North West Mounted Police livestock Part 2

Is it not about time I finish this story?

            Yes, the Mounted Police had left Dufferin on July 8 but on the afternoon of July 24^th they had only made it to La Roche Percée less than a third of the distance the Commissioner expected to travel that summer. The trail behind them was already littered with broken wagons and carts and the many oxen and horses that had succumbed to hunger and fatigue.

            It must be acknowledged that they really only knew the distance they had travelled and not how much more trail lay in front of them. Due to the excellence of the maps French had and his inability to listen to anyone, they didn’t really know how far they where going. Nor could they guess about the weather they would experience, the land and vegetation or shortage of water.

            The “westernized” horses and mustangs were faring marginally better than the “proper” horseflesh that had been purchased and imported from Ontario and the Eastern US. Unlike the “high-bred” animals the mustangs could almost manage on a diet of prairie grass and some oats but they too where being over-worked and needed rest. Seeing the state of the animals Colonel French sent Colonel MacLeod for more oats which helped but what the expedition really needed was to move slower, haul less freight or have more animals that could be traded out to off-duty status every few days.

            During their sixteen days of travel they also discovered that their “walking larder” was, instead of the benefit envisioned by French, a millstone slowing their progress. In all that time two beef had been butchered and the result was that every man suffered from Diarrhea sever enough that it could have caused a death. Those who had travelled in the west, including the Métis who accompanied them and the Doctors both with the troupe and in Dufferin predicted the result of eating beef from animals that where being worked but French didn’t listen. 

            It was while they rested at Roche Percée that Colonel French made decisions that would greatly affect the type of livestock found in Western Canada in the years to come. First he sent his “walking larder”, the now 52 cows and 11 bulls along with more than a dozen calves that had been born on the trail east and north to Fort Ellis. Lead by Inspector Jarvis they were to eventually turn west and make for Fort Edmonton.

            Having made that decision he then turned to the horses and their sorry state. He separated the better mounts – which, surprise, surprise, proved primarily to be the western animals and “ratty little mustangs” – and kept those for the troupe continuing west. Since French expected Jarvis’ troupe would have no trouble making Fort Ellis before winter and could move at any pace they chose much of the heavy equipment such as hay mowers and heavy forges would go with them.

            Some of this equipment had to be retrieved the following year.

             There where immediate advantages for both the men and their commander in these decisions. The primary and most welcome change for the men was that they were now, after yet another trip by Colonel MacLeod, eating pemmican. Had they started out on such supplies they may have been in much better health on July 24^th and at the end of their trip that autumn.

            French also sent most of the Métis back with the Jarvis troupe. He had found them to be far too independent, ignoring his orders in some cases but now and then acting counter to his orders. He did however keep a few of the guides which may not have been wise.

            In a general sense Inspector Jarvis and his men managed to complete their mission. Upon arrival in Fort Ellis some chickens, a few beef and oxen found a home. A half dozen men with a variety of maladies including cholera complicated by a lack of nutrition where sent south to Dufferin where two of them died. Another dozen in slightly better health but badly weakened by their ordeal remained in the Fort Ellis post and cared for the animals but suffered a terrible winter. The remainder eventually made it to Fort Edmonton.

            Upon arrival in Edmonton the welcome for the Mounted Police was not what they expected. True the Hudson’s Bay Company factor and his staff fed and helped to treat the troopers for their ailments. The presence of those troopers helped to curtail and would eventually eliminate the problem of liquor trade which was interfering with “The Bay”, or “The Company’s” business. However the proximity of all those uniformed police also tended to interfere with the Company’s regular business and turn the trappers toward free traders. The following year, down river (the North Saskatchewan) from Fort Edmonton about 18 miles the North West Mounted Police established Fort Saskatchewan.

            In the meantime the main body of Mounties far to the south did make it to what is now Southern Alberta. They confronted a few well built and some ram-shackle whiskey forts, closed them down and destroyed them. They established Fort MacLeod, Fort Calgary and Fort Walsh and several outposts. They passed laws banning whiskey from the North West Territories, caught whiskey traders defying those laws, confiscated their equipment, destroyed the whiskey and locked men up in the various posts or sent them east to Stone Mountain Penitentiary.

            The trek west wasn’t truly over when Commissioner French resigned. He and the new commissioner, Colonel MacLeod and a few troopers rode south to Billings Montana where they were wined and dined by some of the very people who had been behind the whiskey trade but now became suppliers of goods for the North West Mounted Police. During this first trip to Billings they bought horses to replace the many that had died along the trail and a few cattle.

            One of those who supplied horses was Jerry Potts, known by his mother’s people (the Kainai of the Blackfoot Confederacy) as Bear Child. He became THE guide for the Mounted Police and, eventually, an Auxiliary Constable. In this writer’s opinion Jerry Potts and Colonel James MacLeod are the two men primarily responsible for the initial survival of what was to become the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

            In the beginning the N.W. Mounted Police livestock and thus the horses and cattle brought into the Territories were a mixed lot. The cows and bulls that started with the trek and mostly wound up in Fort Saskatchewan were Shorthorn and Hereford. Those cattle brought up from Billings were Shorthorn or Shorthorn-Longhorn cross but most of these steers and only a few cows. A few of the Thoroughbred horses survived to add their genes to the mix as did a few Belgian and Percheron draft animals. The mustang, Morgan (those that had been “westernized” by the US Army), and some Nez Percé animals (today’s Appaloosa) also added to the mix.

            These where the types of livestock to be found in Canada’s North West Territories when cattle and horse began coming in from Oregon, British Columbia and Montana as outlined in earlier posts.

            Cattle came to British Columbia because of gold discovered in 1859. Cattle came to the east side of the mountains in 1875 (a few in ’74) because of the arrival of 270 policemen but the police came because of the whiskey.

            Colonel MacLeod resigned as Commissioner after 3 years of service but remained a Crown Magistrate.

            Jerry Potts remained with the Mounted Police and received full recognition and honours from the Force upon his death and received similar recognition from his mother’s people.

            Many of the policemen remained in the west when they left the Force and became the cattlemen and horsemen of the Prairies. During the North West Rebellion or Métis Rebellion of 1885 the “Rocky Mountain Rangers” was formed to protect civilians in Southern Alberta. About a third of the Rangers, perhaps more were former Mounted Policemen.

            The influences of California, Texas, Europe and Britain can be seen in the methods, tack and livestock breeds in the Canadian West of today. Over the years however there are things that are distinct and unique to Canada and differences between those East of the Rockies and those to the West.

  

         

North West Mounted Police livestock

I mentioned already that the North West Mounted Police brought both horses and cattle into the North West Territories. A few of those animals even survived the trip.

If is apparent that those implementing the idea of a mounted police force to administer national and personal security in the territory had no idea of the area, the terrain, the numbers of people in residence, the weather or any other aspect of the country. The money spent on the venture was completely inadequate as was the equipment and animals chosen.

Of course, as is the case with ventures today, many of the choices were made due to the training and previous experience of those responsible for the decisions. The new commissioner of the force appointed by Prime Minister MacDonald was a man of military training and experience. He had attended Sandhurst military academy, been commissioned in the Royal Artillery and seconded to the Canadian militia where he eventually became head of the Gunnery School at Kingston.

Colonel French had very specific ideas about how a military command or a quasi-military police force should be directed and how such a group of troopers should conduct themselves. Those ideas where from the British Isles, from his military training, from his artillery experience and had nothing to do with the specifics to be found on the Canadian prairies.

This is probably a good time to mention the peculiar circumstances of rank to be found in the early NW Mounted Police since it might become confusing as we continue. Commissioner French had been a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Royal Artillery and retained the designation “Colonel” in the police force but this was not exactly a continuation of his army rank since the Act which created the force also designated that the rank of ‘Commissioner’ was equal to a military rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. Similarly, superintendent/inspector was equal to captain, superintendent/sub-inspector a lieutenant, paymaster a captain and a veterinary surgeon a lieutenant. Within the ranks those seven non-commissioned officers leading the six Divisions and Headquarters Troops (A through F and H) officially designated ‘chief constables’ were addressed by the men as ‘Sergeant Major.’ The full constables, close to sixty in number were called ‘Sergeant’ and to make it all more confusing the rest of the men (about 260 after the ‘weeding out’ process), officially designated ‘sub-constables’ and equal to a private were addressed as ‘sub-constable.”

However, back to the livestock and why it was chosen.

The original nine officers were chosen and appointed in 1873. That same summer the first hundred and fifty farmers, teachers and store clerks were chosen, quickly assembled at “New Fort” (in Toronto) then loaded on Great Lake freighters and sent to the lake-head. From Fort William (Thunder Bay) they walked the “Dawson Route” to Lower Fort Garry where they spent the winter.

The so-called Dawson Route, named after George Dawson the same civil engineer whose name is on Dawson Creek and Dawson City proved to be as much a warehouse as a route. More than half the equipment and supplies the fledgling policemen stepped off the ships with was stored along the trail. On two occasions camps made on low ground where subject to heavy rain followed by freezing temperatures. On each of those mornings something or several somethings could not be retrieved as they were frozen into the swampy ground. Some of it was recovered the following spring.

Following appointment of French as Commissioner in’73 he spent a great deal of his time ensuring that Canada’s Federal Government who had passed the Act creating the force would actually support it once it was more than a few words on paper. Having been assured of such support he began the recruitment of another 150 men and made arrangements for their initial training. That accomplished he went south to the US, caught a train for Fargo, Dakota Territory, a dogsled to Fort Dufferin, Manitoba, rented a horse and wound up in Fort Gary, Manitoba fifteen days later.

Colonel French was not particularly thrilled with what he found in Fort Gary. In his diary he remarked that “the officers generally are a good lot of fellows but … 15 or 20 of the men should never have been sent here being altogether too weak.” With the aid of a local civilian doctor (David Young) French had already discharged 19 men for a variety of maladies but rectified the shortfall in manpower by increasing the second recruitment to 200 men upon his return to Toronto in February.

He was also less than pleased with the horses. Thirty eight had been purchased locally and another thirty four where eventually purchased in Dakota Territory all of them “westernized” and mustangs. French’s comment in his notes is that “the animals are scarcely fit for our work.” He goes on to say that he believes they will need “200 or 300 horses which will have to come from Canada or the States as they are not to be had here.”

A constant micro-manager French insisted on interfering with aspects of the venture in which he had not experience whatever. For example travel in the west by large bodies of men had always been done with pemmican as the main staple. However French decided that instead of using the tried and true the Mounted Police would take a “walking larder” of cattle.

On July 8, 1874 the North West Mounted Police led by Commissioner George A. French left Fort Dufferin, Manitoba. In attendance was the Assistant Commissioner, James Macleod, 26 officers and non-commissioned officers, 247 constables and sub-constables and 7 Métis guides and scouts. Another 20 Métis assisted by troopers were driving and caring for 114 Red River carts and 73 wagons. Some of the wagons were pulled by horses but most and all the carts were pulled by the 142 oxen in the train. Of the 311 horses 240 of them had been brought by train from the east and those that where not thoroughbred did have a great many thoroughbreds in their ancestry. To round out their livestock was a herd of eleven bulls and fifty four cows that had already started calving.

(At this point some readers will understand how this tale fits in with previous posts concerning the growth of the cattle business in Western Canada.)

A few of the more senior officers had a vague idea of their destination. The troopers had been informed they would be going to the west to stop the whiskey trade. Commissioner French thought they would make the trip in less than half the time they would actually use. None of them had any idea of the horror they where stepping into.

New Stories and pictures from Canada's West

I’ve been working on a story that has a “crime baron” operating in New Westminster, BC in 1881. I’ve found the research interesting, due to the great changes that were taking place at the time. For instance, Vancouver did not come into existance until five years later and twenty years later was a thriving city and one of the more important ports on the Pacific coast. However, more about that in a later post.

For now, I was just looking through some of the material I collected for “Jake’s Justice” and “Cattle Business” and thought I would post some of those items.

“Cattle Business” takes place west of Edmonton in the early 1890s and has to do with some of the unlikely people who, despite their lack of a proper background, eventually became the developers of Canadian Agriculture. It also introduces an aboriginal policeman. According to a couple of sources I discovered the BC Provincial Police appointed “Special Constables” (a policeman’s responsibility, little training and no pay) very early on in their history when they were still “Colonial” police. The story also touches on the development of coal mining and the structure of the North West Mounted Police, their barracks and district prison at Ft. Saskatchewan.

Much of “Jake’s Justice” or perhaps the ‘heart of the story’ takes place in 1898 in the same area as “Cattle Business”. However we also learn something of Jake’s early life as an Ontario farm boy, a Great Lakes deck-hand, a fresh water fisherman, a cattle ‘tender’, and a ‘wolfer’ attempting to help clear the Canadian Prairies of predators after the blizzard winter of 1886. Following the rape and murder of his wife he also spends time trapping on the upper reaches of the Peace River system.

 

Both of these stories contain considerable mention of the North West Mounted Police. In fact, the main protagonist in "Cattle Business" starts out as a constable but for 'political reasons' is cashierd. Toward the end of the 1800s the Mounties moved to Regina headquarters but Ft. Macleod was still an important centre. Further north the administration centre was Ft. Saskatchewan where the NWMP had built a jail with 32 cells which, by the time of these two novels had very few which were empty. There was also a hospital.

Around the fort a few civilian services were built which eventually became a town and in the twentieth century a fine small city.

Ft. Saskatchewan hospital, 1899

Queens Hotel, Ft. Saskatchewan, 1906

Ft. Saskatchewan store and office

Ft. Saskatchewan, 1905

North West Mounted Police barracks,

Ft. Saskatchewan, 1890

Government Street,

Ft. Saskatchewan, 1906

Janet's cattle returned with extra treasure for her trouble

4



A half-hour later she stopped to fit the saddle to her shorter legs. The steers showed no inclination to veer from the trail home. As she shortened the stirrup leathers she noticed her heart rate and breathing had begun to slow their frantic pace.
"Now I'll have to listen to Mother go on and on about how I left her alone for a whole two days," she said to the horse as she pulled the lacing free. "Then she'll make Matt feel awful by telling him it's his fault that I was almost murdered over a few filthy animals." She finished on one stirrup and moved around to the other. "Then Matt won't ever want to leave the place again."
She was finishing up before she continued. "Which might not be all bad, at least I wouldn't have to listen to Mother's drivel all by myself."
She remounted and continued, liking the feel of what she was already coming to think of as her saddle. It was also a fine, smooth-gaited horse.
"That's not really fair," she continued. "It's not fair to make Matt have to put up with any of Mother's prattle when I can protect him from it. It's not fair to expect that she would be hard on him over this. She probably won't say a thing about it to him, thereby making me feel guilty because he doesn't know how much danger I was in, and because I have kept something from him."
The steers were beginning to tire and wander, looking to fill their stomachs with the old grass that was showing now in more places than were covered by snow. She drew her mount in a little and began pushing the yearlings along the trail.
"Yes, that would be more like Mother. Then she would think she had a new power and control over me."
She had also lost Ben, Matt's one remaining tie to his childhood. She knew that the sight of Ben had brought back many pleasant memories for her husband.
"And I don't want Matt to feel he's tied to us. He should be able to leave, but want to stay.
"Besides, for the next few years at least, we need that trapping money. Otherwise we'll never have our own life."
She looked at her mount and rigging with a critical eye. True, she had lost one of the light team but she now had an excellent saddle horse. She also had a fine saddle and bridle, an extra rifle and a pistol.
Holding her own rifle and the reins in one hand she slid Rolley's rifle from the scabbard far enough to identify it. It appeared to be similar to her Winchester '73, though both the lever and breech looked slightly different. It also had a saddle ring and appeared - though she didn't remove it all the way - to be shorter. She did remove it far enough to see the 44WCF stamped into the round barrel, making it the same caliber as her own octagonal barreled '73.
Next she removed the pistol from her pocket and studied it. The barrel was perhaps three inches long and, though the stamping was worn, she could make out "S & W" along the left side. She fiddled with what appeared to be a catch ahead of the hammer and finally tipped the barrel and cylinder down to reveal the bases of five cartridges all stamped ".32 S & W."
Closing the pistol again she placed it back in her pocket. "Well, I suppose, if we don't have the trapping money I could always rob somebody. I'm certainly armed to the teeth and well mounted."
After she had turned the steers back into their pasture and ensured the gate was shut, Janet rode toward the barn. On the other side of the house she could see another rider trailing a pack horse piled high with fur. Matt was home.
She met him by the house and they swung down together. As they embraced, Mark and Margaret came running from the house.
When the greetings had been completed, Matt turned back to his wife, holding his son in his arms and a twinkle in his eye. "You bin makin' a habit out o' feedin' the cows with a rifle. Must be hard to get the hay down the barrel."
Janet looked down at the Winchester in her hands then back to her husband. His eyes had gone beyond her to the strange horse and saddle and the twinkle had turned to puzzlement.
Janet stepped closer and put one hand on his shoulder. "Matt, I have some bad news. Ben died."

Later that summer, Joshua Casey's brother, Gabriel, rode up to a group in central Montana as they branded the latest batch of calves.
Joshua was busy with a knife when the horse came up, but it wasn't long before he realized someone was sitting a horse and not roping, or doing anything else to help with the work. Finished his latest cutting, he swung his attention around to the rider and saw his brother. The hair was very long and ten years had put some creases in the face, but it was definitely his brother.
He stood, the pocket knife down at his side, and nodded. "Afternoon, Gabe."
Gabe nodded in return. "Josh." He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Looks like you picked a hot one." He swung from the saddle.
"That we did," Josh acknowledged.
"Well, I'm not much with a rope, but I'm a crackerjack with a knife and a branding iron."
"We could use the help," Josh responded, turned the knife around and passed it to his brother. "You gonna be home for awhile?"
Gabe nodded, and then gazed off to the north. "Reckon I'll stay if you'll have me. I get out there I run the risk of gettin' into somethin' I won't be proud of."

After roundup that fall, Matt Kingsley went hunting for a few days. He trailed a moose back up into a draw where he shot it in a small clearing. In that same clearing he found what was left of a skeleton lying next to the remains of an old fire. There was a small, round hole, perhaps from a bullet on the right side of the skull and much of the left side was missing. The remains of what might have been a shirt and pants were also there. There was no sign of boots, belt, coat or hat.
With only an axe to work with it was difficult, but he managed to cover the bones and cloth in a shallow grave. During the fifty-eight years they were together, until her death in 1969, he never told Janet what he had found.

Episode 6 of The Yearlings. Where are Janet's Son and Husband?

3



When she had the strips of bannock dough wrapped around sticks and propped over the fire, she began to slice slabs of meat from the venison haunch hanging from a limb on the edge of camp. As she was doing this, Squeak rose and went to the pack from which he drew another bottle of the dark, Hudson's Bay Trade Rum. Rolley continued to sip on his, but Squeak took the top quarter of his fresh bottle in one long drink.
When the meal was finished roasting, Janet said nothing but took one of the bannock-wrapped sticks, another holding a slice of meat, and moved away from the fire. She hunkered down across the fire from Rolley and Squeak.
"I take it we can all dig in?" Rolley said, carefully leaning his bottle against the log before rising and moving to the fire. Before he could get a portion of the meal for himself, Gabe took his portion and returned to where he had been standing, back from the fire and to Janet's right.
Squeak refused to move even after Rolley returned to his seat with his meal. He continued to sulk and pull at the rum bottle, now only half full.
As she ate, Janet took an unguarded moment to remove two of the rifle shells from her coat pocket, holding them in the palm of her hand with her thumb. Her meal finished, Janet returned to the fire, took up one of the cups sitting there and rinsed it out with some of the thick coffee. As she sat the pot back near the bed of coals she allowed the two shells to drop from her hand into the fire.
Rising, Janet moved over to stand near her rifle but facing Squeak. "Are you going to drink all of that, or can I have a cup of it?" she asked with a smile.
Behind her, Gabe turned and stepped into the trees toward the horses.
Looking up at her, Squeak smiled back then passed her the bottle.
With the cup in her right hand and bottle in her left, Janet began to pour rum. When the first shell exploded she dropped the cup and grabbed the barrel of her rifle. Swinging the rifle up and behind she spun with her entire body.
The first explosion had thrown small coals on Rolley. When the second cartridge went off he jumped back and right into Janet's rifle. The top edge of the stock struck his skull just under the brim of his hat.
Janet noted that Gabe was no longer in the clearing as she turned back and brought the bottle down on the top of Squeak's head.
Dropping down behind the log she began to feed shells into the rifle. Her frantic fingers were having difficulty holding the cartridges. The normally easy task of loading the Winchester had suddenly become difficult. When she had the first one inserted she levered it into the breech before filling the magazine.
A quick glance showed that she had done serious damage to Rolley. He lay near the fire, his sleeve beginning to smolder, but did not move. Squeak, on the other hand was only stunned, rocking back and forth on his knees, moaning and holding his head.
With the muzzle of the cocked weapon still pointing toward Squeak, she continued loading. She found that her chest was heaving and she couldn't get her breath. The pounding in her ears was not stampeding cattle but the sound of her own heartbeat.
Gabe called from behind the screen of trees. "You have done well, Janet. I suggest you take Rolley's horse. It is the better of the three, and his rigging is much better than Squeak's. From the way you hit him I doubt he will need the animal anytime soon. Besides, it was he who shot your horse."
Squeak flopped over on his side, still moaning and talking to himself.
"The pack horse is broken down" Gabe continued, "and anyway, it would be best if you left as soon as possible. For myself I will now mount and ride away. I ask that you not shoot me in the back."
Janet stayed down behind the log, her breath now coming in short hard gasps, and the rifle muzzle still in the general direction of Squeak. Occasionally she glanced behind her to see if Rolley's smoldering sleeve had burst into flame, and to ensure that Gabe was not coming up behind her. To her right and behind Squeek she heard a horse break through the brush. She only watched as Gabe rode around the camp on the far side of the draw.
When the sound of the hoof beats satisfied her that Gabe was really leaving, she stood and stepped over to Squeak. Resting the rifle muzzle behind his ear she reached down and removed a small pistol from his pocket and put it in her own. His rifle she took up and threw into the brush on the opposite side of the clearing to avoid frightening the unfamiliar horses. Stepping back and over Rolley, she grasped the collar of his coat and dragged him away from the fire. She considered rolling him over to get at his Colt but worried that he might come to. She thought a lot more of just getting out of there
Janet was not long in leaving the draw. She ignored the too-long stirrup leathers and swung into Rolley's saddle. The steers were hungry and more than ready to return to where they knew there would be hay. Once Janet had rode in behind them they took off at a trot down the trail, some of them running through the camp and over the two rustlers. She hesitated only long enough to retrieve the bridle from the cold body of Ben before swinging back in the saddle and pushing on down the hill.

Episode 3 in Janet's cold, lonely night in the foothill looking for cattle.

At the barn she put a bridle on Ben. He was fifteen years old, a horse Mat had raised, trained, and brought with him from his father's D-bar-K. He was the easiest to handle of the four horses Janet had available to her – an important consideration, since she did not have a saddle. At fifteen hundred pounds he was also the smallest of the four and the easiest for a twenty-year-old, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound woman to mount and sit on.
As she turned to leave the barn, Janet thought about how unpredictable the spring weather could be and grabbed a saddle blanket - an old wool blanket folded into a square - and put it on Ben. She certainly didn't need anything to improve the comfort of Ben's wide back, but if the weather should turn, the blanket might help to keep her warm until she could make it home.
At the house she told her mother that she would be gone looking for the steers. Her mother was flabbergasted.
"You can't leave us here by ourselves!"
Janet sighed. "I won't be gone long, Mother. There's nothing out there for them to eat yet, so I'm sure they won't go far."
"Well, if there is nothing for them to eat, leave them alone and they will come home. It's just irresponsible to leave a little baby - your baby - and an old woman by themselves in this wilderness."
"We need every one of those steers, Mother. They mean money to pay off our loan. You have been spoiling my baby quite well with me on the place. I'm sure you can continue just as well by yourself for a few hours." Janet reached behind the door and picked up the Winchester. From the shelf above it she took a box of shells and dumped a few in her hand which she dropped in the pocket of her father's old coat.
"Well! That certainly doesn't sound like gratitude! And why do you need to take that awful gun."
"Because it would not be very bright to go off by myself in this country without one. And you certainly won't use it." Janet leaned down and kissed her son. "Try not to take Grandma too seriously, Mark." She stood and turned to the door. "Bye, you two."
As she followed the trail of the yearlings, Janet thought once more about leaving their pasture that morning. She was sure she had closed the gate, but perhaps she was remembering one of the many other mornings when she had done exactly the same job. If she had not put so much of her attention into recreating the earlier events, or in condemning herself for her stupidity, she may have paid closer attention to the trail.
When she had been on the trail for more than an hour, she began to look closer at the tracks. The steers were still moving in a bunch, but should have been wandering, some of them heading back to the ranch where they had been receiving regular feed through the winter.
It was then that she saw the tracks of a horse. And then more. At least two, and possibly three or four horses. The steers were not wandering because they were being driven. They had not gone through a gate she had left open. They had been stolen.
She brought Ben to an abrupt halt and looked around. She was already well up into the hills and the sun had disappeared. As she thought about how she should proceed she buttoned her coat. For her to follow and return wandering steers was one thing. To follow rustlers was something else again, and not something she believed she could handle.
There was no reason for the rustlers to go west and north as they had been traveling. They would want to sell the animals, and there was nothing in the direction they were traveling except higher and higher mountains. Therefore, they would have to turn north toward the Yellowhead Trail and the new railroad, or perhaps turn back east and toward one of the larger settlements.
Janet decided to follow a little longer and find out which direction they would turn. Matt would be home from his trap line soon and perhaps he could discover where the animals had been sold if Janet could tell him the best places to look. They needed those steers. She urged Ben forward, but now they traveled much slower.

And so here is episode 2 of Janet's attempt to find The Yearlings.

She decided it would be best to wait for daylight. The temperature was close to freezing, but her long coat and blanket should keep her warm enough to survive. The slight southwest wind still blew and the sky was overcast so perhaps the temperature would not drop too much during the night. Spring had been a long drawn-out affair, though pleasant and not too cold, and it was long past time for warmer weather.
She saw a large dark shape uphill to her right and approached it. It was a big spruce, its branches sweeping the snow. She crawled under and next to the trunk. The needles under the tree were dry, and the tree itself protected her from the wind.
Returning to the snow she took some in her mouth, sucking on it while she washed her face and hands. Removing the bandana from around her ears she used it to dry her self, then crawled back into her haven. She leaned the rifle against a limb close to hand, wrapped herself in the blanket, and leaned back against the trunk.
She worried about the rustlers, as anyone should worry about people who would shoot someone from ambush. But she worried also about her mother and son, Mark, waiting at the ranch house for her return. Neither of them knew that rustlers were involved, but they knew it was dangerous for anyone alone in the mountains, particularly during questionable weather conditions. Mark was only three and needed his mother around, and Janet's mother was not comfortable in anything but a city.
Margaret Lawrence had been raised in New Westminster. Her husband, Janet's father, had been Area Supervisor for the Transcontinental Railroad, and later the Canadian Pacific Railway. Margaret had been used to social events, shopping when she felt like it, and being in a financial position to feel like it often.
Janet, on the other hand, had found the life boring. When her father was transferred to Calgary, she could not have been happier.
At the age of sixteen, Janet was forced by her mother to go to one of Calgary's social gatherings. Not only did Janet not like such events, but she knew she would have to listen to her mother complain about how it was not "up to proper standards" and would "never be tolerated on the coast." But her mother insisted that she was now a young woman and it was time for her to make her place in social circles.
It was at that social that she met her knight in shining armor. It did not matter that his armor was a pair of freshly washed work jeans and an old suit jacket, or that his helmet was a wide-brimmed, high-crowned hat - not new but freshly brushed. It also didn't matter that none of his horses were white chargers. She had seen her dream and its name was Mathew Kingsley.
Matt and Janet had been married almost a year when her father died. On their small ranch northwest of Red Deer they didn't get the news in time to make the funeral, but they did go down to Calgary.
Learning that Janet was pregnant, Margaret insisted on returning to the ranch to help with the birth. Actually, it was the only course open for her since she could not afford to live in the city. During his life she had lived to the fullest extent of her husband’s income. Now that he was gone she could not afford even the essentials, and would rather run and hide than allow her friends to see her predicament.
Matt was pleased to accept his mother-in-law's offer. He had helped in the delivery of countless calves and foals, but was more than concerned about the arrival of his own offspring. True, Janet could spend a few weeks at neighbors twelve miles east, but what if something unexpected should happen?
Janet was not pleased with the arrangement. She had reluctantly followed her mother's directions for life in the past, did not want to hear any more of them, and certainly wouldn't follow them again. She also knew that with no place to go, her mother would be with them for far longer than it would take to have the child.
Mark was now three, and Margaret was still part of the Slash K.
"Janet, dear, I don't know why you insist on wearing men's clothing. It will give Markus an improper perception of how things should be." It was one of Margaret's favorite topics. She sat in the rocking chair doing needlepoint while Mark spun a small top on the floor.
"Because it's impractical to feed cattle in a dress, particularly in the winter time," Janet responded calmly and with little thought as she ate her soup. She had responded the same way to the same subject a thousand times.
"Well, I don't see why your husband isn't here to feed those filthy animals. That is a man's job, after all. Besides, Markus needs his father."
Janet sighed. "Matt isn't here because we are trying to make a life for ourselves. He's trapping."
"I still don't understand why he can't trap closer to home," Margaret continued with her usual line.
"Because someone else had this area already and we can't afford to buy it. Besides, Matt would still have to go up in the mountains and he wouldn't be home much anyway." Janet stopped a spoonful of soup half way to her mouth. Why did she continue to repeat the same things over and over? Her mother had been there the autumn Matt first rode away and for every trapping season since.
"If you need money, why not sell some of those beasts out there," Margaret advised. Janet was sorry she had paused, giving her mother an opening. "I mean, if you can't make any money from them, why have them?"
"We borrowed money to buy them and we have to pay that off before we can make any money from them," Janet responded, her anger rising. "You see, Mother, unlike some people, Matt and I pay our debts. And we don't spend money we don't have." She dropped her spoon in the bowl and stood.
Going to the door she sat on the bench and donned her mukluks. Now, in addition to frustration, she also felt guilty for having made such a remark to her mother.
"Janet, you've not finished your lunch," Margaret noticed, with more than a little disapproval.
"I have two more cows that still haven't calved," Janet responded. "I'll finish later." At the same time she thought, "Why do I feel guilty? I can't even insult her!"
"I would have thought it was warm enough for them to look after themselves," Margaret noted. "Your lunch will be cold. Besides, I would think a mother would want to spend more time with her son than with a group of cows."
"That was what I planned when I came in," Janet said. "And it's a herd of cows, not a group." She pointed across the room at her son who appeared to be paying no attention to the usual prattling of the two women. "And that is Mark. Not Markus, just Mark." Actually the boy's name was Markham - after his paternal grandfather - but that was another argument Janet didn't want to start with her mother.
Intent on the spinning top, his back to his grandmother, Mark almost allowed a smile to slip out.
One of the cows had already dropped its calf and the other was about to. Before going in for lunch, Janet had put fresh straw in what she called her 'baby pen', so she only needed to gently herd the cow and new calf into it.
The second cow stood with its back arched, tail raised, and a far-away look in her eyes. Janet expected it would not be too much longer, but was slightly fearful of expecting too much. From sixty cows she had sixty-one calves - two sets of twins - with nothing more serious than some frostbite to two sets of young ears. Things had gone especially well so far and she didn't want to jinx anything on this last calf.
After several minutes the cow relieved herself. She looked around at Janet then walked over near the horse corral, lay down and began to chew her cud. Margaret would have been impressed by the string of verbal abuse her daughter aimed at the cow – but not favorably.
Janet had no desire to return to the house, and another argument with her mother, so she decided to take a turn around the small pasture holding the twenty yearling steers. Perhaps by the time she had checked the fence the tardy cow would be ready to begin a birthing.
The small pasture was empty! The wire gate lay flat beside the trail of hoof prints in the mud. For different reasons Janet and her husband shared a dream of future independence. It was a dream she could see and touch every day in the small herd of steers. Now the dream – and the herd – had evaporated.
Immediately, Janet blamed herself. She had brought a wagonload of hay to them that morning on the still frozen ground and must have left the gate open when she left. As she hurried back to the buildings, she tried to remember the events surrounding her leaving the yearling pasture and going through the gate.

It's about time!

It has been a very long time since I posted something. Busy, busy, busy.
I just received a very nice review of ‘Partners’ at http://www.selfpublishingreview.com and I thank Carol for her attention. Some of her comments I agree with and, naturally, some I don’t but I thank her for the study.
Along with the every day making-a-living-so-I-can-afford-to-write I’ve also been working on the upcoming release of my latest work which should be available in a couple of weeks. It will be at
www.strategicbookpublishing.com/Homesteader-FindingSharon.html and I’ll be posting a quick link on this site.
My father passed away on Dec. 18 of ’08 and a good friend of more than 50 years wrote a poem in remembrance of Andy McGowan. I’ve dedicated ‘Homesteader’ to Dad and have included Bill Baker’s poem.
I guess I shouldn’t call ‘Homesteader’ my latest work since I have done short stories since I actually finished it and have been working on a sequel to ‘Partners.’
This sequel isn’t progressing at much of a pace however. I’m at about Chapter 7 of what should be about 50. I’m fairly happy with how the story is developing, although it will probably have to be re-written a few more times. I’m not progressing for the same reason I haven’t been posting here; it’s summer and there’s a great deal to do out there in the sunshine.