“I know the men you’re looking for are somewhere ahead of us to the east,” Frank said, pointing in that direction even though it wasn’t necessary. “While you were circling through the hills to the north yesterday on your patrol, they slipped past you and headed for Calgary.”
He was only guessing that the Mounties’ horses were responsible for the tracks he and his friends had found the day before, but the look of surprise on the sergeant’s face told him that he was right.
“You do know something about this matter,” the man said.
Frank nodded. “I sure do. More than you might think, because I also know they’re Métis revolutionaries, and they have four Gatling guns as well as the gold.”
Shocked muttering came from several of the Mounties. They fell silent abruptly as the red-faced sergeant twisted around in the saddle and gave them a stern look. He turned back to Frank and said, “I think you had better explain yourself, Mr. Morgan.”
“I’d be glad to.” Knowing that Meg was still Palmer’s prisoner made any delay chafe at Frank, but he thought it would save time in the long run to lay his cards on the table for the Mountie sergeant. “Why don’t you and your men get down off those horses? There’s coffee in the pot, and we can always brew more.”
The man hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded and said, “All right.” He ordered his men to dismount and added, “At ease, lads.”
The Mounties swung down from their saddles and fetched tin cups for coffee from their packs. The sergeant clasped his hands behind his stiffly held back and faced Frank.
“Now, then, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “My name is McKendrick. What can you tell me about these Gatling guns?”
“I figure they were stolen from the U.S. Army. I know they were smuggled across the border by an outlaw named Owen Lundy and his gang. They delivered the guns to those Métis revolutionaries I mentioned, in return for a payment in gold … which the Métis turned right around and stole back from them a little later. They ambushed Lundy’s bunch and killed all of them except a man named Palmer, who’s gone after them. Palmer took a friend of ours, a woman named Meg Goodwin, with him as a prisoner. I figure he plans to use her as a hostage if the law catches up to him. Clear enough, Sergeant?”
McKendrick frowned at him. “Clear enough … but decidedly far-fetched.”
Frank shrugged and said, “Maybe so, but that’s what happened.”
“What’s your connection with the guns?”
“There isn’t any, except that Lundy used one of them to try to kill us a couple of days ago. I think he was probably demonstrating it to the Métis, and we happened to be handy targets.”
“Then what are you doing here on Canadian soil?” McKendrick demanded.
“We were on Palmer’s trail. He stole some money from Salty a while back, and we hoped we could recover some of it.”
“That’s right, Sergeant,” the old-timer put in. “Palmer was part o’ Soapy Smith’s bunch over at Skagway, if you heard about that.”
“Skagway is in Alaska, out of our jurisdiction,” McKendrick said. He added, “But I do recall hearing something about the rampant lawlessness that went on there before the vigilantes rose up and restored the rule of order. Should have been done by the proper authorities, of course.”
Salty said, “There wasn’t no law to do it, so folks had to take care o’ things their own selves.”
McKendrick sniffed. “Such things would never happen in Canada.”
“Do you believe what we’ve told you, Sergeant?” Frank asked. “We could sure use those horses of ours you’ve got. I don’t think we could walk much farther.”
“You have bills of sale or any other sort of proof the animals belong to you?”
“As a matter of fact,” Frank said, “we do. We bought them in a place called Powderkeg Bay, on the other side of the mountains.”
“I’ve heard of it. Never been there.”
“I’ll see if I can find those papers,” Frank said.
Frank had the bills of sale from Parkhurst’s Livery in his saddlebags, which he had slung over his shoulder along with the pack of supplies. Actually, a couple of these horses hadn’t come from there, but the descriptions on the papers were vague enough that McKendrick didn’t notice the discrepancy. Anyway, Frank thought, three horses were three horses, under sore-footed circumstances like these.
“Very well,” the sergeant said as he handed the bills of sale back to Frank. “Everything you’ve told me seems reasonable enough to accept, Mr. Morgan, although it does take a bit of imagination. Do you have any idea what the Métis plan to do with those Gatling guns?”
Frank shook his head. “No, but they’ve been responsible for two armed rebellions against the Canadian government. I have a hunch that whatever their plan is, it won’t be anything good.”
“Indeed,” McKendrick said. “My men and I will proceed with all due haste to Calgary, so I can wire my superiors with this news. You and your companions will accompany us.”
“That was what I figured on doing,” Frank said.
A hint of an icy smile appeared on McKendrick’s lips. “You don’t understand. You have no choice in the matter. For the time being you may consider yourselves under arrest.”
“Arrest!” Salty yelped in surprise. “What in tarnation are you arrestin’ us for, you … you danged redcoat!”
“You’re being held for questioning as suspicious characters,” McKendrick said.
“That don’t sound like no real charge to me!”
Frank said, “Take it easy, Salty.” To McKendrick, he went on, “We’re coming with you anyway, Sergeant. What’s the point in placing us under arrest?”
“It gives me the authority to demand that you surrender your weapons.” McKendrick carried a revolver in a holster with a flap over the butt of the gun. He rested his hand on that flap now.
Frank could have drawn his own Colt half a dozen times or more in the time it would take McKendrick to unfasten that flap and haul out the holstered revolver. Outnumbered four to one, though, he didn’t want to get in a shooting scrape with the Mounties.
It wasn’t just a matter of the odds, either. Sergeant McKendrick might be a stiff-necked, overly suspicious son of a gun, but he was just doing his job the best way he knew how. Wrong or not, he didn’t deserve a bullet for that.
“All right, Sergeant,” Frank said. “We want to go to Calgary anyway, so we’ll cooperate … for now. Don’t get spooked. I’m going to hand you my gun.”
“Carefully,” McKendrick advised.
Frank reached over with his left hand to slide the Colt from leather and surrender it to the Mountie. Salty grumbled about giving up his gun, but he did it.
That just left Reb. McKendrick turned toward him and said, “You, too, Mr. Russell. Hand over your weapon.”
Reb looked torn. Suddenly, he stepped back, and his hand flashed to his holster with blinding speed. He drew the ivory-handled gun before any of the Mounties could hope to stop him and trained the weapon on McKendrick.
“Hold it right there, Sergeant,” Reb said. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to. You’re not gettin’ my gun.”
Chapter 30
“Reb, what in blazes are you doing?” Frank demanded. He glanced at the Mounties. Several of them had raised their rifles and pointed them at the young man. They might have opened fire if Sergeant McKendrick hadn’t lifted a hand to stop them.
“Hold on there, lads,” McKendrick said. “No shooting unless we absolutely have to.” He glared at Reb. “What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Russell?”
“The meanin’ is that I ain’t handin’ over my gun to you,” Reb drawled. “I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t arrest me, either.”
Again that frosty smile touched McKendrick’s lips. “I beg to differ with you, sir. I can arrest anyone I please.”