WHAT HAPPENED AT BROWN'S
It was the middle of December. Storm after storm had left the North
cold and silent beneath its white covering of snow. A dog-team swung
across the surface of the ice-locked Athabasca, and took the steep
slope at Fort McMurray on a long slant.
Leaving the dogs in care of the musher, Pierre Lapierre loosened the
thongs of his rackets, and, pushing open the door, stamped noisily into
the detachment quarters of the Mounted and advanced to the stove where
two men were mending dog-harness. The men looked up.
"Speaking of the devil," grinned Constable Craig, with a glance toward
Corporal Ripley, who greeted the newcomer with a curt nod. "Well,
Lapierre, where'd you come from?"
Lapierre jerked his thumb toward the southward. "Up river," he
answered. "Getting out timber for my scows." Removing his cap and
mittens, the quarter-breed loosened his heavy moose-hide _parka_, beat
the clinging snow from the coarse hair, and drew a chair to the stove.
"Come through from the Landing on the river?" asked Ripley, as he
filled a short black pipe with the tobacco he shaved from a plug.
"How's the trail?"
"Good and hard, except for the slush at the Boiler and another stretch
just below the Cascade." Lapierre rolled a cigarette. "Hear you
caught MacNair with the goods at last," he ventured.
Ripley nodded.
"Looks like it," he admitted. "But what do you mean, 'at last'?"
The quarter-breed laughed lightly and blew a cloud of cigarette-smoke
ceilingward. "I mean he has had things pretty much his own way the
last six or eight years."
"Meanin' he's been runnin' whiskey all that time?" asked Craig.
Lapierre nodded. "He has run booze enough into the North to float a
canoe from here to Port Chippewayan."
It was Ripley's turn to laugh. "If you are so all-fired wise, why
haven't you made a complaint?" he asked. "Seems like I never heard you
and MacNair were such good friends,"
Lapierre shrugged. "I know a whole lot of men who have got their full
growth because they minded their own business," he answered. "I am not
in the Mounted. That's what you are paid for."
Ripley flushed. "We'll earn our pay on this job all right. We've got
the goods on him this time. And, by the way, Lapierre, if you've got
anything in the way of evidence, we'll be wanting it at the trial.
Better show up in May, and save somebody goin' after you. If you run
onto any Indians that know anything, bring them along."
"I will be there," smiled the other. "And since we are on the subject,
I can put you wise to a little deal that will net you some first-hand
evidence." The officers looked interested, and Lapierre continued:
"You know where Brown's old cabin is, just this side of the Methye
portage?" Ripley nodded. "Well, if you should happen to be at Brown's
on New Year's Day, just pull up the puncheons under the bunk and see
what you find."
"What will we find?" asked Craig.
Lapierre shrugged. "If I were you fellows I wouldn't overlook any
bets," he answered meaningly.
"Why New Year's Day any more than Christmas, or any other day?"
"Because," answered Lapierre, "on Christmas Day, or any other day
before New Year's Day, you won't find a damned thing but an empty
hole--that is why. Well, I must be going." He fastened the throat of
his _parka_ and drew on his cap and mittens. "So long! See you in the
spring. Shouldn't wonder if I will run onto some Indians, this winter,
who will tell what they know, now that MacNair is out of the way. I
know plenty of them that can talk, if they will."
"So long!" answered Ripley as Lapierre left the room. "Much obliged
for the tip. Hope your hunch is good."
"Play it and see," smiled Lapierre, and banged the door behind him.
Moving slowly northward upon a course that paralleled but studiously
avoided the old Methye trail, two men and a dog-team plodded heavily
through the snow at the close of a shortening day. Ostensibly, these
men were trappers; and, save for a single freight piece bound securely
upon the sled, their outfit varied in no particular from the outfits of
others who each winter fare into the North to engage in the taking of
fur. A close observer might have noted that the eyes of these men were
hard, and the frequent glances they cast over the back-trail were tense
with concern.
The larger and stronger of the two, one Xavier, a sullen riverman of
evil countenance, paused at the top of a ridge and pointed across a
snow-swept beaver meadow. "T'night we camp on dees side. T'mor' we
cross to de mout' of de leetle creek, and two pipe beyon' we com' on de
cabin of Baptiste Chambre."
The smaller man frowned. He, too, was a riverman, tough and wiry and
small. A man whose pinched, wizened body was a fitting cloister for
the warped soul that flashed malignantly from the beady, snakelike eyes.
"_Non, non_!" he cried, and the venomous glance of the beady eyes was
not unmingled with fear. "We ke'p straight on pas' de beeg swamp.
Me--I'm no lak' dees wintaire trail." He pointed meaningly toward the
marks of the sled in the snow.
The other laughed derisively. "_Sacre_! you leetle man, you Du Mont,
you 'fraid!"
The other shrugged. "I'm 'fraid, _Oui_, I'm lak' I ke'p out de jail.
Tostoff, she say, you com' on de cabin of Brown de Chrees'mas Day.
_Bien_! Tostoff, she sma't mans. Lapierre, too. Tostoff, she 'fraid
for de wintaire trail, but she 'fraid for Lapierre mor'."
Xavier interrupted him. "_Tra la_, Chrees'mas Day! Ain't we got de
easy trail? Two days befor' Chrees'mas we com' on de cabin of Brown.
Baptiste Chambre, she got de beeg jug rum. We mak' de grand dronk--one
day--one night. Den we hit de trail an com' on de Clearwater
Chrees'mas Day sam' lak' now. Tostoff, de Russ, she nevair know,
Lapierre, she nevair know. _Voila_!"
Still the other objected. "Mebe so com' de storm. What den? We was'e
de time wit' Baptiste Chambre. We no mak' de Clearwater de Chrees'mas
Day--eh?"
Xavier growled. "De Chrees'mas Day, damn! We no mak' de Chrees'mas
Day, we mak' som' odder day. Lapierre's damn' Injuns com' for de
wheeskey on Chrees'mas Day, she haf to wait. Me--I'm goin' to Baptiste
Chambre. I'm goin' for mak' de beeg dronk. If de snow com' and de dog
can't pull, I'm tak' dees leetle piece on ma back to the Clearwater."
He reached down contemptuously and swung the piece containing ten
gallons of whiskey to his shoulder with one hand, then lowered it again
to the sled.
"You know w'at I'm hear on de revair?" he asked, stepping closer to Du
Mont's side and lowering his voice. "I'm hearin' MacNair ees een de
jail. I'm hearin' Lapierre she pass de word to hit for Snare Lake, for
deeg de gol'."
"Did Lapierre tell you to deeg de gol', or me? _Non_. He say, you go
to Tostoff." The snakelike eyes of the smaller man glittered at the
mention of gold. He clutched at the other's arm and cried out sharply:
"MacNair arres'! _Sacre_! Com', we tak' de wheeskey to de Clearwater
an' go on to Snare Lake."
This time it was Xavier's eyes that flashed a hint of fear. "_Non_!"
he answered quickly. "Lapierre, she----"
The other silenced him, speaking rapidly. "Lapierre, she t'ink she
mak' us w'at you call, de double cross!" Xavier noted that the
malignant eyes flashed dangerously--"Lapierre, she sma't but me--I'm
sma't too. Dere's plent' men 'long de revair lak' to see de las' of
Pierre Lapierre. And plent' Injun in de Nort' dey lak' dat too. But
dey 'fraid to keel him. We do de work--Lapierre she tak' de money.
_Sacre_! Me--I'm 'fraid, too." He paused and shrugged significantly.
"But som' day I'm git de chance an' den leetle Du Mont she dismees
Lapierre from de serveece. Den me--I'm de bos'. _Bien_!"
The other glanced at him in admiration.
"Me, I'm goin' 'long to Snare Lake," he said, "but firs' we stop on
Baptiste Chambre an' mak' de beeg dronk, eh!" The smaller man nodded,
and the two sought their blankets and were soon sleeping silently
beside the blazing fire.
A week later the two rivermen paused at the edge of a thicket that
commanded the approach to Brown's abandoned cabin on the Clearwater.
The threatened storm had broken while they were still at Baptiste
Chambre's cabin, and the two days' debauch had lengthened into five.
Chambre's jug had been emptied and several times refilled from the
contents of Tostoff's concealed cask, which had been skilfully tapped
and as skilfully replenished as to weight by the addition of snow water.
The effect of their protracted orgy was plainly visible in the
bloodshot eyes and heavy movements of both men. And it was more from
force of long habit than from any sense of alertness or premonition of
danger that they crouched in the thicket and watched the smoke curl
from the little iron stovepipe that protruded above the roof of the
cabin.
"Dem Injun she wait," growled Xavier. "Com' on, me--I'm lak' for ketch
som' sleep." The two swung boldly into the open and, pausing only long
enough to remove their rackets, pushed open the door of the cabin.
An instant later Du Mont, who was in the lead, leaped swiftly backward
and, crashing into the heavier and clumsier Xavier bowled him over into
the snow, where both wallowed helplessly, held down by Xavier's heavy
pack.
It was but the work of a moment for the wiry Du Mont to free himself,
and when he leaped to his feet, cursing like a fiend, it was to look
squarely into the muzzle of Corporal Ripley's service revolver, while
Constable Craig loosened the pack straps and allowed Xavier to arise.
"Caught with the goods, eh?" grinned Ripley, when the two prisoners
were seated side by side upon the pole bunk.
The sullen-faced Xavier glowered in surly silence, but the malignant,
beady eyes of Du Mont regarded the officer keenly. "You patrol de
Clearwater now, eh?"
Ripley laughed. "When there's anything doin' we do."
"How you fin' dat out? Dem Injun she squeal? I'm lak' to know 'bout
dat."
"Well, it wasn't exactly an Indian this time," answered Ripley; "that
is, it wasn't a regular Indian. Pierre Lapierre put us on to this
little deal."
"_Pierre_--LAPIERRE!"
The little wizened man fairly shrieked the name and, leaping to his
feet, bounded about the room like an animated rubber ball, while from
his lips poured a steady stream of vile epithets, mingled with every
curse and gem of profanity known to two languages.
"That's goin' some," enthused Constable Craig, when the other finally
paused for breath. "An' come to think about it, I believe you're
right. I like to hear a man speak his mind, an' from your remarks it
seems like you're oncommon peeved with this here little deal. It ain't
nothin' to get so worked up over. You'll serve your time an' in a
couple of years or so they'll turn you loose again."
At the mention of the prison term the burly Xavier moved uneasily upon
the bunk. He seemed about to speak, but was forestalled by the quicker
witted Du Mont.
"Two years, eh!" asked the outraged Metis, addressing Ripley. "Mebe so
you mak' w'at you call de deal. Mebe so I'm tell you who's de boss.
Mebe so I'm name de man dat run de wheeskey into de Nort'. De man dat
plans de cattle raids on de bordair. De man dat keels mor' Injun dan
mos' men keels deer, eh! Wat den? Mebe so den you turn us loose, eh?"
Ripley laughed. "You think I'm goin' to pay you to tell me the name of
the man we've already got locked up?"
"You got MacNair lock up," Du Mont leered knowingly. "_Bien_! You
t'ink MacNair run de wheeskey. But MacNair, she ain't run no wheeskey.
You mak' de deal wit' me. Ba Gos'! I'm not jus' tell you de name, I'm
tell you so you fin' w'at you call de proof! I no fin' de proof--you
no turn me loose. _Voila_!"
Corporal Ripley was a keen judge of men, and he knew that the
vindictive and outraged Metis was in just the right mood to tell all he
knew. Also Ripley believed that the man knew much. Therefore, he made
the deal. And it is a tribute to the Mounted that the crafty and
suspicious Metis accepted, without question, the word of the corporal
when he promised to do all in his power to secure their liberty in
return for the evidence that would convict "the man higher up."
Corporal Ripley was a man of quick decision; with him to decide was to
act. Within an hour from the time Du Mont concluded his story the two
officers with their prisoners were headed for Fort Saskatchewan. Both
Du Mont and Xavier realized that their only hope for clemency lay in
their ability to aid the authorities in building up a clear case
against Lapierre, and during the ten days of snow-trail that ended at
Athabasca Landing each tried to outdo the other in explaining what he
knew of the workings of Lapierre's intricate system.
At the Landing, Ripley reported to the superintendent commanding N
Division, who immediately sent for the prisoners and submitted them to
a cross-examination that lasted far into the night, and the following
morning the corporal escorted them to Fort Saskatchewan, where they
were to remain in jail to await the verification of their story.
Division commanders are a law unto themselves, and much to his
surprise, two days later, Bob MacNair was released upon his own
recognizance. Whereupon, without a moment's delay, he bought the best
dog-team obtainable and headed into the North accompanied by Corporal
Ripley, who was armed with a warrant for the arrest of Pierre Lapierre.