The Third Riel Conspiracy (16 page)

“Political gain?” Wallace repeated.

“War is always about politics, and here the gain will be made to expose how Macdonald has once again offended the French. This, of course, can be used by his political rivals when Edward Blake seeks the office of prime minister.”

“Are you telling us, Garnet, that you think Riel's enemies will try to kill him before he can take the stand and make his speeches simply to silence him?” asked Durrant.

“Nothing about Canada will ever be simple, Sergeant Wallace. A nation forged from the ashes of the greatest conflict the globe has ever seen cannot help but relive these age-old rivalries again and again. The struggle between the French and the English, between the Catholics and the Protestants, between Upper and Lower Canada, will play out over and over again across this nation. In the West, the struggle has been compounded. Here the people are so far from the centre of power that they vie to have their voices heard and opinions included while at the same time insisting that they should go about their business as they please. This business with Riel is only the beginning.”

“We'll need to be on the move in advance of them,” Durrant said. “Gentlemen, let's make haste with our inquires this afternoon so the moment will not be lost. At the supper hour, we will determine who is to ride for Regina and who will make for Fort Pitt.”

EIGHTEEN

STANLEY BLOCK WAS THE SORT
of man who was more comfortable in a gentlemen's club in Winnipeg or Montreal than on a mud-soaked prairie battlefield. When Durrant Wallace went to locate him after lunch, it came as no surprise that he was found sitting in the back of a well-appointed wagon, smoking a rich cigar and scribbling in his notebook. “Sir, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”

“When last we spoke you levelled some unflattering allegations at my person, Sergeant. Is this to be another smear against my character and my choice of vocation?”

“Mr. Block, you may have heard that I am now in charge of the investigation into Reuben Wake's death.”

“This news has come to my ears.”

“I'd like more information on the events of the days leading up to Wake's demise. I hoped that you, as a newspaper man, might have some insight.”

“Seems like you have changed your opinion of my profession.”

Durrant dismissed this. “Why don't we take a walk?”

Block looked out of the wagon as if considering the weather. He lowered himself carefully to the ground and donned his hat and gloves.

“I was thinking that I'd like to see the scene of some of the fighting to the north. I understand that you were with Middleton there on the third day. I was hoping you might indulge me and show me where the action was?”

“It's a fair stride. Are you certain you're up for it?” asked Block, looking at Durrant's cane.

“I'll manage.” The two men walked across the zareba and followed a cowpath north and west toward a heavy grove of aspens and alders. “Tell me about what happened on La Jolie Prairie, Mr. Block.”

“I've interviewed General Middleton for the paper on this matter, and he is cagey to say the least,” Block began. “As I can surmise, the general felt a frontal attack on the Mission Ridge and the town beyond would not succeed unless he could draw out some of the Métis forces from their rifle pits around the church. On the eleventh of May he took his mounted infantry north to reconnoitre the sweep of grassland and poplar forests that the Métis use to graze their cattle. Around eleven o'clock he arrived near where the Carton Trail crosses the road to St. Laurent. He had his scouts probe the woods and soon found his foe.”

“There was an exchange of fire?”

“For some minutes, Boulton opened up with the Gatling gun, and that seemed to quiet the half-breeds. They kept their heads down after that.”

They came to a broad clearing. Wallace tried to imagine the scene: Boulton probing for a weakness in the enemy's defences, and the Métis scrambling to fill any holes. “Were there casualties on the third day?”

“A few, but nothing serious.”

“I understand Reuben Wake was shot that day.”

Block looked sternly at him. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Mr. Block, I am investigating a murder. I have to understand how these events unfolded and what relevance they might have had with his final undoing.”

Block huffed. “How could a battlefield wound be in any way related?”

“Maybe you could tell me what you know.”

“Wake was a teamster. When some of the field force dismounted to probe the enemy's defences, Wake was given charge over their mounts. He and his fellows were back in those trees.” Block pointed to the east of where the fighting had occurred.

Durrant estimated that the distance between the skirmish line and the woods was several hundred yards. “And where were you?”

“I was positioned just here.” Block indicated a berm along the side of the road that might provide a man some cover during a firefight.

“From where you were, how well could you see Mr. Wake and his horses?”

“I could see the horses just fine. They might have been a few dozen yards back in the woods. I would not have known Mr. Wake.”

“Did you see him shot?”

“No. I was too concerned with Middleton's feint. I wanted to see for myself if his reconnaissance would lead to anything. If so, I might have been able to get a story on the wire to my paper.”

“The marvels of modern technology are amazing, are they not?”

“How do you mean, Sergeant?”

“Well, that you can be here in the middle of the frontier, while a battle rages around you, and with the assistance of the telegraph wire have a story in print the very next day.”

“Yes, yes, it is fascinating. Now, Sergeant, I should dare say it looks like rain, so shall we—”

“We're almost through, Mr. Block. Walk with me a little more, would you?” Durrant led Block toward the grove of trees where Wake had tethered the soldiers' horses. They made the distance in a few minutes. Durrant turned and looked back toward La Jolie Prairie. The woods were dark and dense, and though their leaves had not yet opened, the aspens were close enough to provide a good deal of shelter. Durrant began to examine the terrain. “I can see this is where most of the beasts were tethered.” He indicated a well-trampled area that was covered in horse dung.

“Do you notice anything odd, Mr. Block?”

“They are trees, sir. Nothing odd whatsoever.”

“Would you characterize the Métis as crack shots with their rifles?”

“No. Not in the least. Had they been, this would have been a much longer battle. By day three many of them were shooting with nails packed into their weapons.”

“Don't you think it odd that with the nearest Métis rifle pit at least two hundred yards away, and with this dense stand of trees between himself and the skirmish line, Mr. Wake could have been shot?”

“I suppose it might have been a lucky shot.”

“Let me see your hands, Mr. Block.”

Block held out his hands. He wore leather gloves.

“Please take off your gauntlets, sir.”

Block pulled off his gloves. He stared at Wallace with malice.

Durrant held his cane under his arm and took Block's hands in his own. His right hand appeared very misshapen compared to the newspaperman's delicate fingers. “What happened here?” asked Durrant, indicating where Block's right forefinger and thumb were burned.

“I burned myself tending to my fire.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes, Sergeant, in fact I did. It may come as a surprise to you, but in Regina we have proper stoves to cook on. It's been some years since I had to make my morning breakfast on an open fire.”

Durrant looked again at the man's hands. It was hard to tell if Block was telling the truth about the origin of the burns. They could well be powder burns. He released the man's hands, and Block immediately pulled on his gloves.

“Do you carry a firearm, Mr. Block?”

The newspaperman looked flustered. “Well, yes, I suppose I do. What of it? Only a fool would set off on such an adventure without something with which to defend his person.”

“Do you carry it now?”

“Yes, of course. There are still half-breeds lurking in these woods, Sergeant. Is there some law—”

“Let me see it.”

“I shall do no such thing.”

“Mr. Block, you can hand me your pistol or I will take it from you. The former will be far more dignified.” Something about the way Durrant shifted his weight signalled to Block that Durrant was not bluffing. “Slowly please, sir. One would not want to alarm at this moment.”

Block reached inside his coat and produced the weapon.

“You brought an Elliot Derringer to defend yourself with?”

“It's fine in a pinch. At close range, I assure you it's quite an effective sidearm.”

Durrant cracked open the breech of the weapon. The pistol had four barrels, two across and two down, each just a little over three inches long. There were four .32-calibre cartridges loaded in the pistol. Durrant took the cartridges out one at a time and examined each barrel.

“Has it ever been fired?”

“I assure you it has, though only at targets.”

Durrant flipped the breech shut, spun the weapon around in his palm, and handed it back to Block. Block fumbled it back into his coat pocket.

“Mind you don't zip yourself with that, Mr. Block.”

Block looked up at Durrant with malevolence. “Once again, sir, I demand to know what you are driving at with these questions, accusations, and innuendoes.”

“Only this: I don't think Reuben Wake's shooting on the twelfth of May was the first time someone tried to murder the man. I believe that on May 11 someone who had knowledge of his whereabouts, and easy access to him here in these trees, tried to use the cover of battle to dispatch him. And having failed, tried again on the twelfth and met with success.”

“I think that is preposterous. There was a battle. A man was shot, and that was all there was to it.”

“Well, I suppose we might learn more from examining the slug dug from the man's arm, should it still be available. Failing that, I doubt very much that even a lucky or wild shot could find its way through all of these trees. And see here.” Durrant walked from tree to tree. “None other has been zinged. I'd say the shot that wounded Mr. Wake came from much closer, but in the heat of the moment he mistook it for a wild shot from the enemy rather than a deliberate attempt on his life.”

“You are not suggesting that it was I who shot Mr. Wake here on the field of battle?”

“I'm not suggesting anything. My job is to investigate, and so I am. Your possession of a firearm would provide you with the means.”

“Even I can see, Sergeant, that this weapon has not been fired—”

“That's by no means conclusive. A man such as yourself, with your attention to detail, would no doubt keep a weapon such as that spotless. I have no way to test for gunpowder residue here in the wilderness.”

“What motivation would I have? As you've so crassly stated before, I am here to
shill
papers, not commit the crime of murder.”

“I believe you knew Mr. Wake, and that you shared a sensibility that should Mr. Riel survive the ordeal at Batoche and be allowed to stand trial for treason, your cause would suffer.”

“What sort of preposterous lie have you conjured now!”

“Were you not both of the mind that if Riel were allowed the forum of a fair and open trial he would incite further sympathy for his cause among the eastern elite? And that if this happened, he might turn the sentiment of Lower Canada against Macdonald's Conservatives?”

“I tell you this, Sergeant: I had never before laid eyes on Mr. Wake before our expedition. You can say what you like about my business interests, but you know nothing of my politics. I simply will not tolerate such accusations.”

Durrant closed the distance between himself and Block, using his cane to bar the man's escape. “Something happened between you and Wake. I suspect very strongly that this is what you and my colleague, Sub-Inspector Dickenson, were quarrelling about when I interrupted you.”

“Stand down, Sergeant—” Block pushed Durrant's cane aside and made to stride off through the woods. Durrant used the handle of the cane to grab Block's arm and spin him in his tracks. The newspaperman's hat flew off, and his mouth dropped open. “How dare you!”

“Yes, I dare. You see, Mr. Block, you no longer have the cover of your patsy Dickenson to shield you and your fellow conspirators from plain view. The Queen considers the planning of a murder and the actual killing to be worthy of much the same punishment. One might not hang for planning on killing a man, but you can look forward to twenty years' hard labour for the consideration.”

“Leif Crozier will hear of this.”

“I report to Sam Steele, and both he and Assistant Commissioner Crozier have sanctioned my investigation.” Durrant let his cane fall to his side.

“You are in far over your head, Sergeant Wallace. I suggest you settle for what you have: a man in irons, and a half-breed at that. Surely the Crown will be satisfied with La Biche's neck in a noose for this death.”

“You may have heard the story told that the Mounted Police always get their man. It is not always so, but one thing you can count on from us Red Coats is that we never stop until we have carried the day, or are in the dust from trying.”

“It very well may be the dust for you, Sergeant Wallace.” Block picked up his hat and perched it on his head. Durrant watched the man walk away under the threatening sky.

NINETEEN

FATHER LEFÈBVRE WAS WAITING FOR
Durrant when he returned from La Jolie Prairie. The priest appeared like a black-winged bird as his robes beat in the gusts of wind. As Durrant walked toward him, he could see that Lefèbvre was watching the road.