Song of Batoche by Maia Caron

Author:Maia Caron [Caron, Maia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ronsdale Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

the red tide

Seeing his brother cut down, Gabriel rode out from a copse of trees and gave an Indian war cry that sent the hairs up on his own neck. He spurred his horse and fired le Petit, not caring that guns were going off on both sides.

Isidore lay face down just off the trail, and Gabriel forced himself to look away from the widening sweep of blood in the snow. This was no time to weaken. He glanced over his shoulder to check the position of his men.

There was Riel, sitting on his mare, face upturned to the sky—one hand holding aloft a large wooden crucifix, other hand to his heart. “Fire in the name of God the Father,” he shouted, “fire in the name of God the Son, fire in the name of the Holy Ghost.”

Gabriel turned in his saddle in time to see Gentleman Joe McKay duck behind a tree, revolver still in his hand. Lawrence Clarke had torn off his fur coat and was running back up the trail ahead of Crozier. Gabriel sighted along the barrel of his gun and fired one round after another, the spent bullet casings flying so high, they skimmed the brim of his hat. The smoke hadn’t cleared from his shots when the cannon on the trail went off, its first round just missing the cabin. Clarke had grabbed the reins of two horses and was dragging them along, using their bodies as a shield. Police were frantically reloading the cannon. It was fired again, but made an odd noise and bucked on its sleigh. The gunners had panicked, loading a shell before the powder charge.

Gabriel rode closer, but couldn’t get a clear shot at McKay or Clarke. Turning his horse, he whistled and waved his arm for the Métis to come up. “Capture the gun,” he yelled and threw the rifle to his shoulder again to pick off one of Crozier’s volunteers, hiding behind a sleigh. The man went spinning backward, blood spraying the air. Gabriel’s son Alexandre rode forward to throw him his own loaded gun. Without missing a beat, Gabriel targeted more volunteers that had jumped over the rail fence and were making a desperate charge, but they struggled through the snow and were cut down by Métis hiding in the cabin. As Alexandre reloaded le Petit, Gabriel quickly counted half a dozen enemy down, either dead or dying.

Rifle fire continued from the cabin, shots issued from windows and doors or between chinks in the walls. Baptiste Montour charged on his horse from around the back and poised with his gun to take a shot when a bullet slammed into his chest and he fell out of the saddle. Gabriel turned to see who had hit him. It was one of Crozier’s police, who had braced himself behind a tree. Their eyes met for a moment before Gabriel whipped his horse forward and fired, bringing him down. Another policeman yelled a string of words in English, and the volunteers fell back in retreat.

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