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  CANADIAN RED

  R.W. Stone

  Copyright © 2018 by R.W. Stone

  E-book published in 2018 by Blackstone Publishing

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-5384-7467-9

  Library e-book ISBN 978-1-5384-7466-2

  Fiction / Westerns

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress

  Blackstone Publishing

  31 Mistletoe Rd.

  Ashland, OR 97520

  www.BlackstonePublishing.com

  Dedicated to my wife, Rosi.

  Twenty-seven years ago, a young veterinarian walked into my veterinary practice looking for a temporary job. She stayed on to become a permanent part of my life. Her job description of wife, mother, and professional associate truly doesn’t do justice to her compassion, intelligence, good nature, and charm. The fact that she is beautiful and fun-loving doesn’t hurt much either.

  When in doubt, do right.

  —Claude A. Swanson

  Prologue

  The Old West is filled with tales of roving outlaw gangs headed by now-infamous badmen. Almost everyone, Western aficionado or not, has heard countless stories of the notorious James Gang, the Daltons, the Younger brothers, the Clantons, Quantrill’s Raiders, and Butch Cassidy and his infamous Hole-in-the-Wall gang.

  The names of those remarkable individuals who enforced the law became just as well-known as those who broke the law. These men of frontier history include Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Bill Tilghman, and Wild Bill Hickok.

  However, when we think of the Old West only three professional law enforcement organizations immediately come to mind. The first would be the heroic Texas Rangers. The second group would be the now famous Pinkerton Detective Agency. The third organization, however, forged a legend all their own. They are recognized not only in their own country, but internationally as well. That unique band of men was made up of the courageous scarlet-coated constables of the Canadian North-West Mounted Police.

  Think NWMP, and one special saying will surely come to mind: “A Mountie always gets his man.”

  Part I

  Chapter One

  It was a typical late-winter day in northern Canada. School had been canceled for the day, so the local boys and girls chose—for their fun day off—to go to the frozen pond that was just a mile or so outside of town.

  The sun was shining such that had there been any adults around they would have thought the weather was a little warmer than normal for this time of year. They might have also noticed that the ice on the lake was thinner than it should be. In fact, instead of the pond being frozen solid, there were several spots where water was already seeping through to the surface. An adult would surely have been concerned about the ice’s stability. But these kids were alone that day, and they were fearless and determined to enjoy their day in the great outdoors. Having toted their snowshoes, skates, and sleds, they spent the day playing, racing, and occasionally challenging each other to foolhardy deeds. The temperature was certainly the last thing on their minds.

  “I’m telling you, it can’t be done,” Andy Peterson said, his words clearly meant as a challenge to his young friend, Lucas.

  “I can, too, do it,” Lucas replied stubbornly.

  “You claim you can slide down that hill,” Andy said, pointing to a nearby slope, “and when you come off the bottom curve, there, you say you can fly and slide all the way over to the other side of that pond, while still sitting on your sled.” He traced the route in the air with his finger and then shook his head vigorously. “No way, it’s much too far. It can’t be done.”

  Lucas’ twin brother Jamie looked up the hill, and then over to the far shore of the pond that marked the landing zone.

  He shook his head slowly. “Looks kinda hard to me, too, Lucas.”

  Stubbornness ran deep in the Donovan family, and Lucas, in particular, was never one to stand down from a challenge.

  The lad pulled his cap down tighter in defiance. “Yeah, well, we’ll just see about that.”

  After pulling his sled up to the crest of a small hill overlooking the pond, Lucas began to map out his moves. His sled was his pride and joy, and he didn’t want to damage it in this stunt. He always cared well for the sled, and, today, before they left home, he had waxed the runners with bear grease, so it would run fast and with less friction. He was as proud of it as any of his possessions. In truth, however, he had never actually tried to jump anything with it.

  From his view high up, the pond suddenly looked a lot wider than he had pictured it in his mind. Nevertheless, even at ten years of age, Lucas didn’t have an ounce of quit in him and he would never admit that he was afraid of anything, especially not in front of his twin brother and his friends.

  The boy sat down on the sled and grabbed hold of the thick rope that steered its front end. He inched forward until the front half of the sled was hanging over the edge of the top of the hill. He took a deep breath, pulled his feet in tight, leaned forward, and ducked down as far as he could.

  The sled practically flew down the hill, and, as he had calculated, when it hit the bottom where the hill sloped upward, the sled took flight. The crowd of children on the near bank of the pond threw their hands up and cheered as Lucas sailed out across the ice toward the far shore.

  For a few moments it looked as though he might actually make it, but, as could be expected, gravity eventually took control, and the sled plummeted downward at a very sharp angle. Lucas gripped the rope tightly and leaned forward as much as he could, hoping he might gain a few extra feet, but it was useless. He crashed into the pond right where the ice was so thin it could not hold the weight of both sled and boy.

  The next thing Lucas knew, he was plunging deep into the freezing water. Fortunately, he had managed to take as large a breath as he could seconds before breaking through the ice. The sled pulled him downward, but as soon as he was able, Lucas pushed back with his legs as hard as he could, propelling himself up toward the surface. He hoped to swim straight up and shoot right out of the hole he had crashed through, but the sled had entered at a steep angle. When Lucas finally reached the underside of the ice, he found it a solid sheet. The hole was nowhere to be found.

  Cold and disoriented, the boy began to feel his way along the underside of the ice, trying to locate the lifesaving opening. For his age, Lucas was a strong swimmer, able to hold his breath a good length of time, but the cold, combined with his fear, sapped him of his energy and he soon began to panic.

  Unable to cry out while underwater, he began praying, repeating over and over in his head: Help me. Help me. Please don’t let me die. Holding his breath for as long as he could, he began to struggle, and just before he began to give up, he heard, or perhaps felt, a large splash in the water. Suddenly an arm reached out and grabbed the waist of his jacket and began pulling him over and then up through the elusive hole in the ice.

  Once his head popped through the surface, Lucas inhaled the fresh air deep into his lungs, but that only made him cough uncontrollably. He began shivering uncontrollably as he realized that he had almost drowned, that he had been saved.

  “Okay, boys, now! Pull with all you got,” Jamie yelled.

  He had a thick rope tied around Lucas’ waist now and he was holding onto his waist tightly with his arm. The rope was stretched across to the pond’s edge where the group of kids had stationed themselves, watching and waiting and worrying. They began pulling together, with all their might.

 
“Pull harder!” Jamie shouted, just as the two slowly came up and out of the hole and began to slide along the top of the ice. When Lucas began to shiver so hard that Jamie could hear his teeth chattering, he assured his brother that he would be fine.

  “Not too fast!” a skinny redheaded kid shouted. “We don’t want the ice around them to crack and suck them back in. It’s hard enough pulling as it is, without having to drag them through the water.”

  One of the other lads, a towheaded boy named Jeff, dropped his grip on the rope and motioned for another one of the boys to follow him. “We need to get a fire started … as wet as they are, and as cold as it is, the two of them will freeze to death.”

  Children in the north woods learn survival skills at a very early age. Up there, you either learn how to deal with nature or you end up dying. Everyone, regardless of age, carried a fire starter or a pack of strike-on-anything matches.

  As frightened as these boys were, it didn’t take them long to gather kindling wood and get a good-sized fire going.

  Once the brothers were finally back on dry land, the rest of the boys helped them over to the fire and out of their wet clothes. While they were drying off, several of their friends gave up their coats for added warmth and protection against the cold.

  “Good thing I listened to Pa’s advice,” Jaime commented, shivering right down to his bones.

  “How’s that?” Lucas asked in what could only be described as a faint whisper.

  “He told us never to go anywhere without a knife, a fire starter, a canteen, and a good long rope.”

  “How … how’d you find me down there?” Lucas asked.

  “Well, I heard you calling me and just followed the sound,” his twin answered nonchalantly. He seemed surprised.

  Lucas was puzzled. “But I was holding my breath … I was underwater. How could you hear me calling?”

  Jamie shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, I just did. You were repeating ‘Help me, help me.’ Weren’t you?”

  This pair just stared at each other and tried to comprehend what had just occurred.

  “You saved my life, Jamie,” Lucas said.

  “Aw, go on with you. You’d have done the same for me, and you know it.”

  “Maybe, but that was a pretty big risk you took.”

  “Had to. Pa would have skinned my hide if I let anything happen to my younger brother,” Jamie replied with a chuckle.

  “Hey, you’re only older than me by twenty minutes,” Lucas reminded him.

  “Well, a lot can happen in twenty minutes, squirt.”

  “Don’t call me squirt. I’m the same size as you are, dammit.”

  The two fell silent as they stared into the crackling fire.

  It was Lucas who spoke first. “Know this, Jamie, I owe you my life. From now on, wherever you go, I go. Whatever you might need, I’ll be there to make sure you get it. Whatever, whenever, wherever.”

  Jamie smiled. “Same here, Brother.”

  “But just one thing, Jamie,” Lucas said in a whisper.

  “Yeah, what’s that?” his twin asked.

  “Please don’t tell Pa about this. Ever!”

  Chapter Two

  Several years later, when the twins were in their early teens, their father, Joshua, passed away unexpectedly. The elder Donovan’s last will and testament stipulated that the ranch was to be left equally to his boys. The care of the twins and the operation of the ranch was left in the capable hands of Charlie Two Knives, their father’s Cree Indian friend and helper on the ranch for years. For the twins, who loved and respected Charlie, he was the next best thing to having their father with them.

  One Saturday morning in late autumn, when the three were heading out of the main house after finishing lunch, they saw a group of five men riding in.

  It didn’t take long for Charlie to assess this quintet, to know that they were up to no good. He unbuttoned his coat to allow faster access to the duo of belt knives he always carried, sheathed on opposite sides of his waist.

  “Boys,” the Cree said quietly, “I don’t know these men, but I don’t like their looks. You know what we have to do, so be ready.”

  “Hello, the house!” one of the men called out as they rode up.

  The twins thought the man looked and sounded friendly enough, but just as they had practiced so many times in the past with Charlie, Jamie and Lucas walked away from each other and posted themselves on opposite ends of their front porch, right next to the wide wooden corner posts that supported its roof.

  “How can we help you?” Charlie asked. His face was emotionless.

  “Nice big spread you have here. The owner around?” The rider doing the talking looked to be around thirty-five and sported a long thick black mustache that hung down lower than his chin. “We’d like to have a word with him.”

  From the man’s accent, Lucas thought he might be an American. He glanced at Jamie, who mouthed the word Yank. His brother nodded.

  “You can speak with me, Charlie Two Knives of the Cree Nation. I run this ranch now.”

  “You? But you’re a bloody Injun!” one of the other men exclaimed. He was short and thin, with blond hair, armed with a nickel-plated pistol stuck in the left side of the waist of his pants, butt-first, cross-draw style.

  The first man turned to him and put his finger up. “Shut up, Joe. We agreed I’d do all the talkin’.”

  Joe stared at him a moment, then lowered his eyes and nodded angrily in agreement. “Fine. Do what you want.”

  “Look, Charlie, is it? My name’s Hancock,” the mustachioed man offered. “Sorry for my friend’s rudeness. We’re out scouting properties, looking to buy land in the area. We’re interested in your ranch.”

  Charlie Two Knives was brief and to the point. “Not interested. It’s not for sale.”

  “We can make you a very good offer. Big money. You know, much wampum. So, does that change things some?” Hancock asked.

  Again, Charlie was abrupt. “No. It’s not for sale at any price. There’s nothing more to say on the matter.” He raised his arm and pointed the way back.

  Now a third man spoke up. He was wearing a long overcoat and had on a black stocking cap. “Look, you should really reconsider our offer, old man. There are other ways we can get your land, and none of them are very pleasant.” His eyes moved from Lucas to Jamie. He paused for effect before adding: “And you have these two boys to think about.”

  “People who make threats are not welcome here. I’d suggest you leave now!” Charlie Two Knives, generally a calm soul, was clearly angered.

  Hancock slumped a little in his saddle as if defeated. “Well, if there’s no other way,” he said, then cocked his head. “Go for it, Joe,” he said quietly.

  At those words, Joe pulled his coat back and went for his gun. He was fast, but not fast enough. As his right hand rose up, clenching that big pistol, a stag-handled, long-bladed knife flew effortlessly from Charlie’s hand and embedded itself deep in the Yank’s forearm. The gun dropped from his grip as he let out a scream of pain.

  Startled by the man’s sudden yell, two of the group’s horses started to buck, and it took some effort for their riders to get them back under control. By the time they settled their horses and turned back around, they found themselves facing more than just one old Indian, handy with a knife.

  From behind the porch beams, Jamie and Lucas had both pulled out hidden firearms. Jamie was armed with a large and menacing Sharps .50-caliber buffalo gun, and to his left his brother was brandishing a Greener side-by-side double-barreled shotgun. In the hands of the young twins the weapons appeared larger and more menacing than if in the hands of grown men.

  “It’s best for you to go before anybody else gets hurt,” Charlie ordered, again pointing the way out.

  “Hell, boss, we can still take ’em,” the man with the o
vercoat urged.

  A discharge from Jamie’s Sharps rifle blew the hat off the man.

  “Just because we’re young, don’t go thinking we don’t know how to use these,” Jamie stated, quickly reloading. “We been practicing since we were little. That Greener my brother’s holding is a twelve gauge, and it can let go a powerful amount of hurt at this range.”

  It didn’t take but a moment for the five intruders to make up their minds.

  “Come on, boys, we’re outta here,” Hancock ordered.

  As they turned to ride out, Lucas heard him say: “Joe, don’t go pulling that damned knife out of your arm until we get a tourniquet on it, or you’ll more than likely bleed to death.”

  Charlie Two Knives watched the road for a while. “They’re gone.”

  “You think that’ll be the end of it, or you think they’ll be back?” Jamie asked.

  “If they’re smart, they won’t,” Charlie observed. “But we don’t know these men. We must remain vigilant. But in the meantime, we have chores to do.”

  Chapter Three

  The next three weeks were relatively quiet and uneventful. Although the boys were never more than a step or two away from their weapons, there was no sign of trouble from Hancock and his men. Even so, since their visit, Charlie Two Knives, never one to be trusting of strangers, began taking afternoon naps and then staying awake late into the night in order to guard the ranch, in case the men returned.

  It was on a cold Thursday of the fourth week that three men rode onto the ranch. The boys got ready to take up their positions on the porch as before, but Charlie held up his arm.

  “It’s all right. One of the men is from the trading post.”

  “Hey, Charlie Two Knives! It’s me, Jeff Blake.” The three men stopped their horses before approaching any closer. “Can we have a word with you?”