The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder (3 page)

In the back of the covered wagon, Ed was quiet, staring off at the wisps of clouds scattered about the sky. John and Elmer relived the evening of two nights ago in their minds, although Elmer's memory was of an awfully fast horse ride. Blue sure could go when the spirit moved him. John's mind kept flashing to the shadowy outline that had scurried into the forest and to poor Mr. Schneider, still as can be, in the arms of his distraught wife. He wondered if he should have given chase to the mysterious figure.

“No one deserved what happened to Hans Schneider,”

thought John. “It's just not fair.”

As the Diefenbaker wagon pulled up onto the long Schneider laneway, John fixed his intense, dark eyes on those who had already arrived. He saw about twelve people standing near Mrs. Schneider and recognized mostly everyone, including Pastor Mackenzie, who would be conducting the service. The boys frowned as they noticed the rectangular hole in the ground a few yards away with a mound of dirt beside it. John held his breath momentarily as he looked for signs of the body. He was certain that it must be in the wooden box under the large tarp he could see sitting on wooden slats.

As the Diefenbakers got out of the carriage and began solemnly shaking hands with the others, John noticed that many pairs of eyes were fixated on him. He felt self-conscious but tried not to show it, staying in step with his parents and uncle who were making the rounds of saying hello to everyone. He could feel a trickle of sweat beading up on his scalp.

Elmer nudged him. “Everyone's staring at you, John,” he whispered. “You're famous.”

John hit him back, in the way brothers do. “I am not famous, Elmer. They're just curious about what happened,” he countered, feeling very awkward.

A few of the conversations seemed to be focused on Hans Schneider's love of “the bottle,” as most of them called it. John knew that this meant whisky and alcohol in general. He didn't

know why some adults drank alcohol, but his mother believed that it was a serious sin.

When another wagon, very different from the others, turned off the main trail and onto the lane that led to the farm house, it drew everyone's gaze. The boys felt their stomachs flip in excitement.
Mr. Wright!

The carriage, drawn by two large quarter horses, was spacious and canary yellow. It had fancy black and gold script writing on both sides of the wagon, which read:

Earl T. Wright
The Rawleigh's Man
Quality Products
Kitchen needs, spices, medicines and miscellaneous

“I didn't know Earl would be here today,” murmured someone, smiling.

“But it makes sense,” voiced another. “Gertrude likely bought half the man's liniment stock, as much as old Hans used to complain about his back.”

Earl T. Wright was probably the most welcome man in the Saskatoon-Borden-Battleford corridor. It wasn't that he was well known—he had only been on the job for a few months. But the Rawleigh name carried a great deal of weight when it came to getting quality products delivered right to your door.

As the area salesman for the respected company, Earl Wright was treated like an old friend, almost everywhere he went. A Rawleigh's man was a peddler who had anything one needed— salves for colds and cuts, spices for cooking from exotic places like China and the West Indies, and even beauty creams for those rich city women who had time and money for such luxuries. Not to mention, he was the best source of news one could ask for, since he travelled so much.

He had moved up from Montana a short time ago, carving out a new life for himself on the Canadian prairies where there was less competition and more elbow room. Almost everyone who came into contact with Earl walked away believing that he had just put their needs ahead of his own. But there were a few folks who didn't like him because he would never take anything in trade, just money.

As he stepped off the carriage, his prominent silver hair glinted from below his black formal hat. He had an equallysilver moustache. It twitched slightly as he surveyed the people in front of him with the perfect mix of concern and seriousness. His deep-set blue eyes, although grim as the occasion called for, still contained his trademark twinkle.

John and Elmer started to run toward him. The slightly crushing hands on their shoulders belonging to their father and mother reminded them to slow their pace to a more dignified brisk walk.

“Mr. Wright! We didn't know you would be here,” called John, with Elmer right on his heels. John and Elmer would often keep the Rawleigh's man in conversation for as long as the salesman would let them, or, more likely, until their mother told them to quit talking his ear off.

Mr. Wright smiled warmly as the boys approached. “It's good to see you boys. I wish it were under different circumstances. That's what we always say at funerals, isn't it?”

“We don't know,” responded Elmer truthfully. “We've never been to one before.”

Earl patted Elmer and John on their shoulders understandingly as he made the rounds greeting the other adults. When one woman suggested making a purchase from him, he admitted that he didn't really feel comfortable engaging in sales before Hans Schneider was even buried.

“Let's meet after he's buried,” he whispered. Neither the living nor the dead prevented Earl T. Wright from making a sale, and today would be no different.

After he conveyed his condolences to Gertrude, Earl walked over to where the Diefenbakers were standing and greeted William, Mary, and Ed. He liked the Diefenbakers for many reasons. More than once, Mary Diefenbaker had ordered some of Earl's home remedies for the cuts and bruises that unavoidably happen during farm life. They weren't his highest paying customers, but they were good ones. After all, times were tough.

for travelling salesmen, too. Earl always appreciated how the Diefenbakers exercised hospitality during his travels in their vicinity. The fact that William and Ed were both school teachers was appealing for Earl, too. It gave him a chance to talk about politics and the general state of the world with people who shared those interests.

“I heard how your boys got mixed up in all of this,” said Earl to William and Mary. “I was sure glad to hear that they were alright. I don't know what's happening to this place anymore,” he added, shaking his head. “I like the Schneiders. Like them a lot.”

John and Elmer strained to hear the conversations from the grown-ups.

“The boys were fortunate, that's for sure,” agreed William. “We all were, except for Hans.”

After a somber silence, William continued. “They'll catch him, you know. They always do.”

Earl nodded. “You bet they will. Probably some drifter, looking for a few dollars or something to steal.”

“Nothing was stolen though, from what we've heard,” countered Ed.

“Maybe he didn't get the chance,” Earl suggested. “With old Hans out there working at night, well, who would have expected that?”

William looked slightly surprised. “How did you know he

was outside working?”

Earl brushed the comment aside. “Oh, heard from someone in Borden. You know how these things get around.”

William nodded. “Doesn't take long, does it? Say, Earl, do you happen to know anything about Gabriel Dumont's nephew being in town? Sergeant English was telling us about him. I never heard of him before.”

Earl leaned toward the adults, lowering his voice. John and Elmer leaned slightly, too, although they tried not to be obvious about it.

“I've seen him. And I don't like this fellow one bit,” Earl admitted. “He's much too smooth, too charming, if you ask me. You get the feeling that he'd sell his mother if the price was right.”

The Diefenbakers couldn't help but chuckle at Earl's description of the man. John wondered if Earl had any idea that people might think the same thing about Earl himself. “What's he up to?” asked Ed. “Is he looking to farm?” Earl snorted. “Farm! That boy knows as much about farming as I do. Together we wouldn't know a plough from a cow, I can tell you that much.” Everyone laughed quietly.

“No, he's just an agitator,” Earl concluded.

“In what way?” asked Mary.

“He's trying to stir things up, like the old days here, from

what the locals tell me. I saw him in Borden a few days ago. He's maybe all of twenty-four or twenty-five years old, standing on the back of a wagon like he was something. He was talking to five or six Métis men about how terrible the Canadian government is to them. They seemed to agree with Dumont's reasoning, standing there in awe, nodding their heads in agreement like trained dogs.”

“Well, I have to say Earl, I wish the government would do more for the Métis and the Indians,” said William. “The West has been flooded in the last ten years with homesteaders just like us from all over the world and it's changed everything for the Indians and Métis.”

“True enough, and right you are. But putting the anger in people like this, getting them all fired up, well, that's just asking for trouble,” Earl reasoned.

William thought about this for a moment. “Sounds to me like he may be related to Dumont but he talks more like Louis Riel,” he said, “organizing his people and others across the West to stand up to the federal government and demand their rights.”

“Could be a dangerous combination,” stated Ed.

John and Elmer looked at each other and didn't say anything. The boys tried to picture a man who was a blood relative of the military commander Gabriel Dumont yet who had the magnetic personality of Louis Riel whom they had read about. Dumont had evaded capture by fleeing to the United States

once the 1885 Northwest Rebellion had been crushed by the Royal North West Mounted Police. He returned only when the government offered him amnesty, which means he was pardoned for leading the rebellion. Then, he led a quiet life until he died of heart failure at age sixty-nine. But Louis Riel didn't have that kind of luck. He was hanged in the same year of the rebellion for treason.

“My dear friends, I invite you to gather round,” Pastor Mackenzie announced from beside the hole in the ground. He first talked quietly with the six men who had agreed to help lower Hans Schneider's body into the grave, to make sure that they were ready when the time came for their participation.

As people were taking their places, a red-eyed Gertrude Schneider thanked the Diefenbakers for coming in her thick, German accent. She had not learned a great deal of English while she had been in Canada, mainly because she was isolated on the sprawling, prairie farm. Not to mention, she wasn't a highly social person and this had made it difficult for Gertrude to learn the language.

“Hans always enjoyed you as neighbours,” Gertrude shared with the Diefenbaker family. “And thank you, Earl,” she added to the salesman, as he removed his hat and once again wore his extremely serious look.

“I should tell you the police came by this morning,” she continued in an almost whisper. “They are going to make an arrest,

you know. This news, you may not like it, but it's the truth,” Gertrude uttered cryptically.

“Who are they going to arrest?” asked William.

Gertrude was just about to reply when the pastor began the funeral service.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining me here today on this sad occasion, to honour the passing of Hans Schneider,” Pastor Mackenzie spoke in the same type of voice John was used to hearing in church.

“I can speak to you after,” whispered Gertrude, quickly moving to her place beside the pastor. She wiped both sides of her face with her hands, bracing herself for the grief that would wash over her at any moment.

John and Elmer, who had overheard, wondered about this news. The police sure had done their job quickly.

“Please join me in the singing of
All in Jesus
,” invited the pastor.

The group began singing as one somber voice, the notes hanging in the brilliant cloudless blue sky. As John's eyes glazed over, he imagined that he could see a moving shape in the open fields on the horizon. The eyes sometimes play tricks on the open prairies, even during the day. However, as the seconds went by, John realized that the shape really was growing. He bumped Elmer who nodded, having also noticed the darkcoloured dot increasing in size. John soon realized it was a

human figure on horseback coming towards them. Given the angle and where they were standing, no one else could see or at least seemed to notice the movement in the fields.

John focused in and soon figured out it was the shape of someone young on the horse—a girl. Her long braided hair bounced up and down on the shoulders of her deerskin jacket as she rode toward them. John realized it had to be Summer Storm!

Chapter 4
Truth and Consequences

John motioned to Summer in a restrained way so that the adults wouldn't see, as if to say “Stay back.” He was hoping that she would understand. Summer didn't disappoint, quickly steering her horse behind a large woodshed, out of sight.

If there were two things that Summer was good at—and there were many things, actually—they were hiding and hunting. John flashed back to last spring, when Summer tried to teach him and Elmer how to catch a rabbit with their bare hands. At one point, John and Elmer had collided in mid-air when they both leaped to catch a rabbit at the same time. The rabbit had escaped their clumsy attempts easily, but Summer made it look almost effortless. She had donated her catch to the Diefenbaker family, which had been a nice surprise for dinner that night. So far, the boys had never come close to mastering the technique. After the assembly sang two more songs, Pastor Mackenzie spoke a few kind words about Hans Schneider. Six men then took hold of the handles on the sides of the wooden box and

lowered it into the ground. Gertrude and some other women wept. Next, the men worked quickly to shovel the pile of dirt back into the hole. John felt uneasy observing the ritual as he looked for the right moment to go over and find out what Summer wanted.

Pastor Mackenzie thanked everyone for coming. His final blessing on the gathered people signalled that the funeral was now over. He offered final condolences to Gertrude then blended in with the crowd to chat. Meanwhile, William, Mary, and Ed struck up conversations with other neighbours. John and Elmer took the opportunity to move quickly in the direction of where Summer was hiding with her horse. When she saw them coming she sprinted toward them, her long, lean frame covering the distance quickly. She was the same height as John, even though she was one year younger.

“Summer, what are you doing here?” John asked as they drew nearer.

“They have my father, John! My father!” she panted, tears staining her face. John asked her to slow down because with her heavy accent, it was difficult for him to follow if she spoke too fast.

“Who? Who has your father?” asked John.

Summer took a deep breath in between sobs. “The police.”

“They arrested my father. They said he killed him, but that's not true!”

John and Elmer gasped. John glanced behind him, where he could see his father, mother, uncle and Gertrude talking, all of them moving their arms in animated debate. Earl had moved away from the group, standing a few feet away. He was engaged in conversation with someone else, although he kept looking from time to time at the group having the lively discussion. Then Mary noticed where John and Elmer were and nudged William as she pointed at her boys.

“We're going to find out what's going on, Summer,” promised John quietly. “This must be a mistake.”

“A big one,” agreed Elmer.

“John? All of you come here,” called William, who was also moving toward them.

John, Elmer, and Summer began to walk toward them, Summer moving slowly and reluctantly when she saw Gertrude. It was Gertrude who spoke first.

“I want you to go!” Her face was contorted into bitterness as she stared at Summer.

“Summer and her father are friends of ours, Gertrude,” William stated strongly. “You know that. This all has to be a mistake.”

“No, no mistake,” replied Gertrude plainly. “This girl,” she claimed, pointing to Summer, “her father said to my Hans that my Hans stole his pelts! Can you imagine? He said this when he was in Borden, a week ago. Hans told me.”

Gertrude was emotional again, now reliving the conversation. Her heavy German accent meant everyone had to be patient to understand what she was saying, as was common with many families who had arrived from different countries to settle on the prairies.

“Pelts? You mean animal skins?” asked John, confused.

Summer's face shone with tears.

“My father, he did not know where the pelts went,” Summer explained, holding back from breaking down into tears. “They were ours to sell. He worked hard, trapping the animals.”

“Then why were they on our property if they were your pelts?” Gertrude responded bitterly. She turned to Mary, William, and Ed again before Summer could speak.

“My Hans, he found a heap, a big heap,” she described, gesturing with her hands, “of thirty pelts one morning when he was working. Nice bunch, just lying there. And we need the money, you know that, Mary. So he took them into town and sold them. He found them!” she said passionately, trying to make everyone understand by talking more loudly. “Found them where?” asked William.

“The police told me not to say yet,” Gertrude replied mysteriously. “I'm not supposed to talk about details right now.” She only paused briefly.

“But then her father,” Gertrude said accusingly, pointing to Summer again, “he saw my Hans selling pelts and then he went

crazy.” The widowed woman twirled her index finger near her temple to make her point. “Her father screams ‘Hey! These are my pelts!' and my Hans, he said ‘Prove it!' But her father did not prove it. He did not prove anything! My Hans, he told him how he found them, on our property, just for us, we guessed. But her father, he went away angry, like this,” she continued, baring her teeth in such a way that everyone was at least somewhat frightened by her vigorous storytelling.

Gertrude turned away and looked toward the fresh grave. A warm prairie wind raced across the fields and blew across the mound, stealing a thin layer of the soil. More tears formed in Gertrude's eyes as she spoke.

“The government, they promised that all of this land was free when we came here from Germany. You know what I think? I think nothing is free in this big place. I have all of this land. But I have nothing.”

John felt sorry for Mrs. Schneider, but he could not believe River's Voice had committed murder. As the prairie sun climbed higher in the sky, he resolved in his mind to do something. John needed to find out the truth—wherever it might lead.