The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder Page 4

  “There’s another one of those free farms, son. Doesn’t look like the people were able to do much with that gift, does it?”

  Elmer and John’s eyes traced over the sod shack, built with layers of grass and roots cut into strips. These were often temporary homes for settlers before they built something stronger. One side of the north wall had fallen in and prairie dogs scampered around it, rodent masters of the abandoned home. It was another homesteading failure, cause unknown. Cruel, hot summers were difficult enough and the winters that followed were colder than the imagination could stir up. There was unspeakable loneliness, disease, hunger. John knew his father was silently saying “Be thankful. We’re doing alright.” The prairies were certainly not for everyone. They were a gamble, a great roll of the dice by Canadian leaders to carve something—anything—out of a great unknown.

  John squinted at Borden’s familiar buildings, just now coming into view. The small but lively village was always a welcome break from the sameness of the homestead. Yet today, he didn’t have the same excited feelings as the wagon carried William, John, and Elmer into town. Instead, he was anxious, wondering how to uncover the truth of a murder that the police had already determined was solved.

  John’s mother and uncle had been dropped off at the homestead after the funeral. He knew that he and Elmer would have double the usual work when they got back but it was worth it just to be able to go to town and do something different. The routines were very boring. It was a treat to take advantage of the opportunities to do something different as they came along. If they didn’t find Summer’s grandparents in Borden, William had told Summer he would take her directly back home to her Long River reservation. Summer’s horse, Prairie Dancer, walked calmly alongside Skipper and Blue, who were doing wagon duty. The majestic Pinto, with its paint design of distinctive brown and white patches, easily stood out from the two chestnut brown broncos. The horses got along well together, given how often Summer had visited in the past.

  “Are you sure your grandparents are in Borden?” yelled William over the wagon noise to Summer.

  “I think so, yes. Or maybe there are others from the village, since my grandparents do not feel well. Someone must be there to help my father,” answered Summer intently. “Thank you for

  letting me ride with your family, Mr. D.,” she added.

  William grinned at Summer. When they had first met, he had given her permission to call him ‘Mr. D.,’ since Summer had a great deal of difficulty pronouncing the family’s last name. While she had no problem with the pronunciation now, it was a term of affection that had stuck.

  Summer, far more quiet than usual, watched the clouds flit across the sky. John tried to imagine what it must feel like to see your own father taken away by the police. He wasn’t sure how he could help Summer but perhaps they would get some answers from the police.

  As they entered Borden, William called out “Hello!” and tipped his well-worn hat to people that they passed. With few exceptions, he was cheerful and friendly, whatever was going on. William pulled the wagon off the road so that it was in front of the livery stable, where horses and wagons could be rented. The folks of Borden were proud of the livery stable because having one meant that the town was important and busy enough to keep such an establishment in business. Sometimes in the winter, when the local farmers went into town for the afternoon, they would park their horses at the stable to keep them warm and have them fed and groomed.

  As he looked around, John could feel the village alive with activity. Women chatted near storefronts. Children stirred up clouds of dust as they chased each other in between buildings,

  their laughter hanging in the humid air. What John couldn’t miss was the pungent smell of horse droppings scattered in foul piles all over the street.

  The Diefenbakers and Summer parked several small buildings away from the Royal North West Mounted Police office, which also served as the local jail. John knew his father was trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves and didn’t want anyone to guess that he was going to the police station. There were other horses nearby, all tied to posts, as well as a few more wagons parked along the street.

  William hopped off the wagon and looked around. “Do you see your grandparents’ wagon?” he asked Summer, who was tying Prairie Dancer to a tethering post.

  She looked around and shook her head, perplexed. William considered what to do next. “You three wait around here. Look around if you want but don’t go far. I’m going to talk with the sergeant and find out what’s going on.”

  “Mr. D., I want to come! I want to see my father,” she pleaded.

  William’s eyes conveyed understanding, but he was firm in his statement. He lowered his voice as he approached and glanced around. “I don’t want you in the jailhouse, Summer. It’s no place for a young lady. I won’t be long.”

  Summer nodded reluctantly and looked anxious as William walked away.

  John felt sad for her. “Maybe Father will find out that your grandparents already got him released. Maybe he’s back home right now.”

  But even John didn’t sound convinced of this possibility, and it did nothing to brighten Summer’s mood.

  Elmer was deep in thought about visiting the jail, wondering what a real one looked like up close. As he shuffled around on the dirt road, he saw a small stone and kicked it, aiming for the open space of the middle of the street. Instead, the stone veered left, mistakenly striking a wooden post not more than a few inches from a tethered horse. Startled, the large brown horse took several steps back until it reached the end of its rope. The owner of the horse was just coming out of the livery stable and cast his gaze toward Elmer.

  “Sorry, sir!” offered Elmer. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Indeed,” the young man replied as he approached calmly, his dark facial hair obviously recently thinned at Svenson’s barber shop. “You know, if my uncle were alive today, he would say children as old as the three of you should be put to better use, rather than wasting your days about the town.”

  John wanted to assure him that wasn’t the case. “We’re not wasting our days, sir. We’re here because our father needed to come to town.” John fixed his intense, dark eyes on the stranger. Everyone agreed that John’s eyes were his most noticeable feature because of their intensity. As he looked into the eyes of

  the stranger, John thought the same thing could be said of the man dressed in black. The man had a magnetic presence.

  “I see,” replied the man, pleasantly. He was tall, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and he stared at all three of them with an amused look. His dark clothes drew the warm summer sun. Although he was a stranger, John felt comfortable because of his easy nature.

  “And where is your father?” he asked, glancing around. John paused. “Father is at the printing shop, buying a copy of the Langham Times,” he responded hastily, hoping his fib was the right thing to do. He knew that his father didn’t want any embarrassment to come to the family by being connected to the police station.

  The stranger looked more closely at Summer, taking in her deerskin jacket, braided hair and facial features. His eyes brightened.

  “Did you know that my uncle was fluent in Cree?” he asked, obviously recognizing her as Plains Cree.

  “He knew the Cree language?” she asked, impressed. The man laughed and nodded. “My dear, my uncle made it his business to know all of the Indian languages on the prairies, including French. He was Métis, you see. We were very close.” Métis, thought John. He would not have guessed the man in front of them was Métis. He wasn’t dressed in the typical Métis fashion, which was a blend of European and Indian heritage

  clothing. Often they combined animal hides, like deer or elk, with flamboyant, colourful cloths. But nothing was certain any more—times were changing, John realized. This man was dressed plainly, in European-style clothing. In this case, he was dressed in black from head to toe. “Who was your uncle?” asked Summer.

  “My u
ncle,” claimed the stranger with flourish “was Gabriel Dumont.”

  John hit Elmer in the arm to get his attention and his eyes widened. They had just met the person Sergeant English had been talking about!

  “My name is André Dumont. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he stated, now extending his hand. The children stood gaping-mouthed and shook his offered hand. “And just who might the three of you be?”

  “I’m John Diefenbaker, this is my brother, Elmer, and our friend, Summer Storm,” John replied, wondering if he should have identified everyone to Mr. Dumont.

  “I met Mr. Dumont, your uncle, a few years ago,” John continued, “when we lived in Carlton. I was sorry to hear that he died a couple of years ago.”

  André blinked down at them and seemed to consider something for a moment. “Thank you, thank you indeed. He was a great man.”

  “Your last name is odd. German, I guess. Tell me,” André

  directed at John, the obvious leader of the youngsters. “Has anyone ever made fun of it?”

  John looked to the ground briefly and nodded. “Yes, at school.”

  André nodded. “The treatment of folks not from Great Britain in this country is a terrible thing. The only thing worse is the treatment of the people who were here first. And Laurier does so little,” he told them, referring to the Canadian prime minister, Sir Wilfrid Laurier. “Who will help change the attitudes of the people if not the leadership of the country?” John wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer.

  “Perhaps, people like us,” André uttered, answering his own question.

  “But hasn’t Prime Minister Laurier opened the West to plenty of immigrants? There’re folks from all over the world here,” John pointed out.

  “Bringing people is one thing,” began André. “But you know that all these people are disturbing the lives of those who were here first.”

  John agreed with what André was saying. Through his studies with his father and uncle, and being friends with Summer, he had learned a lot about the changes endured by the Cree, other Indian tribes and the Métis on their way of life. André seemed to read his mind and looked at Summer. “It is dreadful the way the Cree and Métis have been pushed

  around so much by the government. I know you are too young but your elders must miss the old ways.” Summer looked downcast. “Yes, they talk about it a lot.” An older Indian man walked slowly by and André glanced his way briefly and then continued more loudly.

  “Everything has been mismanaged by the government. The Indians and Métis remember when the buffalo ran freely across the prairie, so thick that the herds were like great moving walls,” he described, gesturing boldly. “What a proud time in our history, to remember the freedom we once had to do what was needed for our families and for our villages.”

  The man who had been walking by stopped a few feet away and listened attentively.

  André continued. “I remember my uncle, Gabriel Dumont, who was so troubled at the treatment of the Métis and Indian peoples. The way the government land surveyors marched in, carving up the land in quarter sections, ignoring the preference for narrow fields that could touch the mighty waters of the North Saskatchewan River.”

  Just then a white couple walked out of the land titles office nearby and André noticed them, too. He seemed to quickly take in their possible concerns, too.

  “And even the white settler has been lied to by the government. ‘The Last Best West’ the government calls it, and yet homesteaders often starve before they can yield a decent crop.”

  The white couple nodded at each other in agreement.

  Seeing this, André continued. “And my people, the Métis, just like the Cree and other Indian tribes, are pushed farther and farther back to the sidelines to make way for progress. Well, I tell you I am tired of progress and tired of a government in Ottawa that is far away from what we experience here in the West.”

  “Here, here!” shouted someone.

  John, Elmer, and Summer looked at one another, noticing how his words had quickly affected the other adults. He seemed to be able to get agreement from all kinds of people. Two men walked out of the blacksmith’s shop a few businesses down the main street and began to walk toward André, while another couple emerged from the general store. The gathering seemed to happen spontaneously. As others began to approach, John felt it was time for the three of them to make an exit.

  He bumped Elmer and caught Summer’s eye, then the three slipped away through the adults and made their way in the direction of the police station, still listening to André Dumont’s melodious voice, which carried easily through the air. He didn’t seem to notice they had left, now that more adults had joined in.

  “…and who will take up this challenge if not us? Who will protect our right to hunt where we need to hunt, to build where we need to build? Who will demand more railways be built…?”

  With André’s speech-making behind them, the three cut through between the blacksmith’s shop and the livery stable, and walked along a back pathway behind the main stores. In between two unfamiliar buildings, they leaned against one of them to collect their thoughts.

  “Now we know what Sergeant English and Mr. Wright were talking about. This André Dumont sure is trying to stir things up,” John voiced.

  “But why would he want to do that?” asked Elmer. John shook his head. “Maybe he just wants to be famous, too. Like his uncle.”

  Looking around, John realized they were not in sight of the police station. “We should walk a bit closer to the station. Otherwise we’ll miss Father when he comes out.”

  They walked along the dry ground, the faint noises of the main street nearby. As they passed between the side walls of two run-down businesses, they noticed a strong smell that made them turn their noses up. Just then, a man swore and there was a loud bang, as if a heavy object had fallen. This was followed by a conversation between two men that was getting louder and angrier. The three youths tucked themselves beside a building to take a look at the commotion without being noticed. John put his index finger to his lips.

  “You overcharged me and you know it!” yelled one voice. “I want my money back, you thieving…”

  Unfortunately, Elmer, who had been leaning over John and Summer, trying to hear better, fell over and rolled to the ground in full view of two men. As John and Summer scrambled to pull him back out of visual range, the face of one of the angry pair— a short, stocky man—flipped from anger to fear as he realized someone was watching. He averted his eyes quickly from John, Elmer, and Summer and stomped off angrily, muttering, “Forget it…just forget it.”

  The other man was quite large and boasted a scruffy, dirty beard. He wore a dark brown bent cowboy hat that looked like it had seen better days. There was a wagon behind him in the shadow of a building, filled with barrels and a canvas tarp pulled over more than half of them. He saw John look at the wagon and quickly pulled the tarp over the remainder of the barrels. Limping strongly and staring menacingly, the man took a few steps toward the three. John noticed a gun on his hip and pushed the others back a step.

  “Now hold on, old Cecil’s not going to hurt you,” promised the grizzled man, clenching his soiled hands.

  He grinned, yet his slate grey eyes were as hard as steel as he spoke.

  “I think you three might have made a mistake in coming this way.”

  Chapter 6

  Guilty Until Proven Innocent

  John, Elmer, and Summer backed up rapidly as Cecil advanced. For an overweight man with a limp, he moved surprisingly quickly, covering a great distance in a few hurried steps. His deeply-lined face was difficult to read.

  “What’s wrong with you kids? Don’t you know where you’re at?”

  “We just want to walk by you, Mister,” said John plainly, trying not to act alarmed.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen,” he replied, stopping in front of them and looking John in the eye.

  John swallowed hard and Elmer and Summ
er began to retreat slightly behind him.

  Just then a familiar, confident-sounding male voice interrupted.

  “You can let them pass. Or you can deal with me.” André Dumont walked calmly from behind a nearby building, his eyes fixed squarely on Cecil. He moved a portion of his

  black vest aside to reveal his own gun holster, a quiet hint that he meant business.

  Cecil’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t any of your business, stranger.”

  They looked at each other oddly. “On the other hand, I believe I am quite certain about what your business is. Peddling illegal whisky from America out of the back of your wagon. So, the fact that you are even talking with three children disgusts me. Now move aside,” said André sternly.

  Cecil acted startled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said indignantly. “I sell water.”

  Dumont laughed with skepticism. “The day the world chooses to buy water will surely be the end of civilization as we know it.”

  Cecil gestured behind him. “I was only trying to stop these kids from walking near this hotel. Drinking establishments are no place for children. Some mighty rough characters hang out around here.”

  “On that we can agree,” said André. “And you appear to be one of them. But I don’t think they are in any danger, as long as they hurry about their business and move quickly. You will move quickly, won’t you?” asked André, looking at John, Elmer, and Summer.

  “Yes sir,” said John, who didn’t need any further hints and began to quickly walk past Cecil, followed closely by Summer

  with Elmer at her heels.

  “Don’t forget what we talked about, young John!” called out André behind them. “This country needs real leadership!”

  John nodded, although right now he was more concerned about weaving between the shadows of the two hotels to get back onto the main street of Borden.

  John glanced back and saw André and Cecil still staring at each other, but he wasn’t about to wait around to see how it ended.