There were fifty prisoners under heavy guard when they got back to Batoche. Fires blazed in the streets of the village and across the river in the encampment Sundance and Dumont saw the fives from miles upriver. The old man who took them across on the ferry was shaking with excitement
“We have captured a whole army of Canadians, a whole army,” he said. “They came with horses and wagons and guns. Not a shot was fired. Our men trapped them on the road from the south.”
Canadians! Dumont looked at Sundance. It didn’t make any sense.
In front of the barracks fifty men sat huddled in the wind, watched by two métis behind the Gatling gun. Riflemen guarded them on the other side. The wagons and horses of the captured men were standing some distance away.
Men came running when they saw Dumont, but the cheering stopped when they saw the bloody bandage around his head. Dumont roared at them to be quiet when they started yelling.
Sundance and Dumont dismounted and walked over to the métis in charge of the prisoners. “You, Gameau,” said Dumont, “what is all this?”
“Their leader says they came to fight with Hardesty, the Irishman. I do not believe them.”
Dumont swore furiously. “More Hardestys,” he said. “Which one is the leader?”
“The one standing up with the red hair in the caped greatcoat. He says his name is O’Neal.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” O’Neal demanded when Gameau brought him over. “Who are you and where the hell is Hardesty? We didn’t come a thousand miles, dodging the Mounties, to be treated like this. Senator Niles in New York is going to hear about this.”
“He is lying,” Garneau whispered.
“Go away!” Dumont roared.
O’Neal was still outraged. “My men are freezing out here. If we are to be prisoners, then treat us like soldiers.” The redheaded Irishman looked like an ex-cavalryman to Sundance, probably a good one too. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles that took nothing away from his military bearing. An empty holster was strapped to his broad leather belt.
“Can you prove who you are?” Dumont was not impressed with the other man’s anger. “A paper, a letter.”
O’Neal said, “I have a safe conduct pass with Hardesty’s signature on it I showed it to your man, but I don’t know if he can read.”
“He can read French, his own language.” Dumont said, unfolding the paper. After he read it, he gave it to Sundance. “It looks like Hardesty’s signature. Look at the fancy way he writes his name.
“I see he’s made himself a colonel,” Sundance said. Colonel Hardesty—the noncom in the British Army had come a long way in a few years. Among the Fenians there were more colonels than in the Mexican army.
Dumont kept the safe conduct past. “My apologies,” he said, not sorry at all, “but you arrived early. Hardesty said the first men wouldn’t arrive until the aid of the week.”
O’Neal said with a sneer, “We should have taken our time, but I thought there was a war to be fought Next time we won’t be so prompt.”
His sarcasm was lost on Dumont, who said, “Next time I think you better stay in New York. But you’re here, and your men will need food and shelter. Gameau did not make them sit here for nothing.” Dumont called Gameau. “See that these men are quartered and fed. Join your men, Mr. O’Neal.”
“I am Major O’Neal.”
“Be anything you like. Join your men.”
To Gameau, Dumont said, “Turn the Gatling gun around and move it back. You had it too close to them. If they had attacked, you would have had no chance to use it. Don’t make the same mistake again. Guard them well. There may be trouble with Hardesty.”
Dumont told Garneau to go away when he asked about his head. “And put out those damned fires! I don’t want Mr. Hardesty to get excited when he rides in. No one has seen me. Do you understand?”
Garneau didn’t understand, but he nodded.
“Give them the best food we have,” Dumont ordered. “No slop. These men are our friends. But don’t give them whiskey.” Dumont smiled at Sundance. “Irishmen are worse than Indians.”
When they got to the cabin, Sundance wanted Dumont to rest. “Then who will cook the ham and duck eggs?” Dumont asked. “You have eaten duck eggs?”
Sundance had to admit not lately. “Well, they’re here, the first of them are,” he said and stretched out on his bunk, while Dumont greased a skillet. “What do you think?”
“I think duck eggs have to be fried right, or they taste like rubber. About the Irishmen? I don’t know what I think. This one called O’Neal looks all right. I don’t know about the others, but they brought a Gatling gun. Now we have two.”
“The Canadians have more than that.”
“I know,” Dumont said, turning away.
They were eating when horseman thundered into the encampment. Shouting started and stopped. Dumont swigged down the last of his tea and put his Winchester on the table. Sundance eased the Colt in his oiled holster. The door opened and Riel came in, followed by Hardesty.
“Gabriel! They said you were wounded,” Riel said. “Did you see the man—the men—who did it?”
So much for the surprise, Sundance thought, watching Hardesty instead of Riel. Hardesty didn’t miss the rifle on the table. He didn’t speak because Riel was asking the questions.
“Sundance saw them and killed them, Louis. They were Theodore Parie and Elzear Bedard, two good métis from Montana. Each man had fifty American dollars in his pocket. They had no money when they came here from jail, just the ragged clothes on their backs.”
Riel passed his hand over his face and sat down. “But this is unthinkable. Two of our own people took money to kill you? Where are they now?”
“In the river,” Sundance said, still watching Hardesty.
Hardesty was a quick thinker. “Maybe the Canadians made a deal with them while they were in jail and bribed the jailers to let them escape.”
“That won’t wash,” Sundance said. “Why would they try to kill Gabriel? Louis is the man to kill.”
Without looking up, Riel said piously, “I am not the whole movement.”
Dumont stood up, almost knocking over the table. “They were paid by someone closer to home I think. I will speak plainly. You could have hired them, Hardesty. I say you did hire them.”
Hardesty’s hand jerked toward his gun, but Sundance knew he wasn’t going to draw it. It was the Irishman’s way of showing how shocked and angry he was. Dumont’s hand was on the rifle. If Hardesty had tried for a draw, Sundance would have killed him before his hand had touched the butt of the gun.
“Please, my friends!” Riel got between them with outstretched hands—the man of peace. “This is what they want, to have us quarrel. There has to be some explanation.”
“Hardesty wants to get rid of me, Louis.”
“Louis, why would I want to do that? I lead my men, Gabriel leads his.”
Dumont said, “I lead all the men. That was the plan.”
“That was the plan, Gabriel.” Riel seemed to be speaking in the past tense. So it seemed to Sundance.
“Even if you were dead, the métis would never follow me,” Hardesty argued.
Sundance knew the métis would follow anyone Riel told them to.
“But you have no proof, Gabriel,” Riel said. “Did the men talk? They didn’t accuse anyone?”
“They would have, Louis. If they were alive, they would talk.” Dumont touched the haft of the skinning knife. “They would have told everything.”
Riel shook his head. “But they aren’t alive. The American money you found was just American money.”
“And who has the most American money in Batoche?”
“Certainly I don’t, Gabriel. Mr. Hardesty has the most American money. Would you condemn a man for having a lot of money? But I have some American money. Why don’t you accuse me? We argued today in public, so I became angry at your insubordination and paid Parie and Bedard to kill you. Simple, is it not?”
“Bah!” Gabriel Dumont said.
“Of course it’s foolish, Gabriel, but I could have done it. You are wounded, and you are angry, and you want to blame Mr. Hardesty because you don’t like him.”
“I don’t give a damn if he likes me or not, Louis. You want to see how much money I have, Dumont? I’ll show you.” The Irishman took a thick leather-clasped wallet from inside his coat and snapped it open. It was stuffed with money in big bills. “See, Dumont, American money, Canadian money, even English pound notes. You think that’s all the proof you need? You know what I think? I think you don’t want to admit that two of your own people tried to murder you. Those two men didn’t belong to me. They belonged to you. I didn’t know them, and I didn’t send for them.”
Riel shrugged. “What he says is true, Gabriel. They were your men, your responsibility.”
The Irishman sensed that he had the advantage now. “I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. We can settle this right now, if that’s what you want. Nobody interferes. Just you and me.”
Brave, Sundance thought, very brave! Challenging a badly shaken man who ought to be resting in his bunk.
“No! No! This is madness!” Riel said.
“With respect, Louis,” Dumont said, “this is between the Irishman and me.”
Sundance stood up, his hand not far from his gun. “Maybe not,” he said. “It could be just as well be between Hardesty and me. Gabriel is a little tired right now. If that bullet had been an inch or two closer, he’d be dead!”
“Who says I’m tired?” Suddenly Dumont was as wild as a bull getting ready to charge.
“With respect, Gabriel,” Sundance said. “Shut up! What’s it going to be, Hardesty? They shot at me too. I’m almost as mad as Gabriel. How would you like it to be? It can’t be pistols. You wouldn’t have a chance. It can’t be knives because I’d cut you to ribbons. What about fists and feet? You Irishmen are good with your fists and feet.”
This time Riel didn’t protest. Sundance knew then that the métis leader liked to see what his men were made of. There was no need to test Dumont, even if he had been in condition to fight. Riel had known him too long.
“Fine with me,” Hardesty said truculently. “Now is fine with me. After you, sir.” The Irishman was putting on airs again—the British Army noncom who wanted to be a gentleman. So far, nothing had been said about the fifty Fenians.
They left their weapons on the table in Dumont’s cabin and went out into the snow. It was biting cold, one of the coldest days of that March of 1885. Soon they would be sweating.
“Any rules?” Hardesty asked.
“None,” was the answer.
Bundled in a long fur coat with his hat pulled down over his ears, Riel came out to watch the fight.
Moving away from the cabin, Sundance and Hardesty stopped when they reached a place where the snow had been beaten down by horses. Pale moonlight filtered through the clouds. The wind was blowing steadily.
Hardesty moved with ease for a big man. He was the veteran of many brawls and knew how good he was with his fists. Sundance decided it wasn’t going to be a cinch to knock him down. He was going to do his damnedest, because a man who would pay ambushers to murder a decent man had pain coming to him. ‘Colonel’ Hardesty would learn that he had come to the wrong place to play tin soldier.
There was a long pause while they sized one another up. Then the Irishman came at Sundance, taking his time, fists weaving, shoulders hunched. Well now, thought Sundance, Hardesty fancies himself a boxer as well as a gentleman. A fist came straight at Sundance’s face and he turned it aside. While he was doing it, a left thumped him hard in the ribs. Sundance punched back with his left and missed. He followed with the left again, and this time it landed—not a hard, telling blow, but one that got inside the Irishman’s defense. Hardesty moved in, throwing rights and lefts but keeping the punches short so he would not be caught off balance. Sundance had one big advantage. His thick-soled but flexible north country moccasins gripped the frozen ground, while Hardesty’s heavy boots skidded.
A punch that seemed to come from nowhere rocked Sundance’s head. If he hadn’t jerked it aside, another would have landed in the same place. The Irishman bored in again and grunted with pain when he was stopped by a blow to the heart. Suddenly, Hardesty lowered his left and jabbed at Sundance’s belly. Even though he sidestepped some of the force, the Irishman’s hard fist made the halfbreed’s stomach muscles tense with pain.
Both men backed off and circled one another. The sweat on their shirts was beginning to freeze. So far, there had been no kicking. The Irishman would have to start it first. Sundance knew he would.
The first kick came after Sundance nearly toppled Hardesty with a right to the jaw. He braced his feet against the force of the punch and his arms waved as he tried to regain his balance. Sundance was moving in to deliver another right when Hardesty kicked at his knee. Had the kick landed, the kneecap would have been shattered by a heavy boot powered by a muscular leg.
After dodging around the Irishman kicked again. This time it dug into Sundance’s thigh. The whole leg felt as if it had been whacked with an ax handle. Hardesty followed the kick with a mad rush. Down and down he dived at Sundance’s belly, trying to knock him down in the snow. Sundance let himself go with the force of the rush, then he reached up and grabbed Hardesty by both arms, and threw himself flat on his back so that his feet came up at the same time. There was a wild shout as the Irishman was thrown ten feet over Sundance’s head. He landed with a crash with the wind knocked out of him and was still gasping when Sundance turned, jumped in the air, and landed with all his weight on the small of Hardesty’s back. Then, jumping to one side, the halfbreed kicked the Irishman in the side, and then did it again.
Hardesty screamed and tried to get a hold on Sundance’s kicking foot. He got a grip but lost it, and then he was kicked again with the other foot. The Irishman tried to roll away, but Sundance followed him with kicks. Finally, he lay on his back, holding up his hands, quivering with pain and anger.
It would have been easy for Sundance to kill him with a right kick to the temple, the weakest part of the skull. The Irishman’s hands were still grabbing at nothing when Sundance drew back for that last kick.
“You want more?” Sundance yelled, still thinking of the ambush at the cabin and the old man’s knife wound in his throat. “You want more? I’ll give you more. But you have to say what you want.”
“I’ve had enough,” Hardesty groaned. “No more.” He rolled away, and Sundance let him go, though he knew it wasn’t finished. No matter what happened, from now on Hardesty would never let it drop.
Hardesty stood up, holding his ribs and trying to smile. He had a smile like a rabid wolf. Dumont watched silently. Also smiling, Riel came forward. “Enough of this stupid brawling,” he said. “I want you two men to shake hands and say there is no hard feeling between you. Come on now, that is an order.”
Holding out his hand, Sundance said, “I have no hard feelings.” He was lying.
They shook hands.
“None here,” Hardesty said. He too was lying.
“Good! Good!” Louis Riel declared. “We will attack the day after tomorrow.”