Menotah Part 32

affectionately named him, upon the deathbed at peaceful St Boniface,[2]

still a care heavy enough to almost break that generous heart The Government had steadily refused to redeem their promise, or to grant to Manitoban Catholics that separate school system which is their right and their due, which above all has been solemnly a.s.sured them. Still, it may not yet be too late to perform a tardy justice, which, on the side of the Government, is a duty.

Now the days of the b.l.o.o.d.y scalping knife have sunk into history. The nondescript individual, who to-day answers to the t.i.tle of Red Indian, is a very different being from the n.o.ble prairie trackers of the olden days, before the introduction of whisky and vice. Up in northern districts, far from the d.a.m.ning pollution of traders and treasure seekers, may still be found at long intervals the haughty heathen warrior with his paint and feathers of liberty. But in all other parts the immorality of the white man has done its work too successfully. Is proof required? Then listen. It may be doubted whether there is at the present time a single full-blooded Indian alive on the Canadian prairies!

Should such types of humanity--Longfellow's 'Hiawatha' accurately depicts them--be utterly extinguished? Look at the Menotah, the Muskwah, of this work. These are true life studies, which may hardly be found to-day, never until civilisation, with all its attending evils, has been left far from sight. Is the taciturn, morose half-breed, heavy in feature, abnormally dull in intellect, an efficient subst.i.tute for such?

At that particular spot on the Great Saskatchewan where the scene of this narrative is for the most part laid, any at this day might well blush at owning affinity with white men. That once n.o.ble race, the origin of which is beyond all conjecture, who possess secrets, powers and occult arts beyond all our discoveries, must be blotted out during the lives of most. Riel made an effort to save it, not an unselfish effort, still he did his best. Where he failed, none may succeed.

But to return to narrative.

One of the two figures on the Red River bank to the north of the fort was Lamont. His companion was a young girl of French extraction, named Marie Lariviere. She spoke the English with a pretty accent, and hung to the arm of the handsome young man with clinging tenderness.

The gates of Garry were now thrown open wide. Any might go forth upon the surrounding prairies or enter the young city. All danger of hostility was past, and the land was at peace.

'But talking about being constant,' the girl was saying; 'it is such an easy thing when the one we love is present.'

'And rather too much the opposite when he's away, eh, my Marie?' said Lamont, with the lover's softness.

'Well,' she said, with dainty hesitation, 'one naturally looks for that which custom has made us long for.'

'But when I was away, you found others to take my place, didn't you?' he asked, gazing eagerly at her small face, with the dark crisp curls nodding over the forehead.

'It's not a fair question, Hugh. You may be jealous if you like, but still I have something against you. That long mysterious journey north; you can't give me a reason for that.'

'Business, _cherie_. I thought of you all that time.'

She laughed. 'You were quite satisfied with thought only. Come, tell me the truth. Was there not some hidden attraction there? I have heard that the Cree girls are beautiful--some of them. Was it one of them?'

He joined carelessly in her mirth. 'Who is jealous now? Are you afraid of an Indian rival, my Marie? But who are these?'

Two other figures came along the trail in the white light. One was tall and stooping, the other short and brisk of step. They were talking together in French. So still was the night, their voices might be heard before they were themselves visible.

The couples advanced and met. Then Lamont gave a quick exclamation--more it seemed of fear than surprise--and pulled off his hat. 'The Archbishop!'

He it was, enjoying the cool of the evening. The tall priest by his side was Father Lecompte, the man of his right hand. This latter looked careworn and very ill.

It was, in truth, a kindly face that turned towards the young couple as they pa.s.sed--smooth, clean-shaven, with a pair of soft eyes, crested by wavy hair. At that time it bore a tired, anxious expression, result of recent incessant toil. The privations he had suffered for the country of his adoption had been great. Through heat and cold, by river, prairie and forest, he had travelled; on horse, on foot, by boat, for many days and weeks. Often without food, always lacking rest, until the great work was accomplished, and he had won. A truly n.o.ble-hearted man that.'

'G.o.d bless you, my children,' he said, in the quiet, thrilling voice which all knew so well, as he smiled upon them.

'I couldn't speak,' said Marie, breathlessly. 'It is strange that one should be overawed by such a good man. I couldn't thank him, or anything.'

'He was the last I expected to meet along here. I didn't know he had returned.'

'Doesn't Father Lecompte look ill? You know he accompanied the Archbishop on his travels, and it has broken his health.'

There was a silent pause, while they came slowly towards the brilliant lights of the inner fort. Then she said musingly, 'So Riel is dead.'

'What made you think of him?' he asked quickly.

She raised a hand to point towards the grey tower, into the shadow of which they now entered.

He thought of the dead that lay around, and shuddered. Then there came back to him the recent execution at Regina; the dark figure, champion of a hopeless cause; the lines of mounted police; the cosmopolitan crowd; the dreary plain. He thought also on a certain figure in that crowd, one who had watched the mournful and dramatic scene with almost a wild interest. It was only a disreputable loafer, with ragged garments and dirt-begrimed features. It was, in short, a man with ident.i.ty fearfully concealed.

'Come,' he said suddenly, drawing her gently on, 'let me take you home.

It is late, and to-morrow will be busy.'

After seeing his _fiancee_ to her home, Lamont set out along the irregular street, which followed the meandering of the river, towards his lodgings. The brightly illumined window of a saloon attracted his attention, and allured him to enter for a chat with the proprietor on latest matters of local interest. So he came into the smoky bar, where the usual throng of deadbeats--broken-down English gentlemen for the most part--were talking or shouting, according to the amount of liquor imbibed. Some of the figures that loomed through the thick cloud of smoke were decidedly unsteady. Very prominent among this latter cla.s.s was a certain individual of cadaverous complexion and yellow moustache, at the sight of whom Lamont started with a short oath of gratification.

The man was unquestionably Peter Denton.

He quickly nodded to the bar-tender, who knew him, then pa.s.sed to a side room, where those who placarded themselves in the outer world as exclusive devotees to the cause of temperance were wont to be served in strict privacy. Here the wielder of the c.o.c.ktail flasks soon joined him, with the usual salutation, 'How goes it?'

'Who's the chap over there, that one with the sandy hair?' asked Lamont, pointing towards the bar through the drifting smoke.

'That? Just a crazy sort of ranting fellow. Ter'ble drunken lot he is, too.'

The other laughed in his self-satisfied manner. 'See here,' he said, catching at the bar-tender's s.h.i.+rt sleeve, 'I've been after him since last fall. He made off with some s.h.i.+ners of mine. Guess they're stowed at his lodgings, if he hasn't got away with them all.'

'You don't say,' said the man, making an accurate shot through the fog at a distant spittoon. 'He looks a crooked tool, right enough. Still, I've not heard much talk against him, and long as he can pay for liquor, it's not my biz to speak. What'll I do?'

'Load him up. I'll stand the racket.'

'I tell you, he can take a fancy quant.i.ty. What's the plan?'

'When he's too raddled to know me, I'll offer to see him home.'

'Then search round the shanty for the dosh?'

'That's what.'

The bar-tender chuckled. 'That'd stand some beating. I'll go and fix him up with a drop of drugged spirit. You'll wait here, eh?'

The scheme could not fail to succeed. Denton was 'ready' for his enemy in less than quarter of an hour. Some trouble was experienced in getting him to the street, but once there he was quite prepared to accompany his newly found companion. Leaning heavily upon his arm, he staggered, with the unfailing instinct of the drunken man, towards his home, which was nothing more pretentious than a dirty little shack in a sheltered spot without the fort.

Once inside, Lamont went promptly to work without loss of time. There were but two inodorous rooms, the innermost of which contained a truckle bed. Upon this he dumped the garrulous Denton, then left him, singing cheerfully a hymn of doubtful wording for self-edification. Afterwards he lit a broken lamp and made search for his missing property.

First impressions conveyed the idea that, if the gold had been secreted in this place, it would not be difficult to come across it. For, beyond a bed and box in the one room, table, two chairs, cupboard and crazy bookcase, which hung gingerly to the loose plaster, in the outer, there was literally no addition to the original building. Carpets and curtains were luxuries unknown; coa.r.s.e paper had been fastened across the lower portion of dirty window frames; a rickety stove was propped against the wall by means of a couple of bricks. Lamont searched everywhere, in each nook and dirt-encrusted cranny, by the greasy light of the lamp, which dropped faint yellow rays along each sordid article. Then he dragged the proprietor from the bed, pulled off the coverlet, searched mattress and floor beneath. He ransacked the shreds of rusty clothing, tapped the crumbling plaster, examined every part of the flooring. But there were no traces to be discovered of Menotah's first and only material gift.

Denton must have parted with the whole under pinch of want.

Lamont turned up the flickering flame--the oil was failing--then kicked the drunken wretch on the floor. The ex-minister responded with an unsteady homily on the joys of humility. Then Lamont reflected.

He felt certain that this was the culprit who deserved punishment at his hands. That would be a simple matter. All he had to do was to dash the dying lamp to the floor, then depart. This crazy shanty of dry wood would be in ashes within the hour, and the drunken body of its owner cremated.

So he stood for the moment undecided, then smiled slowly and shook his head. Nerve was wanting, even for such a little thing as that. Perhaps he was getting weak. It might be that there were already sufficient unpleasant shadows haunting the past. An addition to such might well prove beyond tolerance.

Denton's tongue had ceased its unmeaning flow of words, as its owner slowly sank into the deep slumber of inebriation. Lamont went into the other room, placed the lamp on the table, then seated himself, still following up the new line of thought recently suggested. To-morrow he would be married to a girl he believed he sincerely loved. Then he would settle down to a changed life, and restart with a new set of morals. The past, as a thing gone, was to be forgotten. He would now become a respectable citizen of the new western metropolis.

Then his eyes wandered carelessly round the darkened room, as he leaned forward to turn up the flickering flame from its dull red smouldering.

Light darted through the heavily smoked gla.s.s, and he found himself gazing upon Denton's large Bible, which stood on the bookcase shelf. His lips curled into a contemptuous smile. Then he went across the dry, creaking boards and pulled down the worn book. To his surprise the balance was uneven, while a hollow rattling came from within. All attempts to open it failed, as the leaves appeared to be firmly bound together. But when he came to look at it more closely in the dim light, he realised that what had once been a book was now a box. There could be no doubt on the matter, for a small keyhole was visible immediately beneath one of the boards.