Sundance 19 Page 2

  “That’s the one. How much do you know about him?”

  “That he started a halfbreed rebellion in the North West Territories about fifteen years ago, was defeated, and managed to escape to Montana.”

  Crook said, “He didn’t manage to escape. They let him escape to keep him from becoming a martyr. A lot of people wanted to see him hung, but they let him escape instead. For fifteen years he stayed in Montana, taught school, and wrote a lot of fiery speeches, and not much else was heard from him. Now he’s back in the North West Territories threatening to establish a separate government dominated by halfbreeds and Indians. If the movement goes far enough, there is going to be a bloody war up there.”

  “I thought the Territories belonged to the Hudson Bay Company.”

  “Not for much longer. The company no longer has effective control over the area and is turning it over to the Canadian government. The transfer hasn’t been made yet, so there is nobody in real control. That’s why Riel is trying to seize control—when the situation is confused. He tried it once before, but how he has a better chance.”

  “Because he has outside help from this country?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Just a guess. Now would be the time to look for help.”

  “And get it,” Crook said, “from the politicians and the business men. The Irish don’t want to be left out either. By Irish I mean the Fenians. Any trouble that can.be made for England, the Fenians are ready to take part in it. You remember the time they tried to invade Canada after the Civil War? They were beaten off by the militia and some British regulars. Now they’re looking for another chance. They’ve been collecting money and recruiting men in New York, Boston, and even right here in Chicago. Our government isn’t doing much to stop them. There’s that monster of all northern politicians, the Irish vote.”

  Sundance said, “All the halfbreeds and Indians will suffer while the others look after their own interests.”

  “Riel doesn’t think so. That’s the information I have. Riel thinks he can handle all of them when the time comes. Look, Jim, I don’t say the halfbreeds and Indians don’t have just complaint. They’ve lived up there in the Territories for as long as man can remember. Suddenly, the Canadian government is interested in their lands, wants them to prove their titles. What do these poor people know about land titles? It’s their land because they have always lived there. Now they’re being trod underfoot by government surveyors. It all sounds reasonable on paper, but these people live with the hard facts of life, not scraps of paper. It’s a desperate situation, and Riel is playing into the hands of men who are no friends of his people.”

  Sundance had been thinking of Louis Riel. That the man was a fanatic there was no doubt. But then, so were all desperate men. A halfbreed himself, he could well understand Riel’s despair. Governments promised much and did nothing until desperate men broke out their guns.

  “You haven’t come to the worst part yet,” he suggested to General Crook.

  “God help me, I haven’t, Jim. Riel has very little Indian blood, perhaps none, but the halfbreeds and Indians—the Crees—look up to him. They fought with him in the first rebellion and will fight harder now. Riel’s plan is to call for a general uprising of all the Indian tribes on both sides of the border—all the tribes. And he thinks he can do it. If that happens, the frontier will be washed in blood. It will make all the Indian wars of the past look like skirmishes.”

  “Has he white support in this, Three Stars?”

  “My information is that he does. It will give our government an excuse to invade Canada, to crush Riel, and scatter his forces. Once we’re in, we’ll want to stay to make sure of a lasting peace. The President doesn’t want that to happen, but there won’t be much he can do about it. There will be so much flag-waving he wouldn’t even try—not and stay in office, that is. I tell you, Jim, this business scares the dickens out of me.”

  “How many people know about it?”

  “No way to be sure. Plenty of people know about it but are afraid to take sides. They’d like to sit out the dance and perhaps make a little money when the slaughter is over. Sumner and Seward started it. They’ve always had their eyes on Canada. They liked to pretend it was because Canada harbored Rebels during the Civil War. Not so. They just want to steal the country.”

  “What about the army?”

  “The high ranking officers know about it, or have heard something. Some don’t believe it because this annex Canada talk has been going on for years. It goes clear back to the Revolutionary War. Some officers would like to see another war. Nothing like a war for quick promotion. I’ve known too many men who have built their careers on the bones of others.”

  “Three Stars, what would you like me to do? What do you think I could do? You just drew a dismal picture.”

  Crook got up and walked around, angry and glum at the same time.

  “I’ll be blunt. You’re a halfbreed and know how it feels to be treated like one. I don’t say anyone has done that lately, but you were once a boy. You saw the scorn heaped on your parents. With you it isn’t something learned from a book. Do you think Louis Riel knows who you are?”

  “It’s possible. I’ve been in Canada. My name has been in the newspapers, though not as often in Canada as here.”

  “Do you think Riel would listen to you? If you went north and explained what I have told you? I’m told those blamed Fenians, those Irishmen, are already with him. Their leader is a man named Colum Hardesty. He’s thirty eight or forty and served in the British army before landing in New York ten years ago. Hardesty has two friends, named Cunningham and Lane. It would be a shame if something happened to them.”

  Crook stared out the window and bit the end off another cigar. “If you know what I mean.”

  “I could try talking to Riel,” Sundance said. “I’d have to get up there and see how everything was going. I’d probably have to offer to join up with him. I’m a halfbreed, so he wouldn’t find that hard to believe.”

  Crook sat down again. “You know I can’t help you if anything happens. They don’t love you in Washington, and that’s a fact. You don’t even have to go if you don’t want to. It’s getting to the point where there isn’t much any man can do. The things men will do for money! I’d like to take certain parties I know and shoot them out of hand.”

  “I’d be there holding your coat, Three Stars. I don’t know what I can do. It may be too big for any man. But I’d like to take a look. I could always kill Riel, but I’ll face that when I come to it. How much do you really know about the man? I know what’s in the newspapers, and that’s all. You’ve obviously been studying up on him.”

  “As much as I can,” the general said. “And I can’t decide whether he’s little crazy or big crazy. Some men are sane and crazy at the same time. Let me read you some of the notes I’ve made. You can’t read my writing, so don’t try.”

  “Louis Riel, born in 1844, son of Louis Riel and the daughter of the first white child born in the River Settlement. Said to be one-eighth Indian, though no proof exists of this. In 1858 sent to Sulpician College, in Montreal, to study for the priesthood. Moody, ill-tempered, wrote poetry. Left the seminary without completing his studies. On his way home to Red River worked as a clerk in a general store in St. Paul, Minnesota. Later became prominent in the métis (halfbreed) movement, its slogan was: ‘For the first owners of the soil.’ Began an association with Fenian leader W. B. O’Donoghue of Fort Garry. In 1870, now leader of the halfbreeds and Indians, Riel spoke of inviting annexation by the United States. After declaring a provisional government, Riel’s forces were defeated and he was forced to flee Canada. After fifteen years in Montana, where he was a schoolteacher among other things, he recently returned to the North West Territories. During his exile, he spent two years in asylums and has been described as a religious fanatic with an often stated desire to establish his own church. Dark hair, wild staring black eyes, well educated, well spoken. Fluent in Engli
sh and French, His whereabouts are not known at the present time.”

  General Crook put down the sheet of paper. “That’s about it, Jim. He’s more of a mystery than anything else. The Canadian government has tried to buy him off with the finest tracts of land in the Territories, but he just laughs at them. They offered to settle a lifetime pension, a big one, on him if he will return to his country. Money means nothing to him. Riel always says, ‘I will dress no better than the poorest of my people. I will eat what they eat, and if there is not enough for me I will eat nothing.’ I’m not afraid of much, my old friend, but this man frightens me. Yes, kill him if you have to. How soon can you start?”

  “Today.”

  “You’ll need money.”

  “I have enough money to last me. If I take too much money, they may search me and find it. If I have to use the telegraph, where do I send the messages?”

  “To the Western Union general office on State Street. Send them to Edward Bellson. The manager is the only one who knows who that is. He’ll get them over here as fast as a horse can run. Your best way to get to Regina—Riel is said to be close to there—in by Canadian Pacific. I hope we aren’t at war with England the next time we meet.”

  Crook walked outside with Sundance; the wind from the lake was still bone-rattling cold. “It’s colder than this where you’re going,” the general said. “One more thing, Jim. If you can’t do any good, then let it go. More than that I can’t tell you. Sometimes, these things have to take their course, and there’s nothing anybody can do. Cut your losses and come on back home. I’ll be waiting to hear what you have to say. Let’s hope it’s good news.”

  The two men shook hands, and the sentry passed Sundance out through the gate. Sundance had the feeling that there was a long, hard, dangerous road ahead.

  Three

  Sundance stabled his horse and went to get something to eat. There was blinding sunshine, a sky without a cloud, and a wind that bit through the quilted wool coat he was wearing. The big Canadian Pacific locomotive clanged through the depot at Regina, a town so new that few of its buildings had been painted. In the air was the smell of raw wood and turpentine.

  Men and animals thronged the main street, filling it from one side to the other. From the saloons came the tinny rattle of mechanical pianos. A man with a flowing beard was standing on a nail barrel, telling the passersby about God. Two drunken halfbreeds were fighting about something, and it took an enormous Mountie to get them to move on.

  Sundance pushed his way into a saloon called the Cromarty Place, proprietor Angus McAdams, and fought his way to the bar. A long-necked Scotsman was serving up hot whiskies with sugar and lemon in them. He gave Sundance a cautious look.

  “What’ll yours be?”

  “One of those,” Sundance said, pointing at the steaming jug. “Not too much sugar.”

  Some of the men at the bar turned to look at Sundance. Most of the men in the saloon were white, and he could feel them measuring him with their eyes, inspecting his array of weapons. The bartender set down the hot whiskey in front of Sundance and named a price three times higher than it should have been. Sundance paid it without question.

  He relaxed as the warmth of the whiskey flowed through him. It had been an easy trip from Chicago, but he wanted to stand around and have a drink before he did anything else. He was in a strange town, a town that was clearly edgy. It looked as if people were taking sides, deciding which way to run when the shooting started. Men eyed him as much as they eyed each other.

  A drunk came in from the street and got a drink at the bar. To Sundance he looked like a halfbreed, but in this country there was no way to be sure about a man. A man who looked one thing often turned out to be another.

  For such a small man, the drunk had a big mouth, and he wasn’t bashful about using it. Some of the men edged away from him until there was a space on both sides. He got another whiskey and drank it, then looked along the bar to where Sundance was standing.

  “Hello, my friend,” he said in a heavy French-Canadian accent. “I ain’t see you before, have I?” Sundance said no and turned to look in the mirror behind the bar. On his first day in town he didn’t want to be bothered by a drunk. There was something not right about this man. It was just a feeling, and it became stronger when the short man sidled down the bar until he was very close.

  “It’s all right, mister,” he said. “I’m not trying to cadge drinks. I have enough money of my own.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Sundance said.

  The man lowered his voice. “You don’t have to be careful with me. You’re a ’breed just like me. We’re all in this together.” By now his voice was a whisper. “Are you here to join the movement?”

  “What movement?”

  “In these parts, there is only one, my friend. You are either with it or against it. It’s all right, you can talk to me. I know the people you have come to see. I can take you to them.” He gestured toward the whites at the bar. “Pretty soon it will be all over for them. No longer will they walk around as if they owned the world. Soon it will be all changed.”

  “Good! That’s fine.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said everything’s fine. It’s also a nice day. I just want to drink my drink.”

  “But you don’t understand what I’m talking about. Your friends are my friends. You are not from this country, so you will need help to find your friends. There is no need to give any names. Just nod yes that you have come to join the movement.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Now I’d be obliged if you’d let me drink my drink. I won’t ask you again.”

  For an instant, the man’s bleary eyes were clear, then he smiled stupidly and said, “No offense, my friend. I was just trying to be friendly to a stranger. I don’t care. I can drink someplace else.”

  He went out and Sundance finished his whiskey. Turning to go, he found himself confronted by a tough-faced farmer in a bright red coat. But it wasn’t trouble after all. The farmer said in a Yankee accent, “Watch yourself with that feller, whoever you are. He’s a police spy.”

  Four

  “My name is Jacob Sawtelle,” the man said, “and I hate to see any man taken in by the likes of him. I don’t know why the Mounties hire such a man. Sometimes I think I’d have done a lot better to have stayed in Vermont. But you know how restless a man can get when the countryside starts filling up. I figured why not come out here to the Territories and enjoy some peace and quiet.”

  “You could always go back,” Sundance said. “It’s not that far.”

  “I’m here, and here I stay. The hardest thing is not taking sides. The métis are fine people but fierce tempered when they feel they’ve been wronged. It would be good to dive down in a storm cellar and wait for this to blow over. It won’t. I can’t see any hope of that. Well, I’d better get to the store and get on home. The missus is as nervous as a cat these days. Watch out for that spy. I hear he gets a cash bonus for every métis sympathizer he turns over to the police. He goes by the name of Val Lafleche, but I’d hardly say that was his real name.”

  The Vermont farmer went out. Sundance watched him all the way to a hardware store down the street. Lafleche was his idea of what a sneak looked like, which didn’t mean that Sawtelle wasn’t a police agent too. Probably, the whole region was crawling with spies and double-crossers, the way it had been on the Kansas-Missouri border just before the war. Officially, there was no war on yet, but from what General Crook had said, it was almost unavoidable. It was the same old story of government stupidity, and now many people were going to die because of it.

  Getting to Riel wasn’t going to be easy. Crook said the métis leader had his headquarters in a town called Batoche, far up the Red River, but he moved around to the other halfbreed settlements, never staying in one place for long, always traveling with a bodyguard of one hundred heavily armed men. All were expert frontiersmen, all deadly shots after a lifetime of hunting with lit
tle ammunition in some of the hardest country in the world.

  These were the men he had to face: bitter, resentful, suspicious of all strangers, for no stranger had ever given them an honest deal. Louis Riel was their hero, and they would kill without mercy to protect him. It was no use asking questions about Riel; if the Mounties didn’t throw him in jail, some of the métis would probably put a knife in his back. What he had to do was ride out alone and go north along the Red River. That he was a halfbreed wouldn’t help as much as General Crook thought it would. After all, he was no peace-loving métis trapper but a professional fighting man; the métis would recognize that the moment they saw him.

  Riel would probably know who he was, that is, if he lived long enough to be brought to the rebel headquarters. It wasn’t likely any of the others would. Most were trappers and farmers; few spoke English. Sundance’s plan, such as it was, was to offer his services to the métis. If they were working with the Fenians, they might have no hesitation in accepting him. He would just have to try it out.

  He was strolling around town when something made him turn. He saw the man called Val Lafleche ducking behind a freight wagon. The movement was fast but awkward, as if Lafleche wanted to be seen. Lafleche had done nothing to attract Sundance’s attention. Maybe he knew that a man like Sundance would know he was being followed. Sights and sounds had nothing to do with it. It was mostly instinct.

  Sundance went into a small, crowded restaurant and sat at one of the six stools at the counter after a man picking his teeth got up and went out. After a long wait, the counter girl brought him a thick steak with hashed potatoes and coffee. In the steamed-up mirror behind the counter, he spotted Lafleche looking in the window. Then he ducked away as he had before. There was no doubt about it now. The sneak couldn’t have been easier to see if he’d been beating a bass drum and foaming at the mouth.

  Sundance waited for Lafleche to show his ugly face again, but he didn’t. Then another man came in, as Sundance knew he would. There was nothing about him to attract attention. He was neither tall nor short, had sandy hair and a face like a thousand others, about forty years of age. He sat at a table against the wall and ordered coffee and a sandwich.