Setting the Record Straight

This appeared on the editorial pages of the Winnipeg Free Press recently...

In your editorial Radicals always in our midst (March 16), I was surprised to read in your editorial that in 1871 "the Irish rebel John J. O'Neill met Métis leaders in Manitoba to enlist support for an invasion of Canada in an effort to weaken British oppression in Ireland." I would respond: what Métis leaders?

I have researched this issue extensively. William O'Donoghue had recruited four Fenian leaders to come to Manitoba. The Fenian Brotherhood did not officially sanction this trip, but provided funds for 300 muskets. They had about 30 men with them when they crossed the Manitoba border and ransacked the HBC post at Emerson, which was called "Fort Pembina."

Fort Pembina Revealed

Dear Readers, some of you may wonder, where in the world does this woman find this stuff? Well, let me tell you, I find this stuff in the most unlikely places sometimes. I'll give you a hint - I search just about every available database and under about every subject related to our area. You just never know what you will find. Such was the case with today's post.

I found a book on the forts of the frontier in our area, that had a very detailed description of Fort Pembina when it was located near the confluence of the Pembina and Red Rivers (see recent post about that...) Normally I jot down my sources but for whatever reason I did not do so in this case, much to my shame. It was an old book, and that's all I can tell you. That's what happens when you do the research but don't look at it until months or years later!

One thing I'm curious about that is mentioned below, and that is the post's cemetery, which sounds like it is somewhere in what is commonly known as South Pembina. Has anyone ever located it...?
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Fort Pembina, Dakota Territory, is located at the extreme northeast point of the Territory; latitude, 48 degrees, 56' 46". 3 north; logitude, 20 degrees, 10' west. It is about two hundred miles north of the watershed which divides the Mississippi Valley from the valley fo the Red River of the North, and is situated on the west or left bank of the river. It is one mile south of the village of Pembina, Dak., and about three and one-half miles south of the boundary-line between the United States and the Dominion of Canada, as established by the International Boundary Commission in September, 1872. Sixty-six miles north of the fort is the town of Winnipeg, (Fort Garry,) a rapidly growing place, with a population of three thousand. Thirty miles westward is a range of tableland extending irregularly north and south for many miles, with an abrupt front of several hundred feet in height on the eastern border, called the Pembina Mountain. This is the nearest high land to the post. Eastward, in Minnesota, is a prairie region with many swamps, and impassable except during the winter.

There is no mineral formation, no stones or sand in the vicinity. Sand is brought from the base of Pembina Mountain, and limestone is found near Fort Garry. The surface soil consists of a black clayey loam from 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 feet deep, and very fertile. Beneath this is a white clay slightly mixed with marl, but which makes good brick of a cream color, like the Milwaukee brick. This stratum is underlaid by a stiff, moist, blue clay, at least sixty feet in depth.

There are no springs or ponds on the reservation. Water is generally found by digging wells to the depth of 10 to 25 feet, but is not universally distributed at that depth. It seems to flow in veins among the strata of blue clay; and will sometimes be met at a depth of 12 feet, while at no great distance it is not found at the depth of 40 feet.

The site of the fort is 30 feet above low water in the Red River, and is subject to overflow at irregular intervals. In 1826 there was a very destructive flood, which carried away houses and barns, and again in 1852 and 1861 there were great freshets.

The climate is dry and cold, and severe gales of wind are not uncommon. Winter begins in November, and spring in May; and by the 15th of the latter month the grass is fairly started on the prairie.

Planting is done in May and the first ten days of June. The hardy Indian ponies, and even mules, live through the winter without shelter. They reach the dead prairie grass by pawing away the snow, and quench their thirst by eating the latter.

Cattle cannot endure the exposure, and require to be fed eight months of the year. Sheep thrive well, and are raised in considerable numbers near Fort Garry. The climate is too cold for swine, which are unprofitable except where they have access to oak woods.

The principle indigenous plants of the vicinity are the following: The wild strawberry ripens the second week in June, continues in season three weeks, and is immediately succeeded by the wild raspberry. The wild black currant and high bush blueberry ripen in July; the wild red plum and chokecherry in August. The hazel-nut, wild grape, and bush cranberry ripen in September. These fruits form the principal food of the Indians during the summer.

The chief forest trees are the oak, ash, elm, basswood, cottonwood, and willow.

The wild animals of this region are the moose, elk, red deer, black bear, wolf, red fox, cross fox, silver fox, raccoon, black marten, prairie gray squirrel, ground-squirrel, flying-squirrel, rabbit, skunk, beaver, otter, milk, and muskrat. The buffalo, which a few years ago roamed in vast herds over the plains of Dakota, has not been seen in this vicinity since 1867. Hunters still start from Pembina to follow them to their retreats; and at Wood Mountain, five hundred miles westward, there is a settlement of nearly one hundred families who still live by hunting the buffalo.

Of birds, the bald-headed eagle, kestrel, hawk, shrike, whip-poor-will, woodpecker, chimney swallow, and martin spend the summer in this region, arriving in April and May, and returning southward in October and November. The crane, loon, cormorant, swan, pelican, wild goose, white brant, ducks, mallard, widgeon, blue and green winged teal, and muganser are also summer visitors. The wild pigeon arrives in April, hatches in July, and departs in September. The prairie-chicken remains all the year. They are hatched in July, and are large enough to kill in the latter part of August.

Sturgeon are caught in the Red River weighing from fifty to two hundred pounds. Their flesh is highly esteemed; and the oil is a favorite domestic remedy for contusions and sprains. The pickerel, wall-eyed pike, (a species of salmon,) the cat-fish, and the gold-eye, (a small species of white-fish,) are also caught in great quantities for food.

Reptiles are few in number, small and harmless. Not so are the insects. The horse-fly is extremely numerous and troublesome in July and August. A large fly, called here the "bull-dog," caused great annoyance to the stock of the boundary commission near the Lake of the Woods; but is not very numerous near this post. The mosquitoes swarm in myriads in summer both day and night. They have been known to kill cattle by filling the trachea and causing suffocation. The hardy Canadian voyageurs have been so prostrated by the torture of their bites in crossing the prairies, that they have lain down and wept.

Every year, since the establishment of the post, vast swarms of winged ants have been observed about the 20th of August moving northward. They presented the appearance of dark quivering masses several hundred feet from the ground, were several hours in passing, and the sound of their wings was like the hum of innumerable swarms of bees. They never alighted in the vicinity of Pembina, but occasional stragglers reached the ground. In each instance there was found a large brown female ant one-third of an inch in length, heavy with eggs. Upon her back was mounted a small black male ant, in the act of impregnation.

Grasshoppers have been observed in the Northwest ever since the first settlement of the country, and, although sometimes absent for several years, their reappearance is only a question of time, and is looked for with dread.

The inhabitants above Saint Joseph's, Dak., and a large portion of the settlers in Manitoba, refrained from planting seed in 1873, fearing the their labor would be in vain. The grasshoppers hatched in immense numbers in Manitoba, and began flying south in July, and on twelve different days were observed at the post in the air. They alighted in the vicinity on several days and destroyed a quantity of growing grain by eating off the stalks near the head; but they soon resumed their flight southward.

On the 25th of March, 1870, a special order (No. 43) was issued from headquarters Department of Dakota, detailing Companies I and K, Twentieth Infantry, to establish a new military post at or near Pembina, Dak. In compliance with this order, Company I, commanded by Capt. Loyd Wheaton¹, and accompanied by Asst. Surg. Ezra Woodruff, as medical officer, left Fort Abercrombie, then an extreme frontier post, in May, embarking on two flat-boats, to float to their destination by the current of the Red River. The region to be traversed was a wilderness with only three small settlements. Twenty-two miles from Abercrombie was passed the Mission of the Holy Cross, where a few Indians and half-breeds were gathered under the care of a priest. Twenty-eight miles farther appeared Georgetown, a Hudson's Bay trading post of two or three houses; and thence to Grand Forks, one hundred miles from Abercrombie, there was not a single habitation. Grand Forks, where the principal affluent of the Red River entered, had but a single hut, occupied by one Mick Hoffman, and used by the mail-carriers as a station. The wide prairie, clothed with young grass, showed not a sign of life, except an occasional bird and millions of minute grasshoppers just hatched. Thence to Pembina there was not a single house. At that time the trade of Fort Garry, singular vehicles were composed entirely of wood, and consisted of two wheels near six feet in diameter, with very broad tires, and a small body resting on the axle and shafts. Both ponies and oxen were used to draw them, attached by a peculiar harness of raw-hide. Those carts would carry from six hundred to eight hundred pounds, and one man could drive five or six of them in a train. No grease was used, and as a long train crept over the prairie and indescribable noise was made by the creaking of the wheels. It was estimated that three thousand of these carts passed south through Pembina in one season, carrying furs as freight, and returned loaded with various supplies. The broad felloes of the wheels prevented their sinking in the soft ground, and the driver, with only the most primitive tools, could at any time or place repair a broken cart or even construct a new one. When progress was interrupted by a swollen stream, the cart could be taken to pieces and floated across. The irregular mails were transported on these carts during the summer, and through the long winter they arrived by dog-trains, or on the back of a hardy half-breed voyageur.

During the past four years the Red River country has vied with any other portion of the West in the rapidity of its progress. There are now thousands of swellings where in 1870 there were not more than half a dozen, and every lot of land along the river from Grand Forks to Pembina is said to be taken up by actual settlers. Five steamboats ply upon the Red River, reaching Moorhead, the crossing of the Northern Pacific Railroad, during high water, but are unable to ascend so far during the direst part of summer.

In September, 1871, the Minnesota Stage Company established a line of stages, running thrice a week from Fort Abercrombie to Fort Garry. The Saint Paul and Saint Vincent Railroad was, in the spring of 1874, graded within nine miles of Pembina, but the rails were not then laid beyond the crossing of Red Lake River. A telegraph line was completed in the autumn of 1872, crossing the parade at Fort Pembina. Thousands of Canadian emigrants have within the last few years passed this place to settle in the bleak regions of the Assinaboine and the Saskatchewan, and are rapidly populating the country between this point and Winnipeg.

Captain Wheaton, with Company I, Twentieth Infantry, arrived at Pembina on the 19th of May. They were joined soon after by Company K from Fort Totten, under command of Capt. A.A. Harbach. The site selected was within the angle formed by the confluence of the Pembina and Red Rivers. The reservation extends three miles along the former and one mile on the latter. It is a level prairie, except the northwest corner, crossed by the Pembina River, which is skirted with Timber.

The fort is four miles south of the boundary-line between the United States and the British possessions, as established by Capt D.P. Heap, United States Engineers, in May, 1870, and three miles south of the old and still-recognized line surveyed by Major Long in 1823. The fort is located in the northeast angle of the reservation, about two hundred yards from the bank of the Red River, from which it is subject to overflow at irregular intervals.

The buildings are arranged in the form of a rectangle and face the parade-ground, 386 by 280 feet. The whole is surrounded by a wooden palisade fence, and has capacity for two companies of infantry. All the buildings are of wood, except the magazine, which is of brick. The other buildings consisted of four double sets of officers' quarters; two company barracks, with separate kitchens; guard house, hospital, bake-house, storehouse, and stable.

The hospital and buildings for quarters are constructed in the same manner. Planks three inches thick are laid upon the ground, on which are placed oak posts. Upon these a balloon frame is erected.

The outside is covered with inch boards, tarred felt, and pine sheathing; the inside is lathed and plastered with two coats, the officers' quarters and hospital being also hard-finished. The roofs are covered with inch boards, tarred felt, and shingles; the floors are double, with tarred felt between the courses.

The officers' quarters are four double frame buildings, for the accommodation of eight officers. They are situated on the south side of the parade, and face the north; are one and a half stories high, 46 1/2 by 30 feet, each traversed by a hall in the center from front to rear, 7 feet wide. From this hall the stairway ascends to the attic. The ceiling of the first floor is 11 feet high; of the attic 4 1/2 at the sides and 9 feet in the center. The lower story is divided in parlor, 12 by 16 feet, sitting room 14 by 15 feet, dining room 11 by 15 feet, and kitchen 10 by 13 feet. The attic contains two large bedrooms and two closets.

There is an open fire-place in the parlor; the other rooms have flues for stoves. The rooms are well lighted, and ventilation is secured by registers in the flues.

The company barracks, two in number, built on the plan above described, are located on the north side of the parade. Each building is 178 by 25 feet, and 14 feet from the floor to ceiling. Along the south front is a piazza eight feet in width. The center of the building is occupied by two orderly-rooms, 14 by 15 feet. The remainder consists of two dormitories or squad-rooms. Each squad room is lighted by six windows; ventilated by the chimney-flues and cold air boxes opening in the floor. In contains one open fire-place and a flue for stove. One 35-inch box heating-stove, with drum, is found sufficient to warm the room. Iron bedsteads are used. There is no wash-room or bath-room. The sinks are in rear of the barracks, and are pits 10 feet deep covered with houses. Fifteen feet in rear of each barrack is a commodious and well-furnished building, 53 by 20 feet, comprising the company kitchen, mess-room, and two pantries.

A substantial log building, 60 by 212 feet, and divided into three equal rooms, is used as quarters for laundresses.

The guard-house is located north of the company kitchens, and consists of a wooden building 38 by 25 feet. A hall, 5 feet wide, passes through the center north and south, from which doors open into the guard-room and prison-rooms. The former is 15 by 24 feet, and of the latter, one is 14 by 16, the other 9 1/2 by 16 feet. The height of the ceiling is 10 feet. In the guard-room is an open fire-place, and in the prison rooms flues for stoves. The former has two windows and each of the latter, one. Registers are placed in the flues for ventilation. The average occupancy in 1873 was 10.51.

The hospital, situated in the southwestern corner of the garrison, consists of an administration building and a ward. The former is one and one-half stories high, 37 feet square, with an L on the western side, 21 by 14 feet, for kitchen and pantry. The first floor is crossed by two halls at right angles, having four rooms, viz: dispensary, office, store-room, and dining room. A stairway with one landing, ascends to the attic; which contains four rooms, entered from a central hall 7 feet wide. One of these rooms is assigned to attendants, one as steward's room, and a third for a dead room. It had no special fixtures for post-mortem examinations. The ward is one room, 45 by 25 feet, outside measurement. Attached to the southwest corner of the ward, is a room 10 by 13 feet, built for a bath-room and water-closet. It has no furniture save one tin bath-tub. The ward is lighted by ten windows, four on each side and two in the south end. All the windows in the hospital on the first floor are hung with weights. The ventilation of the administration building is by flues containing registers, and is ample. The ward is ventilated by a cold-air box opening in the center of the floor, over which is placed a ventilating-stove. A special ventilating-chimney is built at the south end of the ward, with a register near the ceiling. There are also registers in the chimneys at the north end of the ward. The extreme coldness of the climate renders these provisions sufficient, it being extremely difficult to keep the cold air out. The hospital is warmed entirely by stoves. Two 31-inch box heating-stoves suffice to keep the air in the ward at a proper temperature. The ward is an airy, cheerful-looking apartment, the dispensary neatly fitted up and well furnished. The sink is a double apartment built over a pit 12 feet deep, and is neatly policed. It is in rear of the southern end of the ward, and is reached by a door from the bath-room.

The bakery is in the northeastern portion of the fort, twenty-five feet north and in rear of the company-kitchen. It contains two large ovens and is in good order.

There is no school-room, chapel, or laundry.

The stable is situated about three hundred yards southeast of the fort, near the river-bank. It is a frame building, 140 by 30 feet, raised 2 feet from the ground on posts, and contains stalls for fifty-six horses. It is covered with inch boards and sheetings, and roofed with shingles. No tarred felt is used. The floor is of 2-inch pain plank.

Water is hauled from the river in barrels in winter and in a tank in summer. The supply is ample and the quality good. There are twelve galvanized-iron cisterns, each of a capacity of one hundred and ten barrels. They are sunk into the ground, one at each set of officers' quarters, one at each barrack, one at the hospital, and one at the storehouse. They are useless in winter.

An examination of the Red River water was made in December, 1874, by Asst. Surg. V. Havard, U.S.A., at a time when the river was covered with thick ice. The result showed (grains per gallon):

Organic matters as obtained by incineration, 4.90
Oxidizable organic matter, as obtained by the permanganate of potassa test, 4.12
Carbonate of lime, 10.09
Chloride of sodium, 1.92
Sulphates (approximate), 2.00
Phosphates, a trace
Magnesia, a comparatively large quantity, no precisely determined

The suspended matters, mostly sand and clay, with some organic impurities, estimated from 2-4 grains per gallon.

The water when shaken has a reddish-yellow tint, but after settling is, at this season, perfectly clear. It is without taste and no complaint has ever been traced to its use.

There are no facilities for bathing at the post in winter. The river is used in summer.

Slops, offal, and excreta are carted away in barrels and emptied on the bank of the river at a distance from the post.

The cemetery is one-third of a mile south of the post, on the Fort Abercrombie road. It is two acres in extent, inclosed by a wooden fence, and thus far contains three graves.

A plat of eight acres in extent, lying southeast of the post, has been enclosed with a rail-fence, and plowed for a post garden. This piece of ground, owing to unskillful management, has yet produced but little. A smaller tract has also been cultivated. The principal products have been potatoes, onions, beets, carrots, parsnips, radishes, green peas, and beans. The supply has never been sufficient for the wants of the garrison. A hospital garden was to be commenced in 1874. There are no officers' gardens. Summer vegetables can be procured in limited quantities from the settlers in the vicinity.

The soldiers have an out-door gymnasium for summer practice, and have started a dramatic association, which furnishes much amusement, and is a source of relaxation to the men.

¹ - Colonel Lloyd Wheaton was born in Calhoun County, Michigan, July 15, 1838. He came to Llinois at the age of fifteen, and settled at Peoria. he learned civil engineering from his father, and followed his profession until the breaking out of the war, when he joined the first company of volunteers raised in Peoria. The company was mustered into the 8th infantry on its original organization at Springfield. When the regiment was mustered for three years' service he was made First Lieutenant. At the battle of Shiloh, where he was seriously wounded, he won his promotion to the captaincy, and from that passed step by step to the colonelcy of the regiment; gaining his promotion through every grade by gallant and meritorious conduct. He was one of the first men to enter the rebel works at Fort Blakely, and was always in the front when danger was near. That was Lloyd Wheaton leading up to establishing Fort Pembina; later in life, he would become Brigadeer General Wheaton, and play a major role in the Spanish-American War in the Philipines...

Chapter IV: Sheriff Charley Brown

Exciting news, dear readers!

Chuck Walker recently informed me that Publish America has accepted his manuscript for Sheriff Charley Brown for publication and made him an offer; he has decided to accept. This is the first book about St. Vincent to have been published other than a straight historical book.

It has been my privilege to be able to offer Chuck's book here in serialized form, and I will be continuing to do so for the entire story. With that in mind, here is chapter four...Enjoy!
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Deputy U.S. Marshal William Anderson¹ was becoming impatient. While reclining on his bed at Fisk's hotel he pondered the action of Deputy LaMoure and Sheriff Brown. Apparently they had gone out to speak with, rather than seize Bill Collins. Imagine Billy posing as Bill Gale! Anderson snorted in contempt at the idea. Why, the fool didn't even change his first name!

To further his disappointment, the local officers seemed to think their matters of more importance than his. Brown had gone off on an Indian hunt to the west and LaMoure had gone to a court action in Fargo. Little did they know of real desperados! Perhaps nothing of criminal importance ever happens in this cracker-barrel town!

Anderson realized his reputation hung in the balance. He had to bring in Collins or his credibility with the U.S. Marshals Service would suffer. There would be no promotion. He would always remain just a deputy. He realized it made sense to await the return of the two local officers, but the idea tormented him. He wanted the entire credit for the capture. “I won't share with them!”

Deeply perturbed, he considered his options. Evidently Collins and his wife had been corresponding, and no doubt were still in contact. Yet, the marshals' service had intercepted only the one letter written by Collin's lawyer. She must be sending her return letters in a round about way, by having someone mail them from an outlying post office. Not one of her letters has been intercepted. That meant Collins must be getting her letters at a nearby post office, either in Pembina, St. Vincent, or perhaps even West Lynne, in Canada.

Early on Wednesday morning he walked to the Pembina post office and introduced himself to the postmaster, Charles Cavalier². The mailman was popularly known as 'Doc', as he was always called -- the oldest settler and pre-emptor of the principal portion of Pembina. He was considered one of nature's gentlemen, in fact one of the great men of the town.

"Does the man who calls himself Bill Gale, come to your post office often?"

Cavalier studied the stranger. "A man called J. W. Gale gets an occasional letter here. Just who are you?"

Anderson was forced to display his credentials and briefly explain his purpose. "According to Sheriff Brown, Gale works at a hotel along the border. I hold a federal warrant for Bill Collins, alias Bill Gale. I've got to find him somewhere away from that hotel. If I go out there to make the arrest he can step across that so-called line into Canada and I can't touch him. Does he come often to your post office to pick up his mail?"

"Once in a great while and usually on a Saturday, likely it’s his day off. Just what are you planning?"

"I'll sit in here next Saturday and if he shows up, I'll arrest him. Sheriff Brown and Marshal LaMoure were supposed to assist in the arrest but they've both ducked out on me."

"Now hold on! I don't know a thing about you! Don't go chastising Charley and Jud; they are good men and I won't have you denigrate them!"

It was obvious to Anderson that he was rubbing Cavalier the wrong way; he attempted to smooth things over. "Like I said, I'll sit in here next Saturday and pick up Collins, alias Bill Gale. There shouldn't be any problem."

"Except for some shooting," Cavalier suggested warily.

"Oh, none of that, I'm sure. I'll have him covered."

"Well, it's your neck. Best you're out of sight though. You can wait around the corner in the kitchen. Thank the Lord my wife is visiting her folks in Winnipeg. She wouldn't allow anything of the sort!"

Returning to his hotel Anderson pondered how he would pass the time until Saturday, since this was Wednesday. Perhaps either Brown or LaMoure, or both, would be back in time to support him. He was beginning to have second thoughts about the wisdom of making the arrest unaided.

On Friday afternoon Anderson contacted lawyer Ewing who introduced him to one of the sheriff's deputies, Ned Cavalier. Ned advised, "Charley and Jud are still out of town as far as I know, but they should both be back by Sunday. If I were you I'd await their return. You may find Gale tough to handle."

"I knew him back in Texas. He won't be any problem." Sensing Anderson's arrogance, Ned shrugged, turning away.

Early on Saturday morning Anderson approached the post office. He hesitated briefly to study the new outside stairway built to give access to the upper floor. Apparently it would serve no useful advantage. Walking to the rear door of Cavalier's home, he knocked, knowing the post office door would be locked until 9:00 a.m. A barefoot Cavalier clad only in droopy, long underwear admitted him. He complained, "Pretty early for you to be here. I just lit the fire to make coffee. The drayman won't be here with the mail from the morning train for at least another hour."

"Thought I'd look over the place, so as to not make any mistakes. Collins is a crack shot, and if he pulls a gun, I'll have to nail him quick."

"Judas! I hope it doesn't come to that! You should have waited for Charley and Jud. They may be cautious, but they're thorough. Best you use the bench behind the counter instead of the chair at the rear. I'll see him in plenty of time to warn you."

Although Cavalier shared coffee with the marshal, he pointedly failed to offer him breakfast. Anderson regretted the impulse that had prompted his early arrival without first eating. Still, he would take no chance of missing his man.

When the drayman arrived and dropped two bags of mail at the door, Cavalier opened them and began sorting letters into various pigeonholes built into the wall. Anderson noted the second mailbag contained only newspapers and packages. "Mostly morning delivery," Cavalier grumbled. "Not much mail comes on the stage anymore, nearly all arrives by rail."

The morning went by slowly, the marshal alert to each customer that entered. By noon he realized he was getting nervous and jumpy. Dryness seemed to settle in his mouth and throat and he again began to question the wisdom of confronting Collins alone. He felt a tension building that he couldn't cast off.

Cavalier was no help. A garrulous man by nature, he questioned Anderson's experience as a marshal. This left Anderson on the defensive, since none of his previous arrests had been life threatening. Pointedly Cavalier brought up Charley's war record and his experiences during the arrest of the Fenian leaders: O'Neil, Donally and O'Donoghue.

"O'Neil was the leader of that Fenian raid against Fort Erie, Ontario, back in '70. The British ran his ass out of there. But in l871 a few grouped together west of here near St. Joe, in another attempt to take Canada. Captain Wheaton, at Fort Pembina got wind of their plan and sent Lt. Bradley west to find their camp. It was Charley who found them, but he got no credit. The very next day, I remember it was in October; the Fenian's crossed the border and captured the Hudson Bay Post just west of Emerson. When a breed brought the word to Captain Wheaton, he sent two companies across the border to capture the Fenians. When O'Neil and his men saw the troops from Fort Pembina approaching, they panicked and ran. Charley was instrumental in their capture." He smiled. "O'Donaghue escaped initially but a breed ran him down and hauled him back to Fort Pembina."

Anderson questioned, "What did they do with the Fenian leaders?"

Cavalier looked disgusted, "Heck, they turned all three loose after a trial at Fort Pembina and a second court appearance in St. Paul. It seems their seizure was considered out of the U.S. jurisdiction." Shaking his head, he added, "Those in power decided that although Wheaton had done an admirable thing, he had no business crossing into Canada."

When the noon hour came Cavalier made sandwiches. Local boys gathered in the mid-afternoon, playing on the outside stairs, shouting and running up and down the steps. Twice Cavalier went outside to yell at them, but they were soon back, seemingly unafraid of the jocular Doc.

As the afternoon wore on, Anderson began to further regret his decision to take Collins alone. He made up his mind to call off his vigil at 4 o'clock.

It was then Cavalier suddenly said, "Here comes your man now. He's just crossing the street."

Anderson nervously arose from the bench, nearly upsetting it. His heart raced as he took his stance behind the corner leading to the kitchen; it’s pounding seemed almost in his throat. He could hear the boys playing on the outside stairs to the north. Suddenly, he realized, my God! That's the direction in which I must shoot if Bill draws his gun. Long, tense seconds elapsed before the door on the northeast corner of the post office audibly squealed and heavy footsteps were heard.

When Anderson deemed Collins clear of the door, he nervously stepped from behind cover, his revolver in hand. "Get your hands up, Bill! You're under arrest!"

A surprised, but friendly smile appeared on Collins face as he raised his hands chest high. "Why, Bill Anderson, my old friend -- you wouldn't arrest me, would you? I've gone straight for four years and if you leave me alone I'll go straight the rest of my life."

Anderson was obdurate, "I was sent up here to serve a Warrant on you Bill, and it's my duty to do so."

Collins had allowed his hands to drop a little and with a sudden jerk wrenched a revolver free from under his open shirt.

Anderson fired at that instant, the bullet entering high in Collin's chest, staggering him.

Collins felt the hammer-like blow but fought the feeling of dizziness that came almost instantly. Leveling his gun at Anderson he fired and missed. Anderson felt an instant of panic and ran around the corner and out the kitchen door. Somehow, by sheer willpower, Gale staggered around the corner facing the open back door. At that moment, Anderson, suddenly regained a feeling of bravado, and thinking Collins perhaps dead, peered around the door casing. Collins fired at that instant, the bullet striking Anderson who collapsed on the stoop.

"Judas Priest!" Cavalier stood aghast, transfixed for seconds, then he pushed past the now sagging Collins, toppling him to the kitchen floor. Ripping open Anderson's shirt he realized the marshal had been hit in the center of his chest and was dead. Turning, he rolled Collin's body over, to find that he too, was dead.

Shouting was heard from the boys outside and in less than a minute the kitchen was crowded with men, accompanied by the boys who had been playing outside. In the commotion that ensued, it was discovered that a young boy playing just outside, had been narrowly missed by Anderson's bullet. The missile had passed through Collins chest and through the northeast door.

It took several minutes for Cavalier, assisted by deputy Bill Morehead to clear away the crowd and lock the door. A wagon was summoned and the bodies were removed to the local undertaker.

It was less than an hour later when Charley and Ian drove into town with a tired team, and were informed of the shooting. Charley immediately took charge and had the telegrapher contact Washington to report the affair:

Deputy Marshal W. H. Anderson, in attempting to arrest Wm. O. Collins, the Texas train robber in Pembina, Dakota Territory, was killed by Collins STOP Anderson also killed Collins STOP s/N. E. Nelson, Pembina, Dakota Territory STOP

When Charley and Doc Cavalier walked to the mortuary and further examined the body of Collins, they discovered his right thumb nearly severed at the joint by Anderson's bullet that had passed through his chest.

Charley marveled at the man's stamina. "Just think, shot fatally, yet he walked to the kitchen and fired at Anderson as he peered in the door. How he could even hold the gun with that useless thumb beats all." He puzzled, "Why didn't Anderson fire more than the one shot? I checked his gun and it's in working order. He had four more cartridges available. Why did he panic?"

Cavalier said resignedly, "Who knows? I believe he was flat-out scared! If the darned fool had hesitated a few more seconds before coming back through the doorway, he'd still be alive."

"Probably was ashamed of himself. I saw plenty of it during the war. Matter of fact some of the men that seemed to be cowards at first, turned out to be the bravest in the end." Charley shook his head. "Gale told Jud and me that he'd have it out with Anderson. He sure did!"

"He should have waited for you to return, but he must have been in a hurry to get back to Texas. Well, he'll get there now, but in a box.

"Are you going back to the hills again?" Cavalier queried as they left the funeral parlor.

"Yup! Soon as I can arrange some help from the fort."

"I heard they finished the qualifying on the rifle range yesterday. That should free some men. 'Course they'll start cutting next winter's firewood soon. Geez! They went through over 800 cords of wood at the fort last winter. They've got every tree on the fort property cut down and are working on trees nearly a mile up the river. Pretty soon they'll have to buy firewood. Say, best you come back to the office with me. You have some mail piled up."

"Doc, I imagine they'll send federal men down to pick up Anderson's body and snoop around. There'll be an inquest too; you'll probably be called to testify."

"That's no problem. I have no plans to leave town." Reflectively he added, "I suppose my wife will probably rush home when she hears news of the shooting. She'll probably give me hell for letting it happen in our house."
____________

¹ Anderson was eventually killed in the line of duty.

According to historical records in Dallas County (Texas), "...William O. (Billy) COLLINS m. 24 Feb. 1875, Dallas Co., Tx. to Sallie J. CATON, he d. 8 Nov. 1878, shot to death by Deputy US Marshall William (Billie) Anderson at Pembina, Dakota Territory--Anderson was also shot to death at the same time, Mr. George Waller and Mr. Lida Huffman went from Dallas to identify the body..."

² CAVALIER, CHARLES - Born in 1818 in Springfield, OH, the son of Charles Cavalier and Rachel Trease. In the summer of 1841, a Methodist mission was established at Red Rock. Along with the Rev. B. F. Kavenaugh and his family came William R. Brown, Cavalier, and two schoolteachers. Brown erected the mission buildings, and he and Cavalier established a store and a farm in 1842. In 1845, Cavalier moved to St. Paul where he took up his original trade as a saddler, occupying a small building on the levee, then moving in 1847 to what was once called Charles Street. In 1848, he went into the drug business with Dr. John Dewey. He also served for a few months as Territorial Librarian. His real estate holdings were valued at $500 in 1850. In 1851, went to Pembina where he served over 25 years as Postmaster. He was married in 1856 to Isabella Murray, and had children: William, Albert, Edward, Sarah, and LuLu Bell. Sarah died at birth, and none of the remaining 4 children married. Charles, Isabella, and their 5 children are buried in the Pembina City Cemetary. Charles also had a son, Alexander, whose mother was Marguerite Descoteaux dit Baton; a daughter, Rachel, whose mother was a Sauteuse indian; and a daughter, Julia Isabelle, whose mother is unknown. [Source: Williams, J. Fletcher. A History of the City of Saint Paul to 1875. St. Paul, Minnesota Historical Society, ©1983. (Out of Print) and Minnesota Territorial Census 1850. Minnesota Genealogical Journal, Minnesota Historical Society, ©1972. (Out of Print)]

Historical Novel about...Pembina

Below is an excerpt of an unpublished* novel by Chuck Walker of Pembina. The novel is set in the 1870's, in and around Pembina, featuring real people who lived here at that time; Take a peek here to see two of the characters - Charles (called Charley) Brown and John Kabernagle - listed in the 1880 census.

Chuck told me...

"Charley came with the first troops to the Fort when it was organized in l870. He was a Sergeant at the time. During the Civil War he was captured and escaped. He became sheriff in l875.

"He brought out Eugene Harris (Dr Harris’s brother), Dr Harris’ Mother and sisters, as well as his own Mother, in 1882. Charley was a cousin of my Grandfather.

"What happened in the book actually happened. The names are accurate except for the girl [Marguerite] and her family. The times are accurate, so are the soldiers names and officer names at the Fort. As sheriff from 1875 until his death with cancer in l884 he farmed a quarter at the border about 3 miles west of the present custom house. In addition to being sheriff of Pembina County those years, also ran a saloon just south of what we knew as the old Heneman store, with John Kabernagel. I didn’t mention John’s wife Hannah in the story, whom I knew very well as a child. The shootings are fact and true, the jail escape is well known. The trips west to recover the teamsters' goods is true and accurate."

Sheriff Charley Brown
By Charles Walker

Chapter l

Dakota Territory, l878

Sheriff Charley Brown was beginning to feel the pressure. Things were getting complicated; work was piling up faster than it could be handled. A bachelor, he lived alone above his sample store located near the north end of the business block; a business block with no vacant lots. Wood-framed stores and shops were crammed haphazardly together, wall-to-wall, creating an excellent chance of a future, massive conflagration.

Now, at 31 years of age, Charley was beginning to have frequent occasions of strange dreams, nightmares that he had not had since his teens. They were of his war years, years long past. Usually it was the same dream, but with subtle variations. He marveled that waking up from a dream only took seconds, but how long the dream seemed.

The Confederate captain was adamant; Charley was to be hung as a spy. The noose around his neck was snug and scratchy; then the officer suddenly swung his quirt at the horse Charlie was astride, the one he had attempted to steal. At the same moment the officer shouted, "That'll teach you Yankee bastards not to steal horses!" Charley felt the sudden burning pain and choking as the rope tightened with a jerk.

Awakening in a cold sweat, he discovered his bed sheets clammy, damp from perspiration. He also realized he had again been grinding his teeth as his tongue detected a lump inside his cheek. Twisting in bed, he reached over to the bedside table, fumbling blindly for the kerosene lamp. As his fingers contacted the base, he slid his fingers lightly up to the chimney. Removing the glass carefully, he set it aside to grope for a match. Striking one under the bed iron, he touched it to the wick. Replacing the chimney, he flung the bed covers aside and swung his feet to the floor. It had not cooled during the night and the floor seemed warm.

Bewildered, he questioned his sanity. Why am I dreaming about the war? It's been over for years. Something's getting to me! What is it? The nightmare brought back memories of the time he and two friends had been captured by Confederate cavalrymen. The enemy had overrun them during a counterattack by the rebels against Buford's Federals. Hiding until dark, they had attempted to steal enemy horses at St. James Church, only to be captured when the horses created a fuss.

The rebel captain of the cavalry unit wasted no time. All three were to dance at the end of a rope as spies. It was the timely arrival of General Jeb Stuart that spared their lives. The heavily bearded commander appeared out of the darkness, demanding the reason for the clamor. After an explanation, he addressed the captain scornfully. "They are just boys. Send them to the rear."

Charley, already a brevet second lieutenant, and knowing how close they had been to death, saluted the General. "Thank you, sir!" he said.

General Stuart studied Charley briefly with a wry smile before turning away.

Reaching for his watch on the bedside table, Charley saw it was nearly 5:00 a.m. Even from a distance he could hear a cock crowing with pride over his harem. Dressing slowly, he picked up the lamp and moved to the kitchen to make coffee.

A faint light was showing in the eastern sky, faintly illuminating his kitchen. While the coffeepot rocked on the kerosene stove, he stepped to the sink, poured water into a china bowl and washed his face. Rubbing briskly with a towel he bent further to look into a mirror that hung too low. Dampening his hair, he parted it, determined to get a shave later in the day.

Carrying a steaming cup of coffee downstairs, he unlocked the door of the saloon he shared with his business partner, John Kabernagle. Eyeing the spittoons as he began sweeping the floor, he shook his head in disgust. Men either couldn't or wouldn't spit straight, missing the receptacle, and making a mess on the floor. He made a mental note to tell their swamper to surround the pots with more sawdust.

Finally finished tidying up the floor, he put the broom away and began clearing and wiping the tables, moving the dirty mugs and glasses to the bar. As he stepped outside to lock the door a last brief perusal of the room satisfied him. On the boardwalk outside, he found the air already warm. The morning sun was an eye-catching ball of fire that caressed the eastern sky with yellows and orange, fading westward to corals and turquoise. Glancing in each direction along the street, he found it totally deserted. The lightness of the morning air still carried faint traces of the acrid odor of smoke, smoke from the burning peat bogs to the east, in Minnesota.

At the north corner he stepped from the raised plank sidewalk to cross the rutted dirt street toward the jail. He knew that John, his business partner, would open the doors of their tavern promptly at 10 a.m.

Suddenly a resounding boom from Fort Pembina's morning salute gun sounded throughout the town. It echoed among the buildings, the harbinger of another workday at the army post located just a mile to the south.

He hesitated momentarily to view the weather-bleached, two storied, squared-log jail. There was that bedraggled, swollen-bellied cat sitting complacently in front of the door. Turning toward the one-holer located behind the jail, he spent some moments, then returned to the front door to remove the brass padlock. As he opened the door, the feline arose to walk daintily inside, rubbing and purring against his boots the moment he sat at his desk. Exasperated, Charley shook his head, addressing the cat loudly. "You skinny, misbegotten critter, you've gotten yourself knocked up again!" A guilty feeling came when he realized he had forgotten to bring his table scraps of last evening. The cat looked up at Charley dolefully, blinking her eyes slowly. Charley knew the female to be independent and usually antisocial. Now, he thought, she's looking for sympathy. Many times the cat had been inadvertently locked in the jail for a day or two, but had come to no harm since he always kept a tin of water inside the door.

Reaching into his top drawer Charley withdrew a sheaf of wanted posters. Gazing out the small six paned window directly in front of his desk he mourned the dirty and cracked panes. Among the broken edges purple and violet tints sparkled and twisted in the sunlight. Backing his chair toward the doorway, he gained additional light to ease his reading. While scanning the sheets the cat jumped to his lap, purring and nuzzling his hands. Petting her absently he could feel her body throbbing beneath his fingers, giving him a feeling of tranquility. Lazily he attempted to memorize the poor facial drawings and described details of the felons.

His attention was momentarily diverted by the sound of footsteps as lawyer, Bob Ewing, climbed the outside staircase to his office above the jail. He heard the twang of the screen door spring, then the rattle of the key in the lock. The screen door closed with a slap, followed by a thump as the inner door closed.

Dust motes drifted down from the ceiling as a heavy chair scraped on the floor above. Charley mentally cursed the builder of the lockup, knowing that although the floor above was heavily double-planked, the carpenter had failed to put felt paper between the two layers of lumber. Dust gravitated down whenever the lawyer or his clients moved about.

Finished reviewing the wanted posters, he turned to a two-day-old copy of the St. Paul Globe, knowing well that the paper was owned by the railroad magnate, Jim Hill.

Charley was the only law for well over forty miles in each direction, excepting to the north. There, just two miles away lay the Canadian border where Constable Bob Bell was in charge, assisted by Fred Bradley, who was Justice of the Peace.

Recently Jud LaMoure, a local resident, had been made a Deputy United States Marshal. Unfortunately, he was seldom around, being involved in politics and his several business enterprises. Actually, Charley felt comfortable in his position as sheriff, since he had the full cooperation of Captain Collins, the commanding officer at Fort Pembina. He could usually find-qualified men if he needed deputies.

Although the sheriff stood a bit over six feet in height, he was becoming conscious of his weight. In the army he had held just below 190 pounds, but now he tended to gain easily. He often thought of his friend Constable Bob Bell of Emerson. Bob, a huge man, was developing an overhanging paunch; also incipient dewlaps were beginning to sag from his cheeks. Perhaps it was conceit, but Charley found himself eating less and walking more, aware of the consequences.

His prowess of manly defense while in the army had made him a legendary figure, fame gained during the war and as First Sergeant of Company I, 20th Infantry. Even so, since the beginning of his sheriffing days, he was known to be a generous man, not a harsh disciplinarian. There were times when he was confused by his own emotions. He had killed men ruthlessly in combat, but now he held a live, and let live attitude. He knew he had been brash as a boy, headstrong and willful.

At sixteen years of age he had run away from his West Virginia home to join the Confederate Army. His grandfather's influence had resulted in his ignominious return home in the custody of a Southern sheriff. Within days he had run away again, this time joining the Northern Army, having been thoroughly disenchanted by the rough treatment administered him by his southern captor.

His thoughts turned to his problem with Marguerite. They were to have supper together this evening at the Crawford House in St. Vincent. Just last week she had brought up the subject of marriage. Since her younger sister, Susan, had married his friend, Ian McLaren, she had been pressing for a permanent relationship.

Looking directly into his eyes, she had said, "We've been walking out together for nearly two years now. Let's get married at Thanksgiving time."

When he became evasive, she became angry.

The breed girl was beautiful and talented, but Charley's training while a youth had made the idea of a mixed marriage a hell on earth. Raised in the east, a son of strict and religious parents, made miscegenation unthinkable, almost a crime against nature. At times his conscience ate at him, knowing he was being unfair to her. Still, somehow, he was unable to face a breakup.

Although there were many attractive white females available, none had caught his interest. Marguerite had brought something new and vivacious into his life. Something he had never shared with any other woman. He knew it would be impossible to forget her entirely, and knew it would be up to him to terminate their relationship. His conscience ate at him, knowing the longer he put it off, the more difficult it would become. He had never before been so deeply troubled, his moral senses so debased. He felt guilt-ridden with remorse, feeling he had sullied his own reputation, and hers. His conscience eased somewhat, remembering that Margurite liked trinkets. He would stop at Feldman's Jewelry tomorrow and pick up a small gewgaw for her.

Another thought came to mind. Recently renegade Indians from Wood Mountain, in Manitoba, had shown up in the Hair Hills [aka Pembina Hills] to the west. They had crossed over into Dakota Territory from Canada, causing alarm among white settlers and trouble among the local Indians. After seizing a teamster's horses, wagon and government goods, they had run the man out of the hills.

Furthermore, Charley had word that the same redskins had been posting warnings on trees and cabins, ordering whites out of the area. He mused, "Thank the Lord the Indians posted those notices! Now the military will have to take action. They'll have to give me backing when I try to get that government property back."

As sheriff, he was sure the Indians were leery of the military, knowing well the aftermath of the Custer debacle just two years ago. Surely they would back down -- that is, if they could be found. But how could he recover the government goods? A grim thought came, "Heck, if I know anything about Indians, those goods have been spread to hell and gone by now! Still, there's a slim chance I might be able to recover the team and wagon."

Another vexing problem had presented itself just last evening, in the form of a Deputy United States Marshal. Charley had been eating his evening meal at the Pioneer Hotel when the proprietress, Mrs. Fisk, brought a stranger to his table. Resting her hand familiarly upon Charley's shoulder, the rotund lady smiled. "Charley, this gentleman says he has business with you. His name is William Anderson."

She turned to the stranger coyly, "You'll have supper with us I expect?"

"Yes. Thank you!" He locked eyes with the Charley, who had risen to shake his hand. "Do you mind if join you, sheriff?"

"Not a bit, take a seat."

Mrs. Fisk turned away with a smile of satisfaction, knowing the stranger would contribute to her coffers.

Charley looked quizzically as Anderson adjusted his chair forward to the oilcloth-covered table. He noted the man's heavy body, his oversized nose that emphasized the square jaw. Casually, Anderson placed a shiny Deputy U.S. Marshals' badge on the table.

"If that's a bona fide badge, maybe I'm the wrong man for you." Charley remarked.

"How so?"

"Jud LaMoure is the deputy marshal in this district. I don't intrude into his business unless he asks for help."

"Let me put my cards on the table." The marshal picked up his badge, returning it to an inside vest pocket, then he fished in an outside pocket to produce a curved stem pipe and tobacco pouch. Taking his time, he casually filled the pipe, tamping down the tobacco with his index finger. Before striking a match he raised his eyes to Charley. "I'm looking for a Texan. He's been involved in several bank holdups, and lastly, he was one of the gang involved in the train robbery at Mesquite, Texas."

Charley mused, "No strangers in town that I know of. Oh, there are still quite a few railroad workers I don't know personally, but I doubt your man is here."

"He's here! Believe me -- I know! He had a local lawyer named Ewing write a letter to his wife in Dallas. Our postal people intercepted it; the lawyer carelessly used his personal letterhead. Perhaps I should explain further. You must have heard of the Big Springs train robbery last November. The robbers got $60,000, all in $20 gold pieces. You're probably aware that we're still looking for two of those bandits and a good chunk of the missing money."

Charley's interest grew. He had reward posters on two of the Big Springs robbers and recently the Grand Forks newspaper, The Plaindealer, had warned of their presence in the immediate area. The wanted posters listed their names as Frank Carter and John Underwood.

"I've heard of them, but few strangers have come into town recently. Sure, we've got about 4500 residents between the towns of Pembina and St. Vincent, but the hotels usually keep me informed of suspicious characters. Weren't most of those involved in the Big Springs robbery either captured or killed?"

"Yup, but the Mesquite robbery involving Bill Collins happened about four years ago. We've been biding our time ever since, waiting for a break. We finally got it!" Anderson looked confidant, and then added, "He may have been living here for a month or more. He's young looking, tall and husky -- used to weight about 200 pounds. He's got a booming voice and the personality to charm a rattlesnake.

His voice suddenly turned bitter. "We were raised together as lads and attended the same school. In fact we were the best man at each other's wedding. Trouble was, his marriage didn't keep too well after he began associating with thieves. By luck, I turned to law." He puffed a few moments on his pipe, and then asked, "Where does this lawyer named Ewing hang his shingle?"

Charley smiled. "That's easy, he couldn't be closer. His office is just above the jail. He'll be there in the morning."

The marshal glanced around the room, and then turned back to Charley. "I'll be around until I can gather up Collins. Can you recommend a clean hotel? I've had enough of crummy rooms and bedbugs."

"We've got several good hotels and quite a few rooming houses. Where is your gear? Nothing wrong with this place; Mrs. Fisk has rooms in the back and upstairs. She's fussy, keeps them clean." Charley chuckled, "Watch out for her; I think she's looking for a husband."

"This lodging will be satisfactory."

The cold unemotional reply and the look on the man's face told Charley his attempt at levity had failed.

After cleaning his plate Anderson slid back his chair and stood. "Can I count on meeting with you tomorrow morning around 8 o'clock, say at your jail? By the way, where is it?"

"A block west and a block north, just west of the street. You'll see Ewing's sign by the outside staircase."

Charley removed a small oyster tin from a pocket and began scraping the remains from his plate. He noted the puzzled look on the marshal's face, and said sheepishly, "This is for my mouser at the jail. She's got a litter of kittens on the way."

After his discussion with the marshal, Charley's intuition took over. Putting the facts together he suspected the wanted man to be Bill Gale. If it's him, he thought, it's a darn shame. Although he had met Gale only casually, he took an immediate liking to the man, but also a suspicion. He judged the man was a mover who never stayed long in any one place. The man had a southern drawl and had worked at odd jobs around town for the past few weeks. Yet he had caused no trouble and minded his own business. Charley knew that Gale now tended bar at Jim White's, Halfway-House Hotel in Huron City**. It was just two miles north of Pembina, situated on the Canadian border. Gale was a six-footer, a husky man, as large and heavy as Charley. Charley knew he was no man to fool with; the bulge under Gale's left armpit indicated a firearm. That didn't bother him, knowing many of the men in town carried some sort of weapon, either gun or knife.

He knew the hotel where Gale now worked had an unsavory reputation, equipped as it was with girls who rendered services to men***. It was located astride the border between Canada and the United States and was well known, famous for its red stripe painted down the center of the barroom floor. The north half of the room was in Canada and the south half in Dakota Territory of the United States.

Salty perspiration trickled down his forehead and burned his eyes as he looked up at the flyspecked calendar. The loud chirp of a lone cricket came from the rear of the jail cell, answered by another, located somewhere under his desk. It was the second Saturday in September with the promise of the day becoming another scorcher. A drought condition had prevailed all fall and it had not cooled during the night. Nature was playing a dastardly trick, making winter seem far away.

Tugging the watch from his vest, he examined the gold-cased Howard casually. It was one of his few foibles, a fine, expensive watch. Already it was 9 o'clock and the marshal had failed to appear. "Why am I waiting for him? I'm not his keeper!"

Deciding not to dawdle longer, he swung his feet from the scarred desktop. The springs under the slant-back chair protested as he stood. The thought came: "I'll take things one at a time. Bob Ewing can wait; there's plenty of time to find the moniker of the man he represented."

Reaching for his keys and flat brim Stetson, Charley closed and locked the outside jail door. Some days ago he had forgotten to lock the door and returned to find pranksters had taken the leg irons, cuffs and other restraints and secured them across the arms of his swivel chair. Then they had hidden the keys so cleverly that it had taken a half hour to find them. He suspected his occasional deputies, either Bill Moorhead or Ned Cavalier to be guilty. More than likely it was Ned, since he was the practical joker and sport about town. He was usually involved in some wild scheme, usually a lottery that turned to his profit. The thought amused Charley, for he knew that eventually word of the guilty party would leak to him. The opportunity for revenge would come; he'd have the last laugh!

Cutting through the alley to Mason's Livery, he entered the rear of the barn to get his saddle. A hostler, busy scraping out horse stalls with a shovel, nodded briefly.

"Durned hot day, dry as a popcorn fart."

"It'll be plenty cool soon, winter is just around the corner."

"Want your horse saddled?"

"Naw, I'll do it. It appears you've plenty of crap to shovel."

His bay in the corral came obediently to his cajoling call. After a brief show of affection Charley carefully spread the saddle blanket and eased up the saddle. Circling his horse, he lifted and examined each hoof in turn. Finally slipping on the bridle, he mounted and headed for the bridge. A disturbing thought came, that marshal's not much at keeping appointments.

The hooves of his horse made brittle sounds on the dry planking as he crossed the makeshift bridge over the Pembina River. Stopping momentarily to pay the five cent toll, he noted the water beneath the bridge to be only a foot or so deep. He reasoned a dam was needed here to hold back a head of water. It was obvious that the river was so shallow that it would in all probability freeze solid to the bottom this coming winter. When that happened, water for the livestock in town would have to be hauled by wagon from the Red River, a cold miserable task.

He was pleasantly surprised to find a light breeze from the southeast as he turned toward the fort. The road held three well-worn ruts, formed by the ox carts that had traveled the path for years. The center rut was formed by myriads of oxen’s hooves. The ankle deep dust on the road muted the sounds of his trotting animal.

A warm feeling of satisfaction came whenever he returned to the fort. After all, he had spent twelve years in the army and most of his friends remained in the service. Also, he realized his timing was perfect. When he finished his business with Captain Collins, the officer would no doubt insist upon his staying for dinner.

He was determined to ask that Lieutenant Kirkpatrick be allowed to head the military escort needed for the foray to straighten out the Indians. He had worked with the Irisher before and they got along well. Since today was Friday, he determined they would leave for the Hair Hills early on Monday morning.

“Gadfrey!” he sighed, "It'll take nearly three days just to get out there, then we'll have to find those scalawags!

On his way to the fort Charley reviewed the loss of his horse and buggy in the Mason Livery fire just two months ago. As badly as he needed and wanted another trotting horse, good ones were few and far between. Also they were mighty expensive.

His thoughts turned to Mrs. Geroux. "She's had two buggy runaways this past month. Why does Lucien keep that wild team? More to the point, he's wealthy, and owns that big hotel. Why doesn't he buy an older buggy horse for his wife? I'll have to corner him on that!"

He smiled to himself thinking of his business partner. John had recently discovered his buggy missing. The horse, untended and untied, had taken off, crossed the bridge and was found at the brewery just south of town. Fortunately, both buggy and horse were unharmed. Kabernagle was teased unmercifully about it. Ned Cavalier had jested, "John, your horse is a creature of habit. He knows your every Sunday desire. He just forgot to take you along!"

There was no doubt in Charley's mind who had slashed his trotter, then burned Mason's livery barn. Water under the bridge, he reflected. He's dead now, the dirty pup! How many heinous crimes had Murphy gotten away with in his lifetime? How many murders? It was lucky Pete caught him when he attempted to rape Pete's youngest daughter, Susan. It was certain Murphy would have killed her after using her.

Charley still felt guilty about arresting Pete for killing Murphy, then leaving him in the custody of Captain Bob. Gullible Bob, his jailer, had let railroaders tempt him with drugged whiskey, then removed Pete from the jail and killed him. Although Charley knew several of the guilty men involved, he had no firm evidence. Now they were safely across the border in Canada, out of reach. Shaking his head in frustration, he tried to relieve his conscience. "How could I have known those railroaders would seek revenge for Pete's killing Murphy because Pete was a breed? I'm positive Murphy was the one who raped and killed that young Indian girl at Roseau Crossing [Dominion City]; he probably was involved in the disappearance of those two missing soldiers too!" Reflecting, he was thankful Susan and Marguerite didn't blame him for the disappearance of their father. They had been shocked at his removal from the jail by unknown assailants, but were not privy to the fact that their father was positively dead. The only ones who knew were the railroaders who committed the crime, the smuggler who had found his body while crossing the border, and himself. Even he would have not known, except that the smuggler who stumbled on a protruding, moccasined foot exposed by the weather had reported it to him. He worried if he had done the right thing, since he had returned to the site of Pete's grave with a shovel and completed the burial. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do. Now he was beginning to feel guilty because he had withheld the information from the girls. He told himself, someday, when the time is right, I'll tell them. Approaching the northwest corner of the fort he left the road, taking a shortcut across a stretch of rippling prairie grass. Entering the fort proper, he cut around the end of the long enlisted men's barracks that extended across the north end of the parade ground.

Opposite, to the south, across from the esplanade, were several one-and-a-half story houses occupied by the officers and their families. The store on the west side of the open ground was long and of two stories. Adjoining the store, extending even further south was the hospital, a large portion of which had two floors with an attached kitchen and sick ward. From his past army experience he knew the post dayroom and headquarters were both located in the south portion of the store, there being no other suitable building on the post.

Each fort building foundation had been built of raised wood posts, with sides of the buildings boarded to the ground for winter warmth. The open side of the parade ground lay on the high bank facing the Red River, guarded by three solitary seven-pound brass cannons, standing side by side.

Dismounting from his bay, Charley casually wrapped the lines on the long hitching pole in front of the headquarters. He noted the inner door stood open, no doubt due to the heat of the day. His first steps on the porch alerted the Charge of Quarters who stepped outside the door.

"Good morning, Sheriff! Come inside. Lieutenant Hoch is on duty."

Following the corporal inside, the Lieutenant arose from behind a desk and extended his hand to greet Charley. "Good morning, Charley! What's your pleasure today?"

"Hello, Oliver. I'm here to see Captain Collins. I've some trouble over in the hills west of St. Joe. I need a little assistance. Canadian Indians have crossed to our side of the line again, and are giving the settlers hell."

Hoch shook his head dolefully. "The Inspector General is here inspecting the post, and we're trying to finish qualifying the men on the rifle range before the snow flies. We're hard up for ready patrols just now. I have my doubts, but of course, it's the captain's decision. He might spring for a few men.

"I probably need only about a dozen. Don't believe the Indians have much support from the locals. Probably a small bunch who have their dander up and will back down and skedaddle back to Canada if pushed hard." Reflecting, he added, "A couple of weeks in your guardhouse on bread and water would really straighten them out!"

Hoch turned to the corporal, "Find the Captain and inform him the sheriff is here. I think he's at the laundry." He turned back to Charley. "The steam jenny that heats the water over there is giving the laundresses a fit. They're afraid it will explode."

Charley managed a wrinkled grin. "Hold up! It's not necessary to send Corporal Donegan. I'll walk over there myself."

After Charley left the day room, Hoch questioned the veteran corporal. "Wasn't he Captain Wheaton's First Sergeant when the captain was in charge a few years ago?"

"Yes sir! And don't let that easygoing manner fool you. He was hell on wheels before he quit the army in '75. He was a real tight soldier; a man's man, tough as nails. During the war he was a real leader! He made brevet lieutenant after our first scrap and his platoon was usually given the dirty, most dangerous jobs. He took over the company command on more than one occasion, only to be deposed by Pointers who were jealous of his ability. His men would go through hell for him; I know, for he was my lieutenant until he was captured late in '63."

Taking a direct route across the parade ground Charley passed between two of the officer-cottages on his way to the laundry. A sudden spurt of firing came from the rifle range to the west, causing him a quick glance in that direction. Rounding the laundry building he found Captain Collier in the act of admonishing a soldier.

"Let the fire die out after the laundresses finish for the day, then disassemble the safety valve and clean it thoroughly. You don't need that huge fire in the boiler. Keep it small and feed it often, just enough to keep the steam up. The noise of the steam escaping from the valve is frightening the women." He half turned upon hearing Charley's approach, then added, "Stay on the job when the boiler is fired. I don't want to hear any more complaints from the ladies."

Facing Charley, he began to smile. "Come to put the touch to me again?"

"Yup! Indians in the Hair Hills are putting the run to settlers. I've got to try to recover a team and wagon loaded with government goods they've seized. It was destined for the smallpox area. It'll probably be a cold day in Hades if I get any of that stuff back!"

Collins shook his head. "Darn trouble makers! We underestimate the Indians at times. Fetterman sure did! So did Custer! I only wish I understood them better." He sighed, "Charley, I can't spare you any men until late next week. Can you wait that long?"

The sheriff shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I'll ride out that way on Monday. If I have no luck I'll be back on your doorstep." He hesitated, "Hock inferred that you're swamped with the federal inspector visiting. I know what you're up against."

"Just my career," Collins joked. "General Gibbon is the inspector; he's not too hard to get along with."

"He's fair," Charley admitted. "He's inspected the fort before, back when I was stationed here under Captain Wheaton."

Light conversation ensued as they walked back toward the parade ground, finally the captain suggested, "Let's go over to the house. My wife and son will be put out if you don't stop. We don't see much of you -- might as well have lunch with us."

At l:30 that afternoon the sheriff arrived back in town. Hearing voices from Bob Ewing's office he climbed the outside staircase. Opening the screen door, he found Deputy Anderson and Jud LaMoure seated near the lawyer’s desk.

Anderson looked embarrassed, "Sorry I missed you this morning, sheriff. I ran across Marshal LaMoure at breakfast and we discussed my problem at length."

Jud spoke up woodenly. "Charley, it seems the man Anderson wants is Bill Gale."
Charley took a chair next to Ewing's desk. "Kind of figured it had to be him. He hasn't been around here long, and I kind of wondered about his accent. It's from the southwest, sure not local."

"I still need him," Anderson spoke up softly.

Ewing looked guilty. "You're right Charley, he's from Texas. Said he was trying for a new life. He had me write a letter to his wife saying he would soon send money to get her here." His face bore a look of chagrin. "It's my fault they've found him out."

"He's no innocent," Anderson grumbled. "He was arrested in Dallas last February for assault and carrying a concealed weapon; he pleaded guilty to that -- jumped a $15,000 bail in June, just took off."

"Charley, wasn't he working for Bill Moorhead this fall?” LaMoure asked.

"Yes, but he's working for White now, bartending in his hotel at the border. At least that's the last I've heard."

LaMoure laughed, "What a grand place to work; White's running a damned whorehouse out there."

"Until someone complains, it's not my problem," Charley shrugged.

Anderson spoke up, "Collins has been moving. I traced him to Missouri in early August, then to St. Paul. Finally I got word from Dallas that he was here." Anderson turned to LaMoure, "I stopped in Fargo and talked to your boss, but he was busy in court. He said to see you and the local sheriff. They told me he might have crossed the border into Canada by now. If so, I'd have to bait him across the line somehow."

"You'll probably have to do just that," Ewing said. "If you take your warrant to Canada you'll get the runaround. Best you catch him on this side."

Charley turned to Anderson angrily, "What do you want me to do? I'm only the sheriff; you and Jud are both Federal Marshals. You two can make your own arrest; it's a federal matter -- your job."

Anderson was defensive. "I told you Bill and I were friends back in Texas. He'll recognize me immediately and be on his guard. He'll know I'm after him and probably run again."

LaMoure looked at Charley hopefully. "What if you and I go over to Huron City tonight? We shouldn't have any trouble with him, seeing there are two of us."

"Not tonight, Jud. I'll be tied up in St. Vincent."

Jud knew of Charley's occasional dalliance with Marguerite and remained silent.

A long moment of quietude fell, finally broken by Charley. "Jud, I'll go out there tomorrow night with you, but I'll hate every minute of it. If he can be arrested without anyone getting hurt, him included, I'll play along. It has to be tomorrow night though, 'cause I'm heading to the hills west of St. Joe, early on Monday morning. I've got some Indians to fuss with out there."

Deputy Anderson stood, and then began to smile. "I appreciate your help sheriff. Perhaps my stay in Pembina won't be too long."

Charley picked up his horse and buggy at Mason's Livery. Crossing on the Red River ferry he questioned the operator, "Trudo, how late will you be running tonight?"

"Until dark, Sheriff. 'Course, if you're later, yell loud enough to wake me up. I'll be sleeping in my shack aboard the barge."

* I say so far, because I'm encouraging Chuck to try to get it published. It's too good not to share with the world...

** I had never heard of a place called Huron City, just north and maybe a tad west of Pembina, but then, there's a lot of things I don't know, like there used to be a place called Sultan, Minnesota not far from St. Vincent, but it's just a memory now. Chuck says this about Huron City: "...The hotel there is well known as was the owner. The hotel bar had a red line painted down the floor, half in Canada and half in the U.S. Charley and LaMoure went out to Huron City to capture the desperado, but he was armed and dangerous." Also, you will note above an ad about Half-Way House taken from an actual newpaper of the time period; it says that Half-Way House is located three miles west of Smuggler's Point - A "...well-known ford across the Pembina River here is mentioned many times by Alexander Henry either as grand PASSAGE or the PEMBINA TRAVERSE. By the 1860s there was so much smuggling from Canada into the USA in this vicinity that Mr. Wm H. Moorehead was appointed customs inspector in an effort to curb this illegal traffic."

*** Read about how there were many such places on the border from the early days of settling until well into the twentieth century, and why.