“THEY HANGED RIEL this morning,” Colonel Pritchett said. “O’Brien just got it on the wire. His third appeal was turned down, so he’s dead. The insanity plea didn’t work after all. A huge crowd gathered outside the prison while it was still dark. I never thought he was crazy. They were determined to hang him. They would have hanged him if he’d been as crazy as a loon.”
Gatling was slouched in a leather chair across the desk from the colonel. He didn’t give a damn about Riel, though the man obviously wasn’t right in the head. He had brought a firestorm down on the métis; they wouldn’t recover from it for years.
“What about Gabriel Dumont?” Gatling had written to the big métis; there had been no replies. Dumont had been tried and convicted of treason and many other charges. He was being held in the same prison in Regina where Riel was executed.
“Well, they gave him life,” the colonel said. “But you know that. It’s been in the papers. There is a movement to have his sentence reduced. Petitions, appeals to the Prime Minister, that sort of thing. The Government up there wants to put this unpleasantness behind it. French Canada—Quebec—is all stirred up. Some believe there is hope of a pardon after Dumont has served part of his sentence. By the way, O’Brien tells me the fifty thousand dollars you sent to Dumont’s lawyers was returned this morning. It seems the Government put pressure on them. O’Brien tried to hire better lawyers, but was informed that the lawyers Dumont has now must remain.”
Gatling said, “It’s strange to think of Dumont having to rely on lawyers.”
The colonel raised his bushy eyebrows. “Did he want to act as his own lawyer? I’m sure he doesn’t know a thing about the law. Of course it would have been the same no matter who argued the case.”
Gatling said, “Dumont didn’t want to do anything. He told them to hang him and get it over with. But the Government insisted that he have lawyers. Dumont just sat there and didn’t say a word all through the trial.”
“That’s right,” the colonel said. “His lawyers argued that he was a simple not-too-bright poor fellow who’d been led down the garden path by the sinister Riel. He tried to smash up the court when he heard that. The judge ordered him gagged and bound. I take it you feel great sympathy for the fellow.”
Gatling wanted to pick up the desk and throw it at the colonel. “His name is Gabriel Dumont, not ‘fellow.’ I liked him all right. He had a terrible temper and could be a pain in the ass, but he was all right. You could trust him to do what he said.”
“Most commendable. He must have been a fine man in his way.”
“You could say that, Colonel. But what’s the use of talking about it. I doubt if he’ll ever see the North Woods again.”
The colonel had Gatling’s report on his desk. “I’ve skimmed through this,” he said. “Tonight I’ll give it my undivided attention. Meanwhile, can you fill me in on a few details? Your report on the Mauser seems to be most favorable. But you still have reservations about the Officer’s Model thirty-eight. You say it doesn’t have enough stopping power.”
“It doesn’t. Sure it can kill a man. Any gun can kill a man. But I don’t feel it’s right for combat. Suppose an Apache that’s been eating crazy mushrooms comes screaming at you. All he wants to do is kill you. He doesn’t give a damn about his own life. He doesn’t even think about it. He’s wild, he’s crazy, and he’s bearing down on you like an express train. I don’t think the thirty-eight is going to stop him. You may be dead before he is.”
“Well, I’ll certainly mention it to Mr. Maxim.” The colonel wrote a few lines in a notebook. He laughed. “What about the Horseshoe Pistol? Odd-looking thing, isn’t it.”
“It saved my life,” Gatling said. He told the colonel about the fight on the prairie. He was scouting the country far south of Batoche and was caught in a militia ambush. “My horse was killed and fell on my rifle. My forty-five was empty. I killed a whole bunch of them with the odd-looking pistol, as you call it.”
The colonel started fooling with his pipe; with him, it was some sort of ceremony. “Amazing. Absolutely amazing,” he said. “But it’s still a peculiar-looking weapon. You think it has any commercial value?”
“I doubt it. It’s the look of the gun that’s against it. People like their weapons to have clean lines. Maybe you could manufacture it in limited quantities.”
The colonel got his curved pipe going and he sighed with satisfaction. “Oh, well, that decision is up to Mr. Maxim. What about the Balloon Gun?”
“I shot down one balloon. One balloon was all there was. It was close enough during the last days of the siege. I guess they knew we were just about out of ammunition. They sent it up in darkness. It was there in the morning. I dropped over the wall, crawled closer, and shot it down. I had to dodge like hell to get back.”
“Good show,” the colonel said. He said it all the time. He would have said it at a dogfight. He would have said it when Wellington defeated Bonaparte at Waterloo.
“It must have been a peculiar little war,” the colonel remarked. “Good Lord! It must have been cold there. I hate cold. I spent so many years in India. From what I’ve read, Saskatchewan must be a miserable place. Hardly worth fighting about, what?”
“The métis wouldn’t agree with you, Colonel. A lot of them died for it. Nobody knows what’ll happen to them now. They’re holding them in camps. They’ll probably get some bad land and be watched all the time. The Government doesn’t want a new messiah to arise. That won’t be Dumont. If he gets out he’ll disappear. He never wanted the war, but once it started, he did his best. You think O’Brien can get money to him some other way?”
The colonel didn’t like the question. “If I were you I’d stay out of it. It’s over, finished, already in the past. You’re lucky you aren’t in prison with Dumont. The Fenians were deported, but you wouldn’t be treated so lightly. I doubt if there would be any pardon for you. Washington has made a most sincere apology. From now on any American renegade who tries to make political trouble in Canada will be extradited and severely punished. That means you, my lad. Think of cold, damp cells. Think of beans three times a day.”
Gatling pushed his chair back so hard it fell over. “You have a new assignment, you can get me at the hotel. If there’s any problem you can find me in Denver.”
“Wait a moment,” the colonel said. “I have some interesting news that quite slipped my mind. By now the Canadian Government will have linked us to the rebellion. I suppose that was inevitable. What astonishes me is the fact that the Canadians are prepared to forgive and forget.”
Gatling had his hand on the doorknob. “Why is that?”
“They are impressed by what our Maxims and Hotchkiss guns did to their troops. Cold-blooded bastards, but who gives a damn. Hang onto your hat, old fellow. They have just placed an order for a very large shipment of weapons. What do you think of that?”
“I think this time you should deliver them yourself.” Gatling opened the door and slammed it behind him.