The Lynching of Louie Sam (6 page)

Father reddened. He was angry now.

“You two were inside there?”

It was John who answered with his usual cheek, “Yes, sir. It's our duty to defend the Nooksack Valley.”

Father took a measure of John, like he was about to get angrier still. But, instead, he cooled right down.

“I appreciate that, John,” Father said. “The best thing you can do to help is to keep watch over your mam and the wee ones.”

I don't know what made me say it—maybe it was the way that Father was looking at John like he was just as much of a man as I was—but without thinking about it I announced, “I'm going with you!”

Father looked at me and let out a laugh.

“To raid an Indian village? Nae, laddie, you are staying put.” With that he climbed up on Mae and started her away at a trot, calling back to us, “You boys get yourselves home.”

John started hoofing it down the track, following Father and Mae. I stayed put.

“Well, c'mon,” he said, turning back. “What are you waiting for?”

“Go on ahead,” I told him. “I've got some business to attend to.”

“The only business you got is minding Father.”

“Go on,” I said. “I'll be there soon.”

“Fine with me, if what you want is a whipping.”

With a shrug, John walked on. In truth I had no business whatsoever to keep me there. My gaze fell upon Pete, who looked as irritated as I felt. I walked over to him.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Nothing!” I barked back, matching his tone. “Can't a fella say hello?”

“I'm not in a ‘hello-ing' mood right now.”

Pete started walking down the path. I fell in beside him.

“Aren't you waiting for your pa?” I asked him.

“He went ahead.”

“He left you behind?”

“Yes, he left me behind. What about it?”

“He left you behind with us kids?”

Pete stopped, turned. “You want a fat lip, George?” He held his fist up, curled tight. He would have hit me, too. Pete's the type to act first and think about it later. But I decided to take a higher road.

“I'm going with them tonight,” I said.

I could see that took the wind out of Pete's sails.

“Your pa said you could?”

“Doesn't matter what he says. I'm going. It's our duty to defend the Nooksack Valley,” I added, borrowing the phrase that had served John so well with Father.

Pete got a snide look.

“And how do you plan to do that without a horse?”

He raised a good point. Father would be riding Mae. Our mule, Ulysses, was only good for pulling the plough and sometimes the buckboard wagon. But then an idea struck me.

“I know where there's a horse.”

“Where?”

“They put Mr. Bell's horse in Mr. Moultray's livery. I don't reckon Mr. Bell would complain about me borrowing him, considering the purpose.”

Pete's wheels were turning.

“I'm going with you,” he said.

“You're not invited.” Now that I had the upper hand, I wasn't about to let it go.

Pete came back with, “You're taking me with you, or I'm telling your pa and Mr. Moultray what you're up to.”

He had me. There was nothing I could do but give in. Besides, the truth was that I wouldn't mind his company. It was a dangerous road we were about to travel.

I
WENT HOME AND DID
my chores. At supper, Annie told Mam I was coming down with something, all because when I was splitting wood and she was feeding the chickens she kept prattling on asking me what names I liked for the new baby, and I told her in no uncertain terms that I did not feel like talking. Mam held her hand to my forehead and agreed that I felt warm. She told me she wanted me to go to bed right after I was finished eating. Little did she know that she was aiding my plan to join the men at The Crossing, because I knew I could easily slip out the window from the back room we kids shared. I was careful not to look at John while we sat at the table, for fear he would see in my eyes what was on my mind.

All this time, Father was busy gathering his disguise. When at last he appeared, I thought Mam's jaw would hit the floor.

“What on earth!” she cried.

Over his head was a gunnysack from the mill, with holes cut in it for his eyes. Mam's petticoat was hanging from around his neck. The layers of cloth flounced over his shoulders when he walked, something like feathers on a fluffy bird. Annie laughed, thinking she'd never seen such a funny sight as our Father at that moment. But Isabel was frightened and would not stop crying until Father removed the gunnysack from his head. Once she got over her shock, Mam was furious that he'd ruined her petticoat by cutting holes in it for his arms. She barely said good-bye to him as he headed out to saddle Mae. It seemed like the argument they were having that morning was still going on.

I excused myself from the table, making like I was too ill to finish my stew. In the back room, I quickly put on my jacket and my boots. That's when John came in. If he was surprised to see me getting ready to escape, he didn't show it.

“So you're doing this, then,” he said.

“You keep your mouth shut about it, you hear me, John Gillies?”

“I hear you.” He kept his voice low, mindful lest Mam hear us from the front room. He added, “You better tell me all about it when you get back.”

I
RAN MOST OF THE WAY
to The Crossing. Dusk was settling in, making it hard to find my footing on the trail, but I kept moving fast. I had no fear of being found out by Father, who was well ahead of me on Mae. But if I was late, I knew Pete would take Mr. Bell's horse and leave without me.

The Crossing is almost a village unto itself. Mr. Moultray built his store near to the ferry crossing, and farmers come from miles around to sell their goods and buy supplies. He's got his livery stable next door, in which he boards wagon and stagecoach teams journeying along the Whatcom Trail. He boards passengers in the rooms above his store. Between the farmers and the travelers, Father says he must do fine business.

By the time I reached the large clearing outside the livery stable, there must have been close to a hundred men and horses gathered there. It was fully dark now. Many of the men carried lanterns; all of them had rifles by their sides. They were a strange and frightening sight, dressed in sundry getups, many of them wearing skirts and petticoats—like Father's—borrowed from their wives. Others wore their coats inside out, so that the fur linings made them look like hairy beasts. Many had their faces painted, like Indians on the warpath—darkened with charcoal, with a flash of red across their eyes. I picked out my father seated on Mae, his face darkened with smudge since I last saw him, and our hunting rifle resting in the crook of his arm.

I skirted around them, keeping to the shadows. I found Pete inside Mr. Moultray's barn. He had Mr. Bell's horse saddled with borrowed tack.

“You took your sweet time getting here,” Pete said.

“It's easy for you, living next door,” I pointed out.

All Pete had to do was walk a hundred yards from the ferryman's house and he was at Mr. Moultray's store and livery.

We waited inside the livery for the Nooksack Vigilance Committee to depart. Pete and I opened the livery stable door just enough so we could listen, and watch. Mr. Moultray, as the natural leader, spoke to them before they set off.

“We came here from far away, from many states and many countries,” he said. “All we found when we got here was a trail left by the gold diggers twenty years ago, and the stumps left behind by the lumber barons. We cleared this land with our bare hands. We planted crops and raised cattle. We put the telegraph through. We built churches and a school. We built a town.” Here he paused, the way my father pauses when he's reading the Bible out loud to us to let the important bits sink in. “We can't let the Indians threaten everything we've created here. We can't give them the notion that we lack the will to defend what's ours. Louie Sam took a life. He took one of our own. The dictates of civilization tell us that there is only one way that amends can be made.”

“Hang him!” someone shouted.

A loud cry of approval went up from the men. The punishment for murder was hanging. Everybody knew that. Yet when I looked over to Father, I could see by the light of the lantern he was holding that he was not among those who were cheering. His face was serious and stern, made more so by the blackening he'd smeared over it. I couldn't understand him. Why was he not cheering with the rest of them, when the need to take action was so clear?

“Let's go!” called out Dave Harkness.

He spurred Star and rode up beside his brother-in-law, Mr. Osterman. The two of them set off in the lead, along with Mr. Moultray. Mr. Breckenridge and Mr. Hopkins followed them. The rest of the men and horses fell in behind. There were so many that it took several minutes for them to form a parade, following the acknowledged leaders up the Whatcom Trail to Canada in clumps of twos and threes. My father rode alone, toward the rear.

As soon as the last man was out of sight, Pete led Mr. Bell's horse out of the stable. “What do we do for light?” I asked. It was a clear night, but lit by only a sliver of moon rising over the trees.

“We do without,” Pete said. “You want them to look back and spot us?”

I supposed he was right, but the idea of riding through the woods in the pitch black made me nervous. There were wild cats and wolves about who would just love a taste of horsemeat. In the time I hesitated, Pete climbed up on Mr. Bell's horse in the front position and took up the reins.

“Hold on,” I said. “This was my idea. I should ride up front.”

“Quit arguing and get on board,” Pete replied.

There was nothing for me to do but climb up into the saddle behind Pete. Mr. Bell's gelding was a sturdy sixteen hander, well able to hold our weight. Pete gave him a kick and he started off after the other horses, like he didn't need to be told where to go.

All he needed to do was follow the pack.

Chapter Seven

T
HE MEN WERE QUIET AS THEY RODE
from The Crossing, following the Whatcom Trail as it became Nooksack Avenue, the main street of the town, then continuing north and east to the outskirts of the homesteaders' farms and beyond. By then we were surrounded by untamed forest. All I could hear ahead of us was the soft thud of hooves on the trail and the odd twig snapping. After a while, the stars came out and the wilderness seemed less black. Still, we made slow progress, for not even the most eager of the men was willing to risk breaking his horse's leg by pushing him past a quick walk in the dark. I dared not say a word to Pete even in a whisper, knowing how my voice would carry. We rode this way for well over an hour, until suddenly we heard talking ahead.

Pete and I jumped down from the horse and led it by the reins up closer to the posse. We saw in a clearing ahead that many of the men had dismounted. Their lanterns formed a ring of light as they gathered around someone or something. I signaled for Pete to stay put with the horse, and I crept ahead through the trees so I could hear what was going on without being detected. I recognized Sheriff Leckie's voice coming from the middle of the circle of men and I realized our posse must have met up with him on the trail on his way back from Canada. He was telling the others what had happened since Mr. Breckenridge left him and the Canadian justice of the peace, William Campbell, two days earlier.

“I'll tell you one thing,” the sheriff was saying, “they got a different way of handling the Indian problem up there. Got them all convinced that the bloody Queen of England is their Great Mother.”

Sheriff Leckie relayed how he had gone with Justice Campbell to the Sumas Indian village, where Louie Sam came from. According to the sheriff, Justice Campbell entered into considerable discussions with the Sumas chiefs—more discussion than was necessary, in the sheriff's opinion. At last they agreed to hand the renegade over. When they laid eyes on Louie Sam, he appeared not even a little bit remorseful for what he did to Mr. Bell. The sheriff recounted how Justice Campbell explained to him in simple English that he was accused of murder, just like his father, Mesatche Jack Sam, had been before him. He explained there would be a trial with witnesses, just like his old man had, but that in the meantime Louie Sam would have to come with him to jail. Sheriff Leckie said that Louie Sam was peaceable enough, not kicking up a fuss when Justice Campbell put the handcuffs on him.

Dave Harkness said, “You mean to say you left that Indian there, warming himself inside a Canadian jail?”

“If letting a heathen murderer sit in jail with three squares a day is the Canadian idea of justice served, then we got a problem,” stated Mr. Osterman.

There was a good deal of agreement among the men. Then my father spoke up, raising his voice above the others so that he would be sure to be heard.