The Canadian Civil War: Volume 3 - West to the Wall

Chapter 18

  Foster

  How much damage can one man do while locked up in a school library? We soon found out. There were about thirty of us together in the ride back to Marc’s village, and the first three hours were pretty uneventful. It was late afternoon by now, and the sun was on our backs. I think we all felt that it was time to rest and put the day behind us. There was no talking on the ride back, no efforts to shout over the engines. We just kept our machines headed east and covered the miles.

  But as we approached the village, we could see several men waiting for us, obviously trying to intercept us before we pulled in to the village. They had lots to say, much of it jumbled, but none of it good. Speaking over each other as they attempted to add or correct each other, it was not easy to determine everything they said, but the base of the message was clear – there was a public backlash against the fight that morning. People in other parts of the country were referring to it as the “Sioux Massacre” and the social media universe was alive with messages about the “martyrs.”

  Someone asked, “how would people already know about our fight?”

  “Foster. He has been doing a press event over his cell phone. We just found out about it and took his phone.”

  “They say he was broadcasting the final words of the angry men – ‘They have come to kill us. We have no protection in this school. They have already killed Andre as he tried to talk to them.’ That sort of thing.”

  The men had more to say, but deMille held up his hand and they stopped. What more was there to say anyway? Foster had done his damage. We had been too stupid to even take his cell phone. Whatever damage Foster had come to cause, he had accomplished it and then some. We rode the rest of the way into the village and parked outside the school. DeMille joined the rest of the elders who were waiting for him, and they went off to one of the classrooms to talk. I just sat on my snowmobile out in the cold, not sure where to go or what to do. What a mess.

  Then it felt like something was just picking me up by the collar and dragging me into the school. I walked straight up to the library door and asked one of the guards to let me. I half expected him to refuse, but he let me right in. I don’t know why. Once in, I walked up to Foster.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” He affected an innocent look that made me furious, and I supposed that was the intension. I calmed myself as best I could.

  “You bring two dozen heavily armed, unstable men into Dakota. You know what is going to happen. Why do it? How can this possibly help anyone?”

  “I came with a group of men who wanted to negotiate the right to hunt buffalo on Sioux lands. Next I know, half of them are dead.”

  “Wow. I know you like to play God, hell you’re half his size. But really, don’t you feel any responsibility for all the people who are dead because of you?”

  “I didn’t shoot anybody.” I looked at Mr. Innocence again, and it suddenly occurred to me I still had a pistol in my pocket. The instant that thought flashed across my mind, I knew I had to leave. I was out the door almost at a run.

  Outside the door, Marc was waiting for me.

  “You shouldn’t have gone in there.”

  “I shouldn’t be carrying this.” I gave him back his pistol. “I was tempted to use it in there.”

  “You are not the only one. I have added three good men to the door. They aren’t there to keep Foster in; they are there to keep lots of people out.” Marc turned and motioned for me to follow. “Come with me. The elders would like to speak with you.” I followed him to a classroom a couple of doors down. It looked as it had before, with a dozen or so older men sitting in a circle, while two or three dozen more stood behind them. I heard shouting as I approached the door, but it stopped when Marc and I entered.

  “Thank you for joining us Mr. Murphy.” I don’t know if the formality of his address was for my benefit, or for the men who had been shouting. But it got my attention. I was either being elevated or separated. Maybe both. “You have known Foster. We wish to hear your estimation of his character. Is there honor in this man?”

  “No. I am sorry to say that. I wish he were a man who could be trusted. He is not. He has some objective unknown to me, and he is pursuing it. He will do anything to reach that end.”

  “What would you suggest we do with him?”

  “Either kill him or send him away. Purge him like you would a diseased animal. If he stays here, he is a hostage who will draw those who wish to rescue him. Get him off Sioux lands.”

  “And once he is free?”

  “He will damage us any way he can.” I replied. “He will lie, he will plot, he will continue with his plan. He is here to make trouble, and that is what he will do.”

  “So you recommend we kill him?”

  “No. I cannot recommend that, although I think he deserves it.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate your analysis, and we have come to the same conclusion. We wish to ask you a favor.”

  “Yes?”

  “We would like you to accompany Foster back to DeSmet, and do it yet today.” To say I was stunned would be to understate my feelings, and my stomach hurt just at the thought of accompanying Foster anywhere. But there was logic in the plan. Get rid of Foster, but send along a second witness who might paint a different picture of events. But I detested the idea of being anywhere near Foster. I couldn’t recall ever being asked to do something so objectionable.

  deMille could obviously sense my reluctance. He let me consider the request a while longer. Finally he stood and offered me his hand. “If you would prefer not to do it, I understand. We are grateful for the help you have given us.”

  “I will do it, but I should tell you, I have come to hate this man with every fiber of my being. I find it hard to control my anger. But I will go with him to DeSmet, and I promise not to hurt him while we travel.”

  “Thank you. Marc will go with you for the first part of your journey. I think you will be able to finish the trip without help.” And I was dismissed. Marc and I went out to gas up all three snowmobiles, and then we got Foster out of the school. I was pleased to see when we first got him from the room and the guards followed us out of the school, he looked like this might be the time of his execution. So, he could be scared after all. Good. I wasn’t about to relieve his fear. We just told him to get on his massive machine and follow us.

  After an hour or so he seemed to gather we weren’t going to gun him down, and he became garrulous. He pulled his machine alongside Marc and tried talking to him, and when he got no response, he pulled alongside me and started shouting his observations about the village of all things. “They really have nice schools” was one of his observations. Why I would care how he felt about anything was a mystery to me, but he jabbered on, shouting above the roar of his engine. I stared straight ahead and endured him for the next two hours.

  Eventually Marc stopped. “You are almost there,” he said. “Just follow the tracks and keep going straight. I may see you later at your hotel, but I have to do a couple things first.” He took a wide turn to the left and disappeared. By now it was dark, but I thought I could follow the tracks, and I thought I could manage to go straight. So I pointed straight ahead and Foster and I did the final leg of the trip.

  Less than an hour later we dropped off the trail onto the Main street of DeSmet. I couldn’t see it, but I imagined Foster had a big smile on his face, and I guessed he was sitting up straighter as he approached the hotel for his victory lap. The entire day had gone his way. Now he got to finish it with a chance to be the center of attention.

  As it turned out, there were a couple wrinkles in his victory march. For one thing, as we pulled up in front of the hotel, we were approached by a couple dozen people with signs saying things like “Foster, go invade America” and “Foster, how many Sioux homes did you burn today?” The folks shouted similar slogans as he walked past them into the hote
l, all for the benefit of cameras positioned to catch the scene. It appeared cell phones could be useful to the Sioux as well. Then, as we got into the hotel lobby, one very drunk angry man rose up from the bar shouting, “Foster, you bastard, you got my brother killed.” He was restrained and led back to the bar by half a dozen other men. But it was enough to put Foster off his mark. If he was expecting a hero’s welcome, he was going to have to wait.

  He did his best, though. Standing in the midst of the lobby, he shouted, “At long last, the Sioux have released me from captivity. But I won’t rest until they have released the bodies of the men they murdered this week.” That got him a bit of a cheer, apparently enough to draw him over to the crowd at the bar. It didn’t take long for him to become to focus of attention as he told story after story of his bravery and of the Sioux murders.

  Now it was my turn. I took the same spot in the middle of the lobby. “That man saw nothing, he witnessed nothing. I saw it all. He is telling you lies. I will tell you the truth. He brought twenty three men onto Sioux lands where they burned one home and threatened to burn more. They killed Sioux who tried to stop them. This man is a fraud and a felon. He should be in jail.” I wish I could tell you my stirring oratory captivated the room, but most of the people there seemed to be angry men, and they stayed with Foster. But there were a dozen or so locals who gravitated to me, and listened while I described the last week. And that’s how we spent the next two hours, two story tellers competing for audience attention.

  Eventually I took a table in the dining room and ordered some dinner. I hadn’t eaten all day and was so hungry a buffalo burger tasted as good as any lobster thermador I’ve ever had in Philadelphia. Several local people sat with me as I ate and I continued to answer questions. Three of them had cell phones out and they were also hearing from friends who lived in the villages. Those conversations confirmed much of what I was saying and also prompted additional questions. It was tough to eat and talk, but in this instance I was pleased to do both.

  At one point I noticed that a steady stream of men were going up to the front desk, and it occurred to me that I had not taken a room yet. I excused myself and got what the clerk said was the last room in the place. He said “last room” almost in awe. Filling a hotel in DeSmet in January was apparently not a usual event. I grabbed my belongings out of hotel storage and made it to my room near midnight.

  As late as it was, I thought I had better phone Elise. With my cell phone gone, the hotel phone was the first I had been able to reach in some days. Despite the late hour she answered on the first ring.

  “Hi” was all I got out before she replied.

  “Shawn, I was so worried. I knew you were in DeSmet, and then you didn’t call or answer any of my calls, and then there were the shootings… I was so worried.”

  “My phone was broken a few days back, so I couldn’t call. I am sorry. I am back in DeSmet now, in the hotel, and I am safe.”

  “Back in DeSmet? Where were you?”

  “I was visiting one of the Sioux villages at the invitation of one of the men here.”

  “Oh no. Were you there during the shooting?”

  “Yes, and by the way, some lies are being told about what happened out there. The Sioux did not start this. That man Foster who was causing so much trouble in New Orleans is now causing trouble here.”

  “The ministry is so worried it is planning on sending some troops to keep order there.”

  “Don’t. I think that is what Foster wants. I think he wants to start some big fight here. I don’t know how it helps him, but he seems to want that fight. Don’t give it to him.”

  “I need you to talk with our director of protective services. If I give you a number, can you call him? Better yet, can you call him from the provincial office? They would have a more direct line to him.”

  “Sure. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

  “No, you need to call him now.” At this point I heard some loud banging on my door. I put down the phone and opened the door to find four policemen standing there.

  “Mr. Murphy, we need you to come with us.” What could I say, “no”? I asked for a minute to hang up the phone and told Elise I would be going with the police. You can guess her reaction to that. I told her I loved her, hung up the phone, and left with the police.