes, if that.”

Durrant looked around. The man cutting potatoes had returned to his work. Was five minutes long enough to cross the zareba, find the Colt pistol, and then find Wake and shoot him in the head? “Had he had other unescorted absences the day before yesterday?”

“He didn't,” said the cook quickly.

Durrant looked around at the others. “Any of you men notice Mr. La Biche sneaking off?” They all shook their heads. Durrant turned back to the cook. The carcass next to him was nearly cleaved clean to the bone. “I wonder if you might show me your stores. I want to inquire after something Mr. La Biche has told me.”

Behind the kitchen was a heavily laden wagon, its forks lying on the muddy earth. The cook, who stood six inches taller than Durrant, put a meaty hand on the box. “We keep most of the stores here.”

Durrant scanned the contents. Laying his crutch against the side of the wagon, he used his left hand to haul himself into the wagon. The cook watched as Durrant disappeared inside. There were tins of coffee and crates of canned peaches and huge sacks of corn, flour, and beans. Bags of onions and potatoes were piled high. Durrant started shuffling the sacks about. The cook poked his head into the back of the cart. “Sergeant, what're you doing?”

Durrant shouldered a fifty-pound sack of flour aside and retrieved something that had been beneath it. He held it up for the cook to see and blew hard on it. A cloud of flour enveloped the back of the wagon. Durrant waved a meat hatchet back and forth in his hand. “Missing something?” he asked.

DURRANT WALKED ACROSS
the zareba to the familiar compound where the teamsters managed the company's stock. There were several hundred horses mustered in the makeshift corrals, creating a giant open-air barn. Men shouting and horses whinnying made for a tremendous din. The air was rich with the tang of manure, which had been raked into a massive pile near one end of the corrals. Though the temperature was just above freezing, a cloud of flies buzzed over the steaming dung.