The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder Read online

  ***

  The warm night gave no pause as William, Ed, Elmer, John and Summer pushed toward the Petrenko farm as fast as possible, their thoughts hidden by the deep silence in which they rode. Only the rattle of the wagon broke the night air.

  Along the way, William informed John and Elmer that he was not impressed that they had kept so much information to themselves over the past week. On top of that, John had a feeling he and Elmer would have to write essays on these events but he didn’t want to ask about it in case he was wrong. After initial groans, they rode on in silence, through sparse grasses and scattered poplar trees that stuck out of the ground in random clusters. The Northern Lights were out again tonight, something John had not seen since the night Hans Schneider had died. As they scaled a slender knoll, John leaned ahead and saw the familiar dip of the land that led toward the Petrenko farm. Below, a transformation had taken place.

  Long flames billowed from makeshift tall candle sticks, their poles held by men anchoring the far-flung corners of the Ukrainian farmer’s homestead. The homestead itself was alive with the chatter of what had to be a hundred and fifty voices and scores of horses. John had never seen so many people at once. Although people milled about, talking in small groups and moving from one gathering to another, an empty flatbed

  wagon was clearly meant to be a stage or platform of some sort. It had been propped up on makeshift supports to give it more height. On either side of the stage were two additional long candles, clearly meant to illuminate this area of the field.

  The five travellers slowed their approach now, unloading from the wagon near a cluster of trees. They moved up along the edge of the crowd and found a place to plant themselves.

  John could see Mr. Nicolas Petrenko, a tall and husky Ukrainian man, speaking with two other men he didn’t recognize. “Look,” Elmer said, pointing to a person standing on a wagon. André Dumont was unmistakable. It was his confidence that compelled people to lock their eyes on him, allowing his presence to be felt instantly. He wore his trademark sleek and simple black clothing as he stood on the flatbed wagon in front of the crowd.

  To André’s right was another distinctive personality, the now enigmatic Earl T. Wright. His long, silver moustache and silver hair defined him easily. He stood at the wagon’s edge bending down to shake hands and chat with some people in the front row of the crowd.

  “Mr. Wright’s here,” said John quietly to his brother and Summer. “He sure is finding a way to be the centre of attention.”

  Now Summer bumped John’s arm and he looked in the direction that her head was turned. He could see about twenty-five Cree men, dressed in traditional clothing of deer and buffalo skins. Many were wearing beaded vests. They were led with distinction by Chief Five Hawks, who wore a large, ceremonial headdress. Summer, who was unsure how her presence at the rally would be seen from members of her own tribe, tried to stay behind everyone. From over John’s shoulder, she also recognized the clothing of the Assiniboine tribe who were long time allies of the Cree. They were there in nearly-equal numbers. All of them wore their traditional clothing, made from animal skins and decorated with beads.

  Another group of about twenty were obviously Métis. They were dressed in a combination of elk and deer skins merged with flamboyant stripes of colour sewn into their clothing, a blend of their European and Indian heritage. Many of the men had ornamented thick belts that crossed from front to back across their chests, which carried various pouches. Their eyes were glued to where André and Earl stood.

  Everyone else seemed to be homesteaders and business owners from the area. William and Ed obviously recognized a great number of people, given the way they were pointing and talking to each other. Max Taggart, the general store owner was there, as well as the livery stable owner. Only a few wives of homesteaders were in attendance.

  Lurking on the edges of the crowd, Elmer spotted the man they knew only as Cecil, the one André had accused of being a

  whisky smuggler. They watched him talk with a strange man near Cecil’s wagon, which was again full of barrels.

  As the Diefenbakers and Summer spoke amongst themselves, an old Métis man was slowly riding toward the gathering. He wore a deerskin vest with patterns of bright beads and a colourful red sash that acted as a belt for his pants. The elderly man dismounted from the horse unhurriedly, tying the animal to a tree near the Diefenbaker wagon. The horse looked grateful for the break and began grazing.

  John, the only one who had noticed this, nodded respectfully at the Métis elder. He nodded back and quietly sat down on the grass, cross-legged and hunched, a few feet away.

  The noise of the crowd gradually quieted. Heads began to turn toward the front with Summer and the Diefenbakers following suit. André Dumont had his hands raised to quiet the remaining murmurs. Earl T. Wright remained beside him, looking out at the crowd and smiling and nodding from person to person.

  ***

  It had been so easy to find him. Wherever there were people, you could always find the double-crossing lowlife. What a glory hound! After hitching a ride on a wagon north of Borden, all he had to do was listen carefully in on conversations to find

  out about this rally. Now, as an audience member in the middle of the crowd, he would simply stay quiet until he could make his way to the front and seize his moment. He should have stolen a gun first. No problem. The knife strapped to his leg would do just as well. He would take care of him soon, in front of all these people. Sure, he would be caught and probably never see the light of day again, but it would be worth it. He would expose him, eliminate him. It would be worth it to see his prey suffer, as he had suffered himself. It would be worth it to show him that one cannot escape the past.

  ***

  “My friends, you will remember this night,” André projected in his usual confident voice. He instantly had their attention.

  “This is the night when we begin to truly build a voice that the government must hear. I want to especially welcome Chief Five Hawks of the Cree and Chief Fallen Branch of the Assiniboine. I have been to your communities and I have felt your pain. I have felt your need to create a new deal for your people. “From the Métis, from my own people, let me welcome Chief Bergeron and many of his band who hail from Bellevue, northeast of here. My uncle would have been proud to see so many of you here together, united in this great cause.” The spontaneous applause from a few people in the crowd

  delayed André for a moment.

  During this pause, John looked quizzical. “Father, Mr. Dumont didn’t mention Batoche. Why isn’t anyone here from the Batoche-area Métis? Wouldn’t it make sense for Mr. Dumont to bring people from the village where his uncle once lived?”

  William considered John’s words. “It does seem odd,” he replied.

  Just as André was about to speak again, he was interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat beside him. André glanced over to see Earl had nudged closer, raising his silver eyebrows at André, as if to remind him of something.

  “Yes, very well,” said André, without his usual enthusiasm. “Mr. Earl T. Wright, the Rawleigh’s man, would like me to remind you that he will be available afterwards for all your purchasing needs.”

  Another loud clearing of the throat. Earl smiled at André. “Yes,” said André impatiently. “Ten percent off for the first forty sales he makes tonight.”

  Then André glared at Earl to make him back off from trying to be the centre of the show.

  William put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Ed and I are going over to talk with Max Taggart. We’ll be right back. You three don’t go far.”

  John nodded as André continued his speech. The old Métis man on the grass kept looking at John and then looking back at

  the stage. John ignored him for the moment then quickly spun toward Elmer.

  “Why don’t you and Summer find Mr. Wright’s wagon and see if you can locate the murder weapon?” John said.

  “But…I don’t know where the wagon is!” sa
id Elmer nervously.

  “Elmer, it’s canary yellow, for Pete’s sake!” said John. “And it was your idea that maybe that’s what he was hiding!”

  “Well, what are you going to do?” wondered Elmer. “I’m going to speak with that elderly Métis man over there,” John said, nodding his head towards him.

  “He keeps looking at me so maybe I can find something out.”

  “Okay. I can see his wagon now. We’ll be back soon!” Elmer and Summer left, making sure William and Ed were not looking their way.

  André had resumed speaking, now that he had gotten Earl to back off a bit, and was in full swing again.

  “…better to be here, my friends, under the cover of darkness, than meet in these large numbers by the light of day,” spoke André with his eyes on fire. “It is our lot, for now, to have a cause that exists in the shadows. But very soon we will be a force, a force large enough to speak to the federal government so that they will finally listen!” A cheer went up from the crowd.

  “Soon, I promise you, we will take our concerns to the streets of our towns and our countryside in the full light of day. We will take back the West from a government who doesn’t care about the people. We will take back what is ours…with force, if necessary!”

  Chapter 15

  The Fallen

  Another cheer went up from the crowd. John had spent a few minutes with the Métis elder and then walked back to the place where he had been standing before. He waved to his father who was craning his neck to see if John was alright.

  A few moments later, Summer and Elmer came running back breathlessly. Elmer began shaking his head while he caught his breath.

  “The only things we found under Mr. Wright’s blanket were some tools, a basket of Saskatoon berries and a bunch of encyclopedias,” said Elmer. “I think those were the things that were sticking out of the blanket that day.”

  John looked perplexed. “I don’t get it. Why would he want to hide something like that?”

  The force of André’s words—passionate and forceful— made them turn toward the front to listen.

  “Laurier glosses over problems and opens the floodgates to everyone in the West and then satisfies no one.”

  “Here, here!” shouted several men.

  John thought about the rebellion stories Sergeant English had told only a week ago. Had it really only been a week? He wondered if history was about to repeat itself.

  “The Métis have been pushed further away or intruded upon. The government says it knows best when the Métis, Cree and Assiniboine no longer wander wherever they please to follow the hunt…”

  A roar of approval went up from the Métis and Indians. “…and the Cree and Assiniboine are forced to live where the government says to live…!”

  The Indians were shouting their approval from the crowd, creating a buzz of excitement. André felt a surge of conviction.

  “And for you white settlers…your government says it knows best while farmers can’t find a fair price for their wheat. You have come looking for a dream and all you have found is hardship.”

  His voice cracked with emotion as he continued.

  “The government says it knows best when it takes children from their homes,” André spoke with bitterness, “and places them with people who don’t love them and don’t look out for them.”

  Many people clapped, even though they weren’t sure what André was getting at now.

  “The government says it knows best,” said André, “but it knows nothing of fairness and nothing of compassion. Children need guidance, they need…” his voice cracked and trailed off as if he didn’t know where he was going with his sentence, either. There was another smattering of applause before someone shouted something unexpected.

  “The government’s not going to listen to murderers!” André stopped and looked toward the speaker in the middle of the crowd. It seemed to snap him out of his haze.

  “Who said that? What do you mean?” André asked.

  “Michael Hewson,” the man shouted, identifying himself. “Why should the government listen to us if we partner with the Cree? It was a Cree who murdered Hans Schneider!”

  A cascade of murmurs interrupted and John, Elmer, and Summer craned their necks to see what was going on. Try as they might, they couldn’t get a good view.

  Just then, Chief Five Hawk’s bellowed. “River’s Voice did not murder anyone!”

  “Well, he’s the one sitting in prison right now, and I say let him rot,” shouted the same settler.

  “He is in prison because the police made a mistake. What about the pelts stolen from our reservation?” the Chief challenged. “The Cree have had many things taken from them in the last week.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not the only ones!” someone shouted.

  “Almost everyone I know has had something taken. How do we know this isn’t Indian-doing, taking revenge because one of your own is in jail?”

  Now Chief Fallen Branch joined in the heated debate. “You think all Indians are the same? Why do you say ‘Indian-doing’? We are Assiniboine. We are not the Cree.”

  Chief Bergeron of the Métis now made his voice heard. “You settlers are all the same. You walk around this land as if it has always been yours and you blame others for problems you make yourselves.”

  “I’ll show you what a problem looks like,” another settler shouted. Soon about a dozen men were fighting with one another, some arguing, others pushing and shoving. It was on the verge of turning into a full-scale riot and André Dumont suddenly, shockingly, looked completely out of control. Earl had shrunk back some on the wagon, sensing things were starting to take a turn for the worse. If there was one thing Earl T. Wright knew how to gauge it was when a good deal was going wrong. “Friends, we must not…” André began. Something whizzed by his head and just missed him as the crowd began to argue and push each other more.

  “Look here!” he hollered. But no one was listening. John could feel an adrenalin rush and felt compelled to act on it.

  “I’m going up there, stay here.”

  “John, you just can’t just leave. You’re not allowed to go up there,” Elmer said desperately. He didn’t know what had gotten into his normally shy brother. Now all of a sudden he wanted to talk to one hundred and fifty people—people who were definitely not in a good mood right now. Elmer looked toward their father and uncle but they hadn’t yet noticed John’s intent. He had never seen his brother’s eyes look so intense.

  John sprang from his place on the edge of the crowd and moved with great speed toward the front of the large group, darting in and out until he reached the front, while the old Métis man’s eyes followed him carefully. John made a flying leap for the wagon and landed on his feet right beside André.

  ***

  What’s this? Another distraction? Surely this boy will not be on the stage for long. The man stayed in the middle of the audience, although he continued to move slowly toward the front, a half shuffle at a time. Then he would not waste any more time, blending in like this. Boy or no boy, he was going to make his move.

  ***

  Andre staggered backwards, looking startled.

  “John Diefenbaker?”

  John ignored him and looked out at the crowd.

  “Just look at you!” shouted John.

  The crowd turned as one in surprise at the young-sounding voice. Some men still held the front of one another’s shirts, the fabric clenched up in their fists. William and Ed, standing beside Max Taggart, wondered how ‘Don’t go far’ somehow meant to go jump up on the stage.

  “My name is John Diefenbaker. It seems very strange to me that we’re fighting with each other,” his voice rang out. “Out here, we’re used to helping each other, aren’t we?” A few people slowly nodded their heads.

  “Helping each other is how we’ve made the West what it is. My father, mother, and uncle…they always tell my brother and me that we have to contribute if we’re going to make it. It’s the only wa
y. Otherwise we may as well just give up right now.”

  Everyone stared at John, actually waiting for his next few words. John sensed this and caught his breath; he felt like he could do anything for the briefest of moments.

  “Some of you know I’m the one who found Mr. Schneider a few moments after he was killed. Now I don’t know who actually did it. I thought I knew, but now I’m not sure. But I know who didn’t do it. River’s Voice has been a family friend for years and his daughter is like a sister to my brother and me. We don’t have the truth yet, but I know it will come soon.”

  John looked out at the old Métis man and toward his brother and Summer. No one said anything, so he kept going. His father and uncle were dumbstruck with pride and apprehension.

  “We all have differences between us, whether it’s the language we speak, the shade of our skin, or the sound of our name. I’m just an average Canadian, but you know what? I’m different, too. My last name is German because my grandfather happened to come from Germany. But I’m free, that’s what my father always reminds us. As I grow up in this country, I know I’m free to speak without fear or to stand up for what I think is right. We can choose who we want to run our country and we once chose a man named Sir John A. Macdonald…”

  Cheers at the sound of Macdonald’s name began to ripple in a cascade of spontaneous pride but John kept going, fueled by their enthusiasm. He put one hand on his hip and wagged his finger at the audience as if he were about to scold someone.

  “…and Sir John gave his life to this country! He built the railway that linked Canada from ocean to ocean and if Sir John opened the doors of the West, then Prime Minister Laurier has sent everyone through those doors and filled the West…with us!”

  William bit his lip hard to stop the surge of emotions he was feeling.

  “Here, here!” many shouted.