Outcasts of River Falls (22 page)

Kathryn clambered to her feet and ran to catch him. “I’ll see you again soon?”

Mark stuck his fists into his pockets of his dungarees, appearing she thought, very,
very
sweet, like her very own Tom Sawyer, except Mark always smelled vaguely of a pig barn.

“You bet. I’m countin’ on it.”

She watched him walk away, the tall grass swishing against his pant legs as the sun silhouetted his long, lean body and it was only after he’d left that she realised he hadn’t actually said he’d come with her tonight.

Chapter 16

Night
Light
Fight

The sun slipped behind the tall pines and as the long evening shadows drew in, Kathryn prepared for the night ahead. She still wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to do should this midnight rendezvous between her aunt and Claude take place. Would she stand bravely and accuse him of being a low-life bank robber and murderer, or say she believed Constable Dung was using him for the scapegoat and manufacturing evidence? It would depend on one critical detail – if he had that knife.

Aunt Belle was sitting by the fire when Kathryn came into the cabin. She moved to the warmth of the hearth near her aunt. “The fire is an excellent idea.”

Her aunt’s voice was weary. “There’s
li rababoo di naryiaanl
for supper,” she corrected herself, “moose stew, and I’ve made some bannock and fetched fresh milk from the well. Shall we eat?”

This was so like Aunt Belle. Her world was certainly not bright right now; still, she had enough strength to take care of her little Katydid.

Kathryn stopped – taken aback. She had referred to herself as
Katydid!
She must have had too much sun today.

“Thank you, Aunt Belle. The milk sounds like the drink for me, but I bet you’d rather have a cup of tea.”

Her aunt sighed,
“Oui, merci.”

There was no wood for the stove, so Kathryn went outside, deftly split two lengths and hurried back to stoke the fire before putting the kettle on. As she pushed an extra piece into the firebox, she congratulated herself on chopping the wood into exactly the right size to fit.

Kathryn bustled about putting dinner on the table. She wanted to show her support for her aunt helping the Highwayman, which was hard to do when she wasn’t supposed to know what was going on. Perhaps if she casually mentioned something positive, it would cheer Aunt Belle.

“I am sure the Highwayman is far from here and safe.” She lied with a smile. “And any Métis in the world would gladly help him evade the constable until the real murderer can be found.”

She hoped this was true, trying not to think of the re
ward money herself. “I think the Highwayman is a real hero, don’t you? Very Robin-Hoodish.” She took another large spoonful of the spicy stew which tasted delicious.

“Yes, yes he is,” he aunt nodded in agreement, “and much needed. Until the Métis people are treated as equals and with respect, we will always need someone to balance the scales.”

Kathryn knew she had to couch her words carefully. “I truly hope he knows about Blake and that posse JP said he’d rounded up. It would be terrible if he walked into a trap.”

“Oui.
I will light a candle for our Bandit de Grand Chemin.”

Or a lantern,
Kathryn thought.

Kathryn retired for bed as early as possible hoping to give her aunt plenty of time to prepare for the rendezvous. So much had happened today and if she was right, it wasn’t over yet.

Snuggling down under the covers with her book propped up on her knees, she thought of her afternoon with Mark. He may not always be the brightest firefly in the jar, but he was certainly attractive enough to have stepped out of a fairytale. And the kiss...

She sighed and, making a fist, tried to re-enact the mo
mentous event, gently pressing her lips to the faux
mouth the side of her hand made. It wasn’t the same at all –
there was no spark, no electricity, no
je ne sais quoi
... Some things were better real than imagined.

She wiggled, adjusting the layers she had on. Under her nightdress, she was fully clothed, which would allow her to be much faster when she followed her aunt later.

Not wanting Aunt Belle to think anything was amiss,
Kathryn decided to finish the chapter she was reading be
fore turning out the light and pretending to sleep. She’d
left the door open a tiny crack which would alert her im
mediately when the red lantern was lit. Everything was working out perfectly.

There was a knock, and then her aunt peered round the door. “I’m heading to bed and thought I’d see if you needed anything before I turn in.”

Kathryn yanked the covers up a little higher, in case her strangely bulky body alerted her aunt. “Oh, I’m fine.”

Aunt Belle smiled warmly. “Good night, Katydid.”

Hours later, Kathryn was focusing on staying awake and finding it more and more difficult. She paced in her
dark room, listening. All was quiet in the cabin, and it oc
curred to her that there was a slim chance she’d been wrong about all this; that Aunt Belle would not go to warn the Highwayman. After all, her entire scenario was built on pretty flimsy evidence – a midnight trip to the latrine and a brief glimpse of some red cloth. Her aunt was a seamstress - perhaps the cloth had simply been a material sample for some ladies new gown? She hadn’t thought of that until now. Had she made a giant mistake?

A rustling from the main room made her stop. She listened and sure enough, there was the sound of someone moving about. With a smile at her own cleverness, more like brilliance, Kathryn silently moved to her bedroom door and peeked out the crack. It was Aunt Belle and she was...

She was putting more wood on the fire and wasn’t wearing her coat, nor was she carrying a blasted lantern.

Impossible! Kathryn yawned sleepily, longing to dive into her comfy bed, with the fluffy duvet and the puffy
pillows with the lovely embroidered cases.... No, she couldn’t
let her thoughts wander off the path. She had a mystery to solve and perhaps, a hero to save.

Watching her aunt, she saw her return to the ladder leading to the loft, and climb the steep steps. This was not working out the way she’d anticipated. Perhaps her aunt wouldn’t go until tomorrow night, if she went at all. Kathryn was about to jump into bed, when movement on the stairs caught her eye. Aunt Belle was coming back down.

Kathryn held her breath. Her aunt, now dressed and wrapped in her shawl, carried a lantern as she moved to the table where she struck a match to light the lamp. Pulling the red cloth out of her pocket, Aunt Belle covered the lantern, flooding the room with a crimson glow; then she moved stealthily to the door and silently disappeared into the night.

At last! She’d been right! This was Kathryn’s cue. Triumphantly tearing off her nightdress, she swirled a cape around her shoulders and fled after her aunt.

The night was lit by the all-seeing full moon, the brilliant white orb providing the light she’d need to trail Aunt Belle to the secret assignation. Several times, Kathryn could have sworn she saw someone hiding in the woods, but upon closer inspection, these phantoms turned out to be gnarled branches or clumps of willows. In the distance, the wavering red glow bobbed through the darkness, a reassuring beacon.

Ahead, a small glade opened and it was here that her aunt stopped, placing the red-shielded lantern on a large boulder.

Using the trees and bushes as cover, Kathryn tried to get as close as possible without being seen. A fallen log, lichen covered and shrouded by ferns, provided the perfect hiding spot to wait for the meeting. She lay behind the tree sinking into a soft bed of moss that cradled her like some sweet smelling byre.

The sound of snapping branches jerked Kathryn awake. She’d fallen asleep! How long had she been dozing? She listened to the noises of the night and heard a rider approaching. Peering over the top of her fallen log hideout, Kathryn waited for the arrival of the elusive hero.

His horse was indeed as dark as midnight. She squinted – in fact, it was black. When the Highwayman swung down from the saddle and took Aunt Belle in his arms, Kathryn could have positively melted. In his dark outfit and black mask, he appeared extremely handsome and mysterious, even if she knew in the daylight, as in Cinderella, her hero would turn back into a lumpy pumpkin called Claude Remy.

As she watched, the couple exchanged a soft kiss, her hero gently touching Aunt Belle’s cheek in such a tender gesture that Kathryn could have fainted. It really was Robin Hood and Maid Marian.

Claude appeared more athletic in his Highwayman guise, a phenomenon Kathryn attributed to the odd light cast from the red lantern and the brilliant white moon.

It was this wonderful moonlight that allowed her to see the knife on his belt. It was there – on his left hip, the ivory handle glowed a phosphorescent white. Kathryn’s heart leapt. He still had his knife! It was the proof she needed. The Highwayman, the hero of the Métis people, was not a despicable criminal.

It was then that another noise caught Kathryn’s attention. She listened more closely and realized it was the sound of horses approaching, a lot of horses, and they were coming fast. Did the Métis Robin Hood have a band of Merry Men as had the legendary do-gooder of yore?

None of her stories of the Highwayman mentioned anything about accomplices. Something was terribly wrong.

At that moment, she spied a group of mounted men galloping toward the glade where her aunt and her hero were unaware of what was coming. Kathryn’s breath caught in her chest. There could be only one explanation. It must be Blake and his posse!

Aunt Belle and the Highwayman were about to be caught! Kathryn jumped to her feet and raced toward the two unsuspecting lovers. She burst into the glade and picking up the lantern, dashed it to the ground, extinguishing the red signal light.

“It’s a trap! You have to run!”

Her warning came too late as, in a cloud of dust and thundering hooves, the troop of riders charged into the clearing.

Dread gripped Kathryn when she spied the leader. His hat drooped to one side. It was Constable Blake and he had a gun aimed directly at the Highwayman. Kathryn screamed as a shot rang out. Pandemonium ensued. The horses’ reared and bucked, terrified, as men shouted. It was chaos.

At that moment, her aunt must also have recognised
Blake. She picked up the broken lantern and swung it,
smashing the constable square in the chest. He howled in rage,
lunging his horse at Belle and knocking her to the ground.

Kathryn vainly tried to push the horse backward, only to stumble and fall in the dirt with her aunt. The posse surrounded the women and though Kathryn searched frantically about, she could see no trace of the Métis hero known as the Highwayman.

“You stupid little breed!” Constable Blake spat into the dirt at Kathryn’s feet. “He escaped and it’s your fault. I won’t forget this.” Then Blake turned his dead eyes on Aunt Belle. “The night’s not a complete bust. We have you and I’d say since we missed our main target, you should hang instead. Everyone will agree you had to be in on the bank robbery, probably been hidin’ that thieving, interfering buck all along.”

Aunt Belle rose shakily to her feet, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. “You have me, let my niece go. She had nothing to do with this.”

Blake sneered. “She’s such a pretty little thing. Are you sure you want her staying
all alone
at that shack of yours, Belle? Could be, she’d come to some harm.” He laughed and his men
joined in, as though he’d said something extremely funny.

Kathryn stood, looking him straight in the eye. “I am fully capable of taking care of myself, Constable. Aunt Belle showed me how to shoot a gun in case any
vermin
show up.” She prayed she sounded stronger than she felt.

This brought more derisive laughter. Then Blake reached down and yanked Belle by the hair, dragging her onto his horse with him. “I think you’ll like the accommodations I have waitin’ for you back at the detachment.”

And with that, he spun his horse and the entourage disappeared into the night, with Aunt Belle kicking and fighting. There was a rider who hung back in the shadows, behind the rest, but before Kathryn could identify him, he too was swallowed by the darkness.