The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder Page 14

  “The boy’s right,” another voice rang out.

  “That’s my nephew!” Ed told a few strangers proudly. Even Earl, who was still on the wagon platform behind André and John, seemed stirred by John’s speaking.

  ***

  Why won’t this boy just leave the stage, he wondered impatiently. He wasn’t going to wait any longer. Enough is enough. The man began to move toward the stage, ever closer.

  ***

  John continued. “If things feel uncertain now, maybe it’s only because we’re being told they are…by him,” he said, gesturing toward André. The young Métis man looked uncomfortable, but didn’t move. Earl began to nod, always eager to demonstrate he was on the winning team.

  “We must not turn against one another,” John continued. “In fact, we must not listen to this man!” John said, now pointing directly at André. “He’s not even who he says he is! He is not the nephew of Gabriel Dumont. I know this because a Métis elder just told me so.”

  Murmurs of confusion went up from the crowd.

  ***

  Closer, closer now. He needed to be in the front row to reach him, to make his move. He pulled his hat down lower over his eyes.

  ***

  André looked shocked at John’s words and then a forced grin grew on his face. Earl, too, looked surprised. All three of them on the wagon seemed unsure of what to do next. Then André tried to diffuse the situation.

  “Thank you for your heartfelt speech, young John. But go home now, lad. Of course I am who I say I am. I am indeed Gabriel Dumont’s nephew.”

  At this point Earl reached over and placed his hand on André’s shoulder and asked him a question that John could not hear.

  ***

  “Now!”

  The man from the audience sprang forward, propelling himself from a wooden block that had been set up beside the stage. He knocked André Dumont across the wagon, the flash of a long metal knife visible under the muted light of the tall, lit candlesticks. John, who had seen someone lunging out of the

  corner of his eye, had already leapt off the stage and rolled to safety on the ground. A shocked Earl fell off the end of the wagon by accident in his haste to retreat, landing on his back and knocking the wind out of himself.

  The crowd gasped and William and Ed yelled “John!” at the same time, as they pushed their way toward the front of the crowd. John looked over his shoulder and saw André and the stranger wrestling for control of the knife. William and Ed grabbed John and whisked him back to the edge of the crowd, where Elmer and Summer quickly joined them. Close on their heels was Earl, who ran like a rabbit despite his age.

  Several men in the crowd had stepped forward, trying to see if they could help in some way, but the threat of the swinging blade, which so far André had managed to avoid, made it difficult for them to intervene.

  “You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” said the stranger venomously. He had managed to pin André on his back, the stranger’s hat now off. André looked shocked at seeing the scarred face of the stranger, but he managed to grab his attacker’s wrists and was so far preventing him from using the knife. As the attacker pushed with extra pressure, the blade bearing down now on André’s neck, the sound of three loud gunshots splintered the night air.

  Everyone turned their heads to see twelve Royal North West Mounted Police officers burst onto the field on horseback, their

  trademark bright red uniforms unmistakable. They were led by Sergeant English and Constable Wood. A thirteenth officer brought up the rear with a horse and wagon.

  The stranger instantly scrambled away from André, his knife still in hand. He ran in the opposite direction of the dozen mounted police officers. Sergeant English nodded to Constable Wood, giving him permission to apprehend the fleeing man.

  “Cyrus Ramsey! Stop!” Constable Wood hollered. But Cyrus had no intention of stopping, or even slowing down. Constable Wood squeezed his horse’s sides with his heels and accelerated. Constable Wood’s horse galloped after and quickly overtook the fleeing man. The officer drew his horse beside the knifewielding man and leapt, landing on top of him. He knocked Cyrus to the ground watching him roll two feet away, the knife landing beside him. The fugitive reached for the knife, whirling around to face the officer. By this time, Constable Wood had already drawn his gun, pointing it directly at the snarling face before him.

  “I’m only going to ask you this once,” said Constable Wood. “Drop it.”

  ***

  Meanwhile, as the police burst onto the scene, the grizzled, limping Cecil had jumped into his wagon as fast as he could,

  immediately ending his deal with someone in the crowd. One of the police officers quickly intercepted him, steering his horse directly in front of the rickety wagon filled with barrels.

  As Cecil was protesting the seizure of his wagon, Sergeant English joined the other officers momentarily to oversee.

  “It’s water, just plain water. I don’t even drink!” Cecil protested.

  One of the officers popped open a spout near the top of the barrel and tipped it into his cupped hand, tasting it. He frowned in confusion.

  “It is water, Sergeant. He’s right. No whisky here.”

  Sergeant English scowled.

  “We’ll see about that. Step back,” he said in his deep voice. He pulled out his gun and shot the barrel near the bottom. Liquid came gushing out and he pointed to the same officer.

  “No!” howled Cecil.

  “Now taste it.”

  The officer cupped his hand and took a sip.

  “Whisky! How…?” the officer began.

  The sergeant knocked on the top of one of the barrels. “False top. He keeps a few inches of water in the top and all the rest is whisky. Got a tip last week there were a few American smugglers getting a bit more creative in their whisky sales. Arrest him. He’s the least of my worries. I’ve got an escaped murderer to deal with. And a would-be rebellion leader.”

  Moments later, Sergeant English climbed up to the centre of the makeshift stage with the intent of clearing out the shocked crowd. Three quarters of the crowd hadn’t moved as they tried to figure out what was going on. The rest had fled, once the officers had arrived, not wanting to be involved in any way.

  A subdued André stood surrounded by numerous police officers, clearly in their custody as well. He and Cyrus Ramsey, who was also secured by several burly police officers, glared at one another.

  “This meeting is now over,” Sergeant English projected in his deep voice.

  Someone from the audience spoke up. “Chester Atkinson, I’m a reporter from the Langham Times. Who is that man?” he asked, pointing to André. “The Diefenbaker boy said he’s not related to Gabriel Dumont at all.”

  Sergeant English glowered at the reporter but decided to answer. It wouldn’t do any harm to be in the papers, especially for a success like this, the sergeant realized. He figured it would be good publicity for people to know that the Mounties always get their man.

  “The Diefenbaker boy was right,” said Sergeant English. “This man is no relation to the rebel leader. In fact, his real name is André Dupont, not Dumont.”

  The crowd gasped. John, standing at the front of the audience with his father, uncle, Elmer, and Summer was still astonished, even though the Métis elder had assured him he was no relation to the rebel leader. André had seemed so passionate about this cause. Why would he pretend to be someone he was not? The crowd began chattering until the sergeant began speaking again.

  “Dupont and this man, Cyrus Ramsey,” he said, gesturing to the scar-faced man, “were partners in a few bank heists in Winnipeg. Although Dupont was out of his league when he got mixed up with this one.

  “Ramsey is a convicted murderer. He killed three people in cold blood two years ago and he was sentenced to life in prison. We learned that even his Winnipeg lawyer didn’t want to represent him anymore. He said it would go against his principles.”

  “Wow, a law
yer with integrity. Who was it?” asked the reporter.

  “Let’s see…an Arthur Meighen,” the sergeant replied after checking his notepad.

  “Never heard of him,” said the reporter to himself. The sergeant continued. “But Cyrus Ramsey managed to escape even before arriving at the prison. A few months ago, he and Dupont made the unfortunate choice of teaming up to rob a bank in Winnipeg. Police arrived in time to capture Ramsey. Dupont however, escaped.”

  “Abandoned me more like it!” shouted Ramsey from where he stood surrounded by officers. “I was left to rot and there was

  no way I was going to allow some smooth-talking, two-faced liar get away with it!”

  “It’s not my fault you weren’t fast enough to escape,” Andre fired back. “I didn’t turn you in, you made your own bed.”

  Ramsey began struggling more. The police forced him further away from André and away from the crowd, too.

  The reporter was writing furiously. “So the train escape the other night…that was Ramsey?” he asked.

  The sergeant nodded. “Yes. He escaped while being transferred to another prison because of overcrowding. He learned that Dupont was in the Borden area and timed his escape for that stop. This time, he’ll be personally escorted wherever he goes until the courts can put him away for good.”

  Chester fired off another question. “Then Dupont changed his name to Dumont and adopted a Métis identity?”

  “Oh, he really is Métis, but an urban Métis from Winnipeg, Manitoba. With Dupont’s last name being similar, we think he began to fantasize about being related to the real Dumont and researched his life to be convincing. His parents were poor, trying to make a life in Winnipeg. Unfortunately, his father died when Dupont was very young and his mother abandoned him when he was just twelve. Rough time, right before a boy becomes a man.”

  “You lie! My mother loved me! She wouldn’t do that… she… couldn’t have done…” André began.

  The sergeant went on. “When a representative of the government heard about the boy living alone, he found Dupont at home with another family in Winnipeg who agreed to adopt him. I think they made a mistake there. According to the information we gathered, he was regularly mistreated. And that’s when he began getting into trouble with the law, mainly through lying and cheating, just enough to get by.”

  “My mother loves me,” repeated André, almost in a hoarse whisper. “It was the government that took my life away. The government worker ruined everything, don’t you see? They took me away and gave me to others…people who didn’t want me…”

  John stared at the slumped shoulders of the young man who had seemed so confident, so sure of himself only a short time ago. Andre had mobilized so many people in such a short period of time, inspiring them with his words. He had intervened to help John, Elmer, and Summer from the shady whisky smuggler in Borden and had saved John from drowning in the North Saskatchewan River. He had challenged everything John believed about life in the West. Now, he seemed very different in these last few minutes. The truth had transformed him into another person, a smaller man who was weighed down with great sadness.

  The crowd was now near frenzy because of the information overload. Sergeant English decided to take the opportunity to

  acknowledge how much had happened in the past week.

  “Look, folks, it’s been a busy week for a small town. We’ve had a homesteader tragically killed, a con artist here take up much of our time, thefts, a prairie fire and a prisoner escape. We have reinforcements now from Saskatoon and we’re going to get to the bottom of all of these things.”

  Summer looked at John in confusion, and John realized the saying confused her. “Getting to the bottom of these things means they’re going to figure out what happened,” explained John. As he explained this, John felt his stomach flip. He took a step forward from the crowd toward Sergeant English.

  “Sergeant English?” said John, projecting his voice well.

  “Yes, hello young Diefenbaker!” said the sergeant in a good natured way, causing the crowd to laugh.

  “Sergeant, with all due respect, you haven’t found the killer of Mr. Hans Schneider yet.”

  The crowd immediately gave a combination of gasps and instant chattering until the sergeant held up his hand for quiet. He peered at John intently.

  “Son, I know River’s Voice is a friend of your family’s, but…”

  “Sergeant English, I can prove it,” interrupted John.

  Chapter 16

  Going Home

  Sergeant English attempted to dismiss whatever John was about to say, but the crowd would have none of it, including the reporter. They still remembered the image of John standing tall and inspiring with his words just moments before.

  “Let’s hear what the boy has to say!” shouted a settler.

  “Yes, we want to hear!” shouted members of the Cree.

  “Fine,” said the sergeant, half amused. “What do you have, son?”

  John took a deep breath while his family looked on. “A great deal of your case is based upon the eyewitness account of Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, who said they saw River’s Voice and Mr. Schneider arguing. The Jennings apparently heard River’s Voice threaten Mr. Schneider. One day later, Mr. Schneider was murdered.

  “That’s right,” said Sergeant English. “Eyewitnesses are always important in police work.”

  “Except in this case,” said John, “your eyewitnesses claim

  they heard River’s Voice threaten Mr. Schneider with ‘You’ll pay for this.’”

  “Yes, what of it?” asked Sergeant English.

  “With all due respect to River’s Voice, English is a language he still finds very challenging. Even his daughter, my friend Summer Storm here,” John said, gesturing to Summer, “has had more English language instruction, and she doesn’t yet recognize common English sayings. I would suggest there is no way the Jennings heard River’s Voice say ‘You’ll pay for this.’ He would not even have known what that meant.”

  Talking instantly rippled across the crowd. Sergeant English began to entrench his position.

  “We still have his necklace that was found on the Schneider’s property.”

  “Yes,” said John, “but we know that River’s Voice visited the Schneider farm once before and he believes he may have lost it then.”

  “Son, why are you so determined to complicate things?” The senior police officer felt pressure to try and preserve the arrest he had originally made.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant, that is not my intention. But I visited River’s Voice in prison last week…”

  “You did what?” he asked, perturbed.

  “…and I know I shouldn’t have been there,” added John. “I told him I’d leave no stone unturned in finding out the truth.”

  John paused for dramatic effect. “By the way, he didn’t know what that meant either, but I just wanted to keep my promise.” The crowd erupted into loud chatter. The Cree felt a collective surge of hope. William placed his hand on John’s shoulder and squeezed it, letting his eldest son know that he supported him.

  “Young Diefenbaker is right again!” someone shouted. “Listen to the boy!” another voice from the back could be heard.

  As Sergeant English tried to quell the noise by holding up his arms, a sheepish-looking man and woman moved toward Constable Wood from where they had been standing in the crowd. John recognized them as Kyle and Isabelle Jennings— the police eyewitnesses! They had been at the rally all this time. The tall constable bent his ear toward them, nodding a few times and then all the colour seemed to drain from his face. The athletic officer hopped onto the stage and apparently repeated something in a low voice to Sergeant English. The sergeant, too, looked dismayed. He cleared his throat. Certainly, he could shut down the meeting down right now, but at this point the veteran police officer would risk causing a riot, especially with the Cree and Assiniboine here in such large numbers.

  “Upon further reflection,” began Se
rgeant English, “Mr. and Mrs. Jennings say they may have made an error in what they heard that day. It seems that the enthusiasm for being a part of

  the excitement of an arrest led them to state that they heard River’s Voice utter a death threat.”

  The crowd held its breath. Indians and Métis alike wanted to know that one of their own was innocent. And the non-Native people loved the idea of one of their own, especially just a boy, showing up the police force.

  “In fact, they now say they were too far away to hear anything.”

  The Cree, the Assiniboine, the Métis, and even many of the settlers erupted into a cheer.

  “Free River’s Voice!” shouted Chief Five Hawks.

  “Free him! He is innocent!” others yelled. Summer felt her stomach flip.

  John was amazed that the crowd was so much on River’s Voice’s side now but was so against him earlier. He began to realize that people sometimes think differently when they are in groups. He looked over at Earl and seemed torn whether or not to speak out about his strange behavior, too. But something wasn’t quite right. John was still missing something and his instincts told him to wait.

  Sergeant English scowled before responding.

  “River’s Voice told us himself that he believed Hans Schneider stole a large collection of his pelts. That’s motive for the crime. And we have no other credible suspect.” John suddenly had the realization he was looking for. “Fox

  and beaver pelts, right Sergeant? Found in the Schneider’s barn?”

  The sergeant looked surprised. “Yes…but how did you know that? We haven’t released that information yet. I asked Gertrude not to mention what kinds of pelts were found nor where they were found because it was part of our ongoing investigation.”

  “Mrs. Schneider didn’t tell me, Sergeant. So you might want to ask Mr. Dupont that question. He’s the one who told me what kind of pelts and where they were found. He told me this when we saw him near the Long River Reservation, along the banks of the North Saskatchewan River. So the question is how did he know?”

  The crowd began to buzz again.

  “In some way, Sergeant,” said John, speaking over the increasing crowd noises, “Mr. Dupont is involved in all of this. And perhaps it has something to do with the murder of Hans Schneider after all.”