Apparition Trail, The (29 page)

Cochrane thought about that a moment. Grumbling, he unfastened the punctured tin from the air bicycle, then lifted it and sloshed its contents back and forth. It didn’t sound like there was much whisky left inside; that probably made his decision easier. When the Metis handed me a buckskin shirt and worn-looking moccasins, Cochrane handed him the tin. The Metis’ grin stretched to the ends of his moustache, and he waved his fellows to him with a whoop.

I pulled on the shirt and moccasins. The heavy buckskin shirt irritated the punctures on my chest, but at least my nakedness was covered now. I climbed up behind Cochrane.

“Right,” I said. “On to Medicine Hat.”

Cochrane set the wings to flapping and the air bicycle rose into the air. “I’ll fly you to the outskirts of town,” he said. “But no more stopping to trade away my whisky. Agreed?”

I grinned. “Agreed.”

When we were level and winging our way northeast again, Cochrane turned on his seat. “What was that you said? That business about buffalo being men?”

“It’s rather a complicated story. And you probably wouldn’t believe it.”

He glanced at the buffalo stone, which I still held clenched in my fist. “What’s that in your hand?”

I debated a moment, then decided to tell him the truth. I’d observed his curiosity, and hoped that if I whetted it some more, he would agree to land again, should we see another fair-haired buffalo.

“It’s a buffalo stone,” I answered. “It has the power to transform human beings into buffalo. I thought it could also do the reverse — that it could undo these transformations. I seem to have been wrong.”

He made no reply; he probably thought I was a madman. We traveled in silence for a time. I listened to the flapping of the wings and the rush of air, lost in my thoughts as I watched the sausage-shaped shadow of the air bicycle sweep across the prairie below. Perhaps the buffalo stone had lost its power. Perhaps only Indians could work its magic. Perhaps….

I glanced down at the grassy prairie that rolled in gentle hills like an ocean below us. I had the distinct impression that our course was off — that we should be headed more to the right. I noted the position of the sun, and saw that the air bicycle was indeed pointed to the northeast, the direction in which Medicine Hat lay. Yet the feeling that we had strayed off course was growing stronger by the minute.

I tapped Cochrane on the shoulder and pointed to the west. “We need to go that way.”

“Not if you want me to take you to Medicine Hat,” Cochrane protested.

“Turn the air bicycle,” I insisted. “We need to go to the west, just for a little while. There’s … something in that direction I need to see.”

I was thankful that Cochrane didn’t ask what it was. I couldn’t have said myself what inner voice I was following, or where it was leading me. All I know was that when Cochrane changed course, my sense of unease lessened dramatically.

After a few minutes we passed over a coulee with a small creek at the bottom of it. About a dozen buffalo stood in it, drinking the muddy water. When the shadow of the air bicycle passed over them they broke into a bellowing run, splashing away down the coulee. One of them, however, stood its ground and craned its massive head back to look up at us. As its dark eyes searched the heavens, I felt compelled to meet their gaze. I stared at the great, defiant creature and saw that it was lighter than the rest.

“There!” I cried, pointing it out to Cochrane. “Land the air bicycle next to that one.”

“All right — but I’ll have to circle ’round so we’re parallel with the coulee first.”

I didn’t stop to wonder why Cochrane was suddenly so willing to land. I watched the light-haired buffalo as we circled over the coulee. The other animals were long gone by now, having at last run up one of the banks and thundered away across the prairie. I watched the animal below, realizing now that its silent call was what had led me to this spot. I hoped it was Chambers, but I didn’t see any fabric around its neck. If this was Chambers, he’d lost his black silk tie.

As we circled, the buffalo began to run back and forth in a seemingly random manner, but I soon realized that its movements had purpose. It was stamping out a word in the dust. As I recognized the first letter — an
H
— my heart pounded in my chest. I knew I’d found my missing special constable.

“Chambers!” I yelled. “Hang on. I’m coming.”

The beast glanced up at me, a hopeful look in its eye.

As soon as we landed, I sprang off the back of the air bicycle and ran toward the buffalo, the stone in my hand. The beast stood perfectly still, watching me as it squatted on its haunches. Just as I was about to touch the stone to the buffalo’s forehead, I hesitated, remembering my dream. If this was Chambers, would transforming him back into a man kill him?

As if sensing my hesitation, the buffalo suddenly lurched to its feet and bellowed. I jerked back from it, the hand holding the stone still raised. Behind me, I heard the metallic click of a weapon being cocked. I whirled around and saw Cochrane shouldering his rifle.

“Don’t shoot!” I shouted. “It’s a man.”

Then I realized my mistake. Cochrane’s rifle was pointed at me, not at the buffalo. The coulee I stood in was a rugged, desolate spot. If Cochrane had it in mind to murder me and leave my body here, he’d probably get away with it. I had foolishly neglected to tell the Metis who I was, and was no longer wearing my uniform. Even if a police patrol stumbled across my body, they’d have no way to identify it.

Fortunately, Cochrane had not yet worked up nerve enough to shoot. Slowly, not wanting to startle him, I lowered the hand that held the buffalo stone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the buffalo take a step forward to meet it. Then the stone touched its great, shaggy head, just between the horns.

A cry came from the great beast’s lips — a human cry — and suddenly the massive creature that had stood beside me was gone. In its place was a naked man, bent over in the dust on his hands and knees, tousled black ringlets hiding his face. He looked up — and in the same instant that I recognized Chambers’s sweaty and dust-grimed face, I heard Cochrane gasp.

“Almighty God!” he croaked. “You were right. It
is
a man.”

The rifle hung forgotten in Cochrane’s hands. He stared with a dumbfounded look at me, the stone in my hand, and the naked man beside me.

Chambers climbed unsteadily to his feet. I caught him as he nearly fell — he was not yet used to standing on just two legs — and helped him steady himself. He was unclothed and reeked of sweat, and his beard and moustache were unkempt. His mouth worked for a moment, as if he had forgotten how to speak. Then he found his tongue.

“Th-th-thank you,” he whispered. “I’ve been t-t-trying to find you for d-d-days.”

The sincerity of his gratitude moved me to compassion. Two weeks ago, I’d have savoured the sight of the pompous Arthur Chambers swooning like a girl and expressing his humility in a stutter as bad as Dickens’s, but now all I could think of was the immensity of the ordeal he had just been through. I was careful not to let the buffalo stone brush against Chambers — I didn’t want to put him through another transformation.

I nodded at Cochrane. “Special Constable Arthur Chambers, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Cochrane, who is also a special constable under temporary contract with the North-West Mounted Police. Mr. Cochrane will be flying us to Medicine Hat, where we can telegraph Superintendent Steele. You’ll soon have a hot bath and a soft bed to rest upon, Chambers.”

Cochrane was still muttering under his breath, his eyes wide. “That buffalo. It became a man. When you touched the stone to the buffalo, it became a man.”

I helped Chambers toward the air bicycle. “Pull yourself together, man,” I told Cochrane in a brusque voice. “In Q Division, we see sights like this every day.” I gave Chambers a wink, then turned back to Cochrane. “Now take us to Medicine Hat.”

That seemed to bring Cochrane around, but his reply wasn’t what I wanted to hear. He shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “The machine won’t lift three men plus cargo.”

“Right.” Leaving Chambers to stand on his own, I dropped the buffalo stone to the ground and yanked the rifle from Cochrane’s hands. It was already cocked. I fired the first bullet into the nearest tin, then continued shooting until whisky was streaming from every container. Cochrane leaped from the air bicycle and tried to grab the rifle back, but I shouldered him aside. I noticed that his foot nearly landed upon the buffalo stone.

“Watch out!” I warned. “If you tread on the stone, you’ll be turned into a buffalo.”

It was an exaggeration — I’d seen Big Bear pick up the stone with my tobacco pouch and not be transformed, and knew that Cochrane’s boots would protect him. Unaware of this fact, he jumped back as quickly as if he’d nearly trod on a rattlesnake.

I made sure the rifle was empty, then handed it back to Cochrane. The air was pungent with whisky and gunpowder. A forlorn look on his face, Cochrane dejectedly shoved the rifle back in its case.

“Come on,” I told Chambers. “Climb aboard. We’ll be in Medicine Hat in no time.”

Superintendent Steele leaned over a table in the office he’d commandeered from the officer in charge of the Medicine Hat detachment. Chambers and I sat across from him. Spread on the table between us was a map of the North-West Territories that was covered in small red circles — the disappearances — and a red
X
that marked the original resting place of the Manitou Stone. Beside the map were two thick folders stuffed with reports, and beside them was Steele’s Stetson hat. Further down the table — well out of harm’s way — was the buffalo stone, tucked safely inside my tobacco pouch. I carried it with me still, everywhere I went. We couldn’t run the risk of anyone accidentally touching it.

“We’ve had dozens of reports of disappearances,” Steele said in a grim voice. “Settlers have gone missing from their homesteads, telegraph surveyors have vanished, leaving their equipment behind, and a train engine was found rolling along the track without a soul on board. Some of our own officers have gone missing, as have some influential men. Two Indian agents and a magistrate are among those reported missing, presumed transformed. Even Jerry Potts seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth — there was no trace of him, dead or alive, where you last saw him, Grayburn. And if Potts can go missing….”

Steele paused to collect himself, then continued. “The actual number of persons to go missing in each case is small — the largest group was a dozen men — but there’s no way we can keep this quiet any longer. We’ve managed to keep the transformations themselves from the public, but word is getting out about the disappearances, and people are becoming frightened. They’re whispering of Indian massacres and unmarked graves.”

Chambers and I listened quietly to this grim news. The pair of us had been deposited at the outskirts of Medicine Hat two days ago by Cochrane, who had sworn to keep silent about what he had seen. After reporting to the detachment and telegraphing Steele, we had been ordered to wait for the Superintendent’s arrival by train. I’d kept my word and said nothing about Cochrane and his illegal cargo, and had urged Chambers to do the same. The smuggler had probably returned south for another load of whisky, but that was a minor concern. I just hoped he was keeping his promise — that he wasn’t spreading wild tales about North-West Mounted Policemen turning buffalo into men.

I was back in uniform, and feeling better for it. I’d also managed to pick up a bottle of Pinkham’s from a doctor’s office in town, and at last the wrenching pain in my stomach had been dampened down. I hoped that Steele didn’t smell the patent medicine on my breath and mistake it for liquor. I didn’t want to be labelled a drunkard, like Inspector Dickens.

A clock on the wall chimed. Steele stared through it, stroking his moustache as he voiced his thoughts aloud. “We need to find the Manitou Stone. It has to be the key. If we can get one of our field pieces within range of it, we can blow the stone to bits. That should stop the Day of Changes.”

He turned to me. “I hope you’re correct in your guess that the albino calf can lead us to the Manitou Stone. Based on the strength of your prior premonitions, I’ve already acted upon your speculation. I’ve ordered a patrol from the Swift Current detachment to search along the South Saskatchewan River for the calf, but there’s more than one hundred miles of riverbank to search. Are you sure you can’t be more specific about the location where her ‘ghost’ appeared, Grayburn?”

I shook my head. “Constable Davis said only that the crossing lay somewhere between the Red Deer River and Saskatchewan Landing. If we could find the Indian scout that led him to the ford—”

“We’re trying to find him,” Steele said. “We’ve questioned Many Spotted Horses and Many Mules and have sent for another scout from Battleford whose name begins with Many, but without a full name it’s going to be tough to track down the right man.”

I thought over our progress so far — or lack thereof. A patrol had been ordered to the bluffs overlooking Writing on Stone, but had found no Indians there. The chiefs and their warriors had all departed, leaving behind only a fire pit and the circle of stones that had weighted down the edges of the shaking tepee. Their tracks led in several different directions; I guessed that the chiefs had gone their separate ways and would not meet up again until the Day of Changes was nigh.