Dead Before Sundown

Chapter 30

“Reb, what in blazes are you doing?” Frank demanded. He glanced at the Mounties. Several of them had raised their rifles and pointed them at the young man. They might have opened fire if Sergeant McKendrick hadn’t lifted a hand to stop them.

“Hold on there, lads,” McKendrick said. “No shooting unless we absolutely have to.” He glared at Reb. “What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Russell?”

“The meanin’ is that I ain’t handin’ over my gun to you,” Reb drawled. “I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t arrest me, either.”

Again that frosty smile touched McKendrick’s lips. “I beg to differ with you, sir. I can arrest anyone I please.”

The gun in Reb’s hand didn’t waver as he said, “Well, I reckon you can try to arrest me … but you’re liable to be in mighty hot water with your bosses if you do.”

“Oh? Why, pray tell?”

“Because they’ll be in hot water with the U.S. government. The Canadian government knows I’m here.”

Quietly, Frank said, “Reb, I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Yeah,” Salty added indignantly.

Reb smiled but didn’t lower his gun. “I’m gonna reach in my pocket,” he said. “Sergeant, tell your boys not to get itchy trigger fingers.”

“You heard the man,” McKendrick told the other Mounties. “I’d like to see what this … gentleman … thinks is going to change my mind.”

Reb slid his free hand inside his buckskin shirt. He brought out a small leather folder. “I’ll toss it to you, Frank,” he said. “You can show it to the sergeant.”

Frank nodded. “All right.”

Carefully, Reb lofted the folder through the air to Frank, who caught it and flipped it open before handing it to McKendrick. A badge and an identification card were pinned inside the folder.

“So you’re really Captain Russell,” Frank said.

Reb nodded. “That’s right. Attached to the U.S. Secret Service right now. I was sent up here to try to get on the trail of those Gatlin’ guns. Once I did, I was supposed to contact your folks, Sergeant, and let you know where they were so the Mounties could recover ‘em. If we were somewhere you could send a wire to Ottawa, you could confirm that pretty quick-like.”

“But we’re not, are we?” McKendrick snapped. “So I’m left with the decision of whether or not to accept this preposterous story.”

“It’s not preposterous,” Reb said. “You’ve got my badge and bona fides right there.”

McKendrick shook his head. “Anyone can have a badge and an identification card made.”

“You don’t give up easy, do you?”

McKendrick gave him a flinty look. “I’m a sergeant in the North West Mounted Police. Of course I don’t give up easily.”

Frank said, “For what it’s worth, Sergeant, I believe him. Ever since I met him, my gut’s been telling me there was something I didn’t know about Reb, and I reckon this is it.”

Salty squinted at the young man. “Was you really at the ro-day-o down in Pecos?”

“Yeah,” Reb replied with a grin. “I’ve been travelin’ around competin’ in rodeos for a while. Gives me a good excuse for bein’ where I need to be when the Army and the Secret Service send me on a job.” He looked at McKendrick again. “How about it, Sergeant? Are we gonna work together, the way your government and my government intended, or does there have to be a ruckus?”

“You’re heavily outnumbered, you know,” McKendrick reminded him. “You can’t hope to prevail.”

“I’ll take my chances. And you’re the one I’ve got my sights lined on, remember.”

Frank finally lost his temper. “Blast it, while we’re standing around here jawing, the varmints we’re after are getting farther away. All the signs indicate that they’re headed for Calgary, Sergeant, so that’s the way we all want to go. There’s no need for a bunch of argument.”

McKendrick drew in a deep breath, held it for a second, and then said, “I suppose you’re right, Mr. Morgan. There’s no need to press the issue. Would you like your weapons returned to you?”

“I sure as hell would,” Salty said.

McKendrick handed the revolvers back to Frank and the old-timer. “Consider yourselves no longer under arrest.”

“I never really did,” Salty said as he pouched his iron.

“We’ll call this a truce,” McKendrick went on.

Frank said, “That works for me. We don’t have our saddles anymore, but we can rig blankets on our horses and use rope for hackamores.”

Getting ready to ride didn’t take long. Frank helped Salty onto one of the horses. The old-timer was still pretty stiff and sore from his wound.

Reb had holstered his gun, but he kept a wary eye on McKendrick and the other Mounties as the party moved out, heading east. The three Americans rode at the head of the group with McKendrick.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Calgary?” Frank asked.

“If we’re not delayed, we should reach there late this afternoon or early this evening.”

Frank nodded slowly. “The Métis have enough of a lead that we can’t catch them. They’re going to get to the settlement before we do. That’s going to make it harder to find them.”

“There are several thousand people in Calgary,” McKendrick said. “It’s going to be a difficult task.”

Reb said, “It’s worse than that. They’re havin’ their annual livestock exhibition, with that rodeo comin’ up any day now. Folks from all over this part of the country will be in town for that, so the population’ll be two or three times what it usually is.”

McKendrick looked over at him. Even the sergeant’s usual self-control was shaken. “My God,” he muttered. “And you say these so-called revolutionaries have Gatling guns?”

“Four of them,” Frank said, “and from the sound of it, a perfect opportunity to raise plenty of hell with them.”

Calgary was both frontier cowtown and bustling industrial city these days. The downtown area had numerous brick buildings rising several stories high, but around Victoria Park, on the Elbow River where the stream curved up from the south to join with the Bow River, Calgary still looked like the cow country settlement it had been more than fifteen years earlier when it first grew up around the North West Mounted Police post established there.

There was even a hotel called the Drover’s Rest. That was where Joseph and Charlotte Marat found themselves this evening, along with Anton Mirabeau.

Joseph had tried all day to talk Mirabeau out of his plan, but the man would not be budged. Attacking the Mountie post was one thing. The Mounties had killed Métis in the past.

But the thought of opening fire with the Gatling guns on the crowd at the rodeo planned for the next day horrified Joseph.

Charlotte didn’t like the idea of slaughtering innocent people, either, and she had tried to talk to Mirabeau about it. Mirabeau refused to listen. He just fell back on his stubborn claim that the attack on the rodeo would force the government in Ottawa to take the rebellion seriously.

The three of them sat in the hotel’s dining room. Mirabeau had changed from his buckskins before coming into town. Like Joseph and Charlotte, his ancestry was mostly French, so their status as mixed-bloods was not obvious. Anyone who looked like a Cree Indian wouldn’t have been allowed to stay here.

The other men in the group were camped outside of the settlement, keeping watch over the all-important crates that contained the rapid-firers.

Mirabeau sipped his wine and said, “First thing in the morning, we’ll pick up the wagons and drive out to the camp.” He had already made arrangements to purchase two large prairie schooners with canvas covers over the back. The plan called for the Gatling guns to be mounted, two in each wagon, one at the front of the vehicle and one at the rear. The guns would be covered with canvas as well so that no one would be able to see them when the wagons were parked at both ends of the rodeo grandstands that had been erected in Victoria Park.

From there, the Métis manning the guns would be able to spray the crowd with thousands of steel-jacket slugs in a matter of minutes. By the time anyone figured out what was happening, hundreds of people would be dead.

Then it would be up to the men in the wagons to make their getaway as best they could. There would be so much chaos because of the slaughter that the men might actually be able to escape.

Mirabeau went on, “Charlotte, you and Dumond will need to have our horses nearby and ready to ride.” He smiled. “We’ll be in a hurry.”

“I would think so,” she said, “considering that you’ll be fleeing from the site of mass murder.”

Mirabeau’s smile disappeared. “Not murder,” he said. “Revolution.”

“At least let Joseph help me with the horses,” Charlotte said.

Mirabeau shook his head. “No offense, ma cher, but after today, I no longer trust your brother. I would prefer to have him where I can keep an eye on him.”

Joseph said tightly, “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

“I know,” Mirabeau said with a nod. “Joseph, you have been a dear friend to me. You are almost like my brother, and someday soon, once Charlotte and I are married, you will be. But our cause is more important than anything else, even that.”

“More important than me?” Charlotte asked.

Mirabeau looked coolly at her. “I beg of you not to make me choose.”

She grimaced and looked away.

“After tomorrow, you’ll see that I’m right,” Mirabeau continued. He drank the last of his wine and pushed away the empty plates from their meal. “We should go upstairs and get some rest. Momentous events await us.”

Joseph had reached a decision. He nodded and said, “You’re right, Anton. We should go upstairs.”

Mirabeau looked a little surprised that Joseph would agree with him on anything, even this. But he smiled and said, “Fine.”

The three of them left the dining room and walked through the lobby to the stairs. The Drover’s Rest, as its name implied, wasn’t a fancy place. It catered to cattlemen, and it was furnished comfortably but simply. A number of men sat in the lobby, talking about cattle prices. These were some of the ranchers who were in town for the livestock exposition and rodeo.

They paid no attention to the two men and the woman who went up the stairs to the second floor of the squarish frame building. Joseph and Charlotte had adjoining rooms on the left side of the corridor. Mirabeau’s room was across the hall on the right.

As they approached their doors, Mirabeau put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. He might have wished to kiss her good night, but if so he was going to be disappointed, because she pulled away from him. Joseph, walking along the corridor behind them, was glad to see that. The falling-out that his sister had had with Mirabeau meant she was less likely to be upset by what happened next.

Joseph looked swiftly up and down the hallway. It was deserted at the moment. That was perfect for what he needed to do.

He took the pistol from under his coat, pointed it at the back of Mirabeau’s head, and pulled the trigger.