Outcasts of River Falls (24 page)

Chapter 18

Desperate
Plan
to Escape
the
Dungeon

Kathryn felt the hostile glares as she rode down the main street of Hopeful. It may have been because of the way she was dressed, but to use an expression she’d read in one of her dime novels, she
sat tall in her saddle
and defied the lot of them.

She suspected her clothes probably weren’t the true reason for the hostility. It was more likely, word had gone around that the
new girl
was merely another Métis squatter from the road allowances and she was sure who had spread that word.

Tying Nellie up in the alley, Kathryn spied Mark Prentiss, her ex-suitor, tipped back in a chair as he lounged against the barracks. Fury bloomed as she strode across the street to confront him.

“You told Constable Blake about my aunt and her lantern signal, didn’t you?”

He dropped the two front chair legs back down to the boardwalk with a bang. “I figure the likes of you road allowance trash get what you deserve.”

His words stung like razor-edged slivers of ice. “Mark, I thought you and I, well, I thought you had feelings for me.”

He stood, loathing coming off him in heated waves. “Get this straight. I don’t have nothing to do with no red-skinned half breed.”

Katherine’s eyes glittered as she took a menacing step toward him. “You get
this
straight. You need to think for yourself. You’ve let the ignorance of others twist your mind. You liked me well enough when you thought I was white. Well, Mark, my skin is the same shade it was yesterday. The only colour to worry about here is the ugly one your prejudice has painted the world.” She started past him, and then stopped. “And for the record, I wouldn’t have you if you were the last pig farmer on earth!”

She slammed the door on the detachment office a little too hard as she entered. Sergeant Prentiss sat at his desk, frozen at her dramatic entrance.

“Whoa now, Kathryn! You need to know that’s the only door I have and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t rattle it off its hinges.”

“Sergeant Prentiss,” she rushed on. “My aunt had nothing to do with the robbery and more than that, the Highwayman didn’t do it. Constable Blake said he took the knife away from the Highwayman and it was his proof of guilt, but that doesn’t add up. If he was knocked out, why didn’t the killer take the knife when he left or worse, stab Blake like he did the guard Meltzer?”

The sergeant carefully set his fountain pen in the rest and replaced the lid on his small jar of ink before he spoke. “I know you don’t want your aunt mixed up in this, and I’m thinking Belle was simply caught in the crossfire and is innocent. Cyrus has only been a member of the North West Mounted Police for two years and I’ll admit, he’s got a big mouth and he may be a might hot-headed. This Highwayman fellow of yours, he’s a whole other story. He’s been stealing from the townspeople for some time now. Nothing big, I know that, still...a thief is a thief. Maybe he decided taking all that money was the best way to rub our faces in it once and for all. I’m the first to admit there’s been some unfair dealings and the Métis folks get the short end of the stick a lot, so I kind of turned a blind eye when the Highwayman started evening the score. The bank business is different. We’re talking murder and stealing seventy thousand dollars. No one gets away with that, not if I can help it.”

“What if I told you I had seen the Highwayman, and he still had his knife?”

The sergeant’s face showed surprise at this, then immediately
went hard. “You couldn’t have, Kathryn. Cyrus has that knife put away for evidence.”

“His knife is a fake. It has to be...” Kathryn knew this was not going well. Sergeant Prentiss had his mind made up.

“Why don’t you go back and say hello to your aunt. She’ll want to see you.” His voice softened as he indicated the narrow passageway which led to what she would call ‘the dungeons’.

As she walked down the corridor, Kathryn passed the office she remembered belonged to Constable Blake. The door was open and the office empty. The same awful reek wafted out and she wrinkled her nose. Maybe Sergeant Prentiss kept the smelly fellow hidden from public view, which was what Kathryn would do if she had a snake like Blake working for her.

Hurrying down the hall, she pushed through the door to the cells and immediately spotted her aunt, sitting disconsolately on a wooden pallet which passed for the bed. Her braids were dishevelled and her soiled dress torn at the shoulder. The most shocking thing about her aunt’s appearance was the dried blood at the corner of her mouth. Kathryn’s stomach clenched as she rushed forward. “Thank goodness, you’re all right!”

Belle stood and hurried to the cell bars when she saw who it was. “Oh, Katy, I’ve been so worried. When we left, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Blake’s threat to go to the cabin was too possible.”

Kathryn tried to make light of it, as though it had been nothing at all. “I ain’t seen hide nor hair of that varmint and if I did, well, I sleep with your big old gutting knife by my side.” She thought this sounded very brave and woodsy, and then decided it also sounded prudent. She’d find a knife and put it by her bed the minute she returned to the cabin.

“You should go and stay at Kokum’s. You’ll be safe there.”

Kathryn thought of the old woman, now so diminished. “Don’t worry about me, Aunt Belle. I have to tell you something.” She took a deep breath, then lowered her voice to a whisper, fearful of being overheard. “I know who the Highwayman is.”

Her aunt’s eyes went wide.
“Mon Dieu!
How did you find out?” she whispered back.

Kathryn dismissed this with a wave as though it were such an elementary deduction on her part that it wasn’t worth mentioning. “Oh, the many disappearances, then showing up unannounced when he’s needed, the midnight steed and his description – tall, ebony haired and handsome.” She frowned. “Well, not my type of handsome, that’s for sure. Each to her own, I always say. I must tell you, the lefty thing threw me, since he’s a righty, but I thought that was part of his disguise.”

Aunt Belle now appeared thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about, child?”

“Claude Remy...
Le Bandit de Grand Chemin
... The Highwayman! In his hero persona, he wears his knife on his left, denoting left-handedness, which Claude is not. As for
ebony-haired,
true, he has those white streaks, but most of his is dark enough. And the real giveaway was that time Claude said to tell you he had
‘the goods’;
then the Highwayman mysteriously delivers a pile of wonderful books on the doorstep...” She smiled smugly. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Her aunt’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I think you need to do your arithmetic over again. Claude Remy is not the Highwayman!”

“Of course he is. I have it all worked out.” Kathryn sniffed delicately.

“And
I
know for a fact that he is not. Remember who I was with last night. Claude was simply a good smokescreen for the Spinster Tourond so I let things go along, knowing they would never go very far. Those other details are simply romanticized twaddle and could fit nearly any man in the province. As for
the goods
that Claude was bringing me.... He’s a trapper, Katy – they were the
beaver pelts
I needed for Mrs. Prentiss’ fancy coat.”

Kathryn didn’t know what to say. This made a mess of her brilliant deductions. “If Claude Remy isn’t the Highwayman, who is?”

Aunt Belle’s lips tightened before she spoke. “I can’t tell you.”

“You have to. He can go to Sergeant Prentiss and ex
plain that you had nothing to do with the robbery.”

“And then what? Do you really think they would believe
him and we would both walk away?
Non, ma chère.
If I told you, there would simply be two ropes on the gallows.”

The iron resolve in her aunt’s voice let Kathryn know that was the only answer she’d get. She moved on. “I’ve been giving the robbery a lot of thought. I know the Highwayman didn’t do it,” here she looked to her aunt for confirmation and Belle nodded, “which means there’s only one logical explanation. Constable Blake is the murderer.” She continued laying out her case. “It makes sense. Blake arranged that he was on guard duty the night of the robbery. He kills Meltzer, the only witness, and then hides the money. Knowing the townspeople will demand blood for the murder of the guard, he sets things up so that the Highwayman, and now you, will take the fall and he’ll get away scot-free.” She paused; then added quickly, “All I have to do is prove it.”

Her aunt readily agreed. “It makes terrible sense. Katy, you don’t have much time. I heard Blake tell the sergeant they should move me to Lethbridge for trial in case the Highwayman tries to break me out of jail and that he will personally testify I was an accomplice in the murder of the guard.”

Kathryn squeezed the cold metal bars on the cell door. “The one piece of evidence pinning this on the Highwayman is that knife. I
have
to get a look at it.” A quick check confirmed that Sergeant Prentiss was still dutifully at his desk and that the constable’s door remained open. “I’m going into his office. I’ll leave the door to the cells open. If the Sergeant comes along, try to distract him. Wish me luck.”

Her aunt reached through the bars, laying a protective hand on her niece’s arm. “Please be careful, Kathryn.”

The use of her name made Kathryn stop. She wrapped her own hand firmly around her aunt’s and felt Belle’s tremble. “I will, and,” she stood, straight and tall, “I prefer
Katy,
Katy Tourond, and I’m one of the Road Allowance People!”

She could still see the love and worry on her aunt’s face, but now, there was pride too. “Everything’s going to be fine, Aunt B.” Kathryn assured her and mentally crossed all her fingers that it was true.

“By the way...” Her aunt eyed Kathryn’s clothes. “That’s a very familiar outfit. I have one exactly like it.”

Kathryn managed to appear sheepish. “Actually, I borrowed it. You know, these trousers are very practical and comfortable, especially when riding old Nellie, and the coat is perfect. You should make me one.”

Her aunt laughed, a sound that filled Kathryn’s heart with hope.

“You, young lady, can make your own capote, as any self respecting Métis should.”

Kathryn pressed her face against the bars and kissed her aunt on the cheek. Glancing at the back door leading to the alley, she got an idea. She moved to the door, opened it a crack, then took one of her hair pins and jammed it into the lock, preventing the striker from closing all the way and sealing the door.

Satisfied, Kathryn moved stealthily to the passageway to Constable Blake’s office. Noiselessly, she slipped inside.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the fly-specked window, giving the room a wan light. Kathryn slid past the only chair in the room, noting the constable’s coat hanging from the back. Hurrying to the cluttered desk, she swiftly rifled folders and pulled open drawers. Nothing. Then she spied a decrepit wooden filing cabinet pushed back into a dark corner. One of the scuffed drawers had a shiny padlock.

“Oh, really, Constable Dung? This place is like the bottom of an outhouse and you bother to put a new lock on your rubbish file cabinet? How unclever of you.” She rummaged through the desk for the key without success, then as she shoved the papers aside on the impossibly messy top, Kathryn noticed an impression outlined on the desk blotter, as though there were something hard underneath. She lifted the edge of the green mat and almost cheered out loud.

A brass key glinted invitingly at her. Picking it up, she hurried to the filing cabinet and quickly opened the padlock.

“Eureka!” she whispered, and then looked down into the drawer. There was the knife. Its distinctive hilt carved with a wolf’s head whose eerie eyes fairly gleamed in the fading light. It was Claude Remy’s blade!

But – that didn’t make sense.

And yet... She suddenly identified the peculiar smell lingering in the fetid air of Blake’s office. It was the smell of brain-tanned leather. The smell of Claude Remy and his unforgettable coat!

Could it be? Was Claude mixed up in this after all? Not as the Highwayman, but as...Cyrus Blake’s
partner?

“Impossible!” Kathryn breathed, but her mind raced. She remembered when Aunt Belle had been accosted by Blake in the alley. Her aunt had warned him that Claude was back from his trap lines and hinted that he was her protector. The constable had laughed and bragged,
“I’m not worried about that buck.”
Any sensible man would be worried about tangling with Claude Remy, who was volatile and violent – two
v
words not to be ignored. What if Blake knew he didn’t have to worry because
Claude was working for him?

Unbelievable – yes. Incredible – absolutely. But disappointingly, it had to be true. Claude was Cyrus Blake’s
partner. Why, she couldn’t guess, but they were in it together.
It was an inside job with outside help – they had done the robbery together, and she bet Blake had promised the big woodsman a cut of the money for his part in the crime. Maybe he’d suggested Claude leave the knife so that it would seem like the Highwayman had done the murder. Everyone knew about the Highwayman and his distinctive white-handled dagger.