Don Gutteridge - The Widow's Demise

“What’s that up ahead?” Gayle said.

Crawford peered into the near distance. Theywere in dense bush now, and shadow covered the road. “Looks like atree’s fallen across the road,” Crawford said.

They drove on towards the object blockingtheir path. It was a large tree, completely covering the road andthe narrow clearing on either side of it.

“We can’t get past it,” Crawford said,drawing the horses to a halt.

“We’ll have to go around it,” Gayle said.

“I don’t see how we can do that,” saidThomas, who had stood up behind the driver to get a better view ofthe problem.

“There hasn’t been any lightning in the lastcouple of days,” Baron said, standing beside Thomas.

“Let’s have a closer look,” Crawfordsaid.

He got down from the vehicle and walkedacross to the right side of the road, where the trunk of the treewas thickest. “It’s been deliberately cut,” he called back. “TheTory toughs have been out by the look of it.”

“How did they know we were going to come thisway?” Gayle said.

“They probably didn’t,” Thomas said. “Thisentire line is Reform, and they know how many of us were still leftto vote.”

“The bush is too dense here for us to goaround the obstruction,” Baron said. “They’ve planned the matterwell.”

“What’ll we do?” Gayle said.

“We should’ve brought a rope, then we couldhave had the horses drag the tree aside,” Crawford said.

“We can always go back fer one,” Thomassaid.

“Looks like we’ll have to,” Crawfordsaid.

Just then they heard hoofbeats coming towardsthem from the west.

“Oh, oh,” Gayle said, “here comestrouble.”

The four men waited impatiently as thehoofbeats grew louder. Soon a lone horseman rode into view on theother side of the tree. He paused and then urged his horse into thebush. Moments later he emerged in front of them. They didn’trecognize him, but he was a tall, striking figure.

“Hello, I’m Marc Edwards,” the fellow said.“I’ve come to help.”

“You’re the lawyer fella in with Baldwin,”Crawford said, climbing down to greet Marc.

“I am, and I’m patrolling these back roads tohelp with emergencies like this one. They’ve cut the treedeliberately, haven’t they?”

“That’s right,” Crawford said. “But we need arope to haul it aside.”

Marc grinned. “I just happen to have somerope with me,” he said. He dismounted and pulled a coil of ropefrom a hook on his saddle. “This should do the trick. If you’llunhitch your team, I’ll try and get this rope around the treetrunk. I may need some help.”

Marc climbed over a thick section of the treetrunk and slipped the rope under it. Billy Thomas caught it andflipped it back over the top of the trunk. They wound it aboutthree times and knotted it. By this time, Crawford and Gayle hadunhitched the horses and brought them over to the tree. Crawfordtied the loose end of the rope to the whiffletree and then took thereins. The horses weren’t draught size, but they were strong enoughto slowly pull the trunk aside far enough for the democrat to getthrough.

Crawford and Marc untied the rope, and Gaylerehitched the horses to the vehicle. They drove through thegap.

“Thanks a lot,” Crawford said to Marc.

“I’ll just ride a ways with you,” Marc said.“To Yonge Street.”

With Marc riding just ahead, the farmers madetheir way through the bush towards Yonge Street. They were almostthere when one of the horses developed a limp.

“Whoa back!” Crawford called.

Marc turned to see what the trouble was.

“Old Dan’s got a tender foot,” Crawford said.He jumped down a joined Marc beside Old Dan.

“He’s got two nails in his hoof,” Crawfordsaid.

“More funny business,” Marc said.

“I’ve got some pliers in the wagon,” Crawfordsaid.

He fetched them, and while Marc held thehorse’s left foreleg, Crawford pulled out the two nails. He urgedthe team forward a few steps.

“He’s all right, thank God,” Crawford said.“No permanent damage. But there could’ve been.”

“I’d better ride all the way to the poll withyou,” Marc said.

“Yeah,” Crawford said, “I think that’s abloody good idea.”

The rest of the trip to Danby’s Crossing wentby without incident. But it had been a close thing. D’ArcyRutherford and his henchmen had been very busy on the hustings.

The poll itself – in Danby’s Inn – wassurrounded by a dozen or so men, all milling about.

“Here comes a bunch of Reformers!” one ofthem yelled out.

“Afraid to come alone, are you?”

“Need an escort, do you?”

As Crawford and his neighbours made their waythrough the throng, they were greeted with cheers and jeers. Marcstayed on his horse beside Danby’s verandah. He had a pistol tuckedinto his belt – conspicuously visible.

“This’ll put LaFontaine ahead,” said oneenthusiast.

“By three votes!”

Marc had not realized the election was soclose. Rutherford’s various intimidation tactics were working well.There had also been a lot of negative reaction to news of thearrest of Gilles Gagnon for the vicious murder of theAttorney-General’s daughter.

Crawford, Gayle, Thomas and Baron marchedinto the polling area, where the returning officer sat with hispoll book open before him.

“How do you gentlemen vote?” he said.

One by one the farmers spoke La Fontaine’sname, and their votes were recorded under the sharp eye of thescrutineers for each party.

“Now let’s have some lunch,” Crawfordsaid.

***

Cobb spent a day tidying up the robbery case he hadbeen working on. The next day he decided to start his investigationof the murder – at Rosewood. He approached the front door and usedthe bell-pull. A half minute later, Carlton Diggs, the butler,opened the door. He gave Cobb a scrutinizing and puzzling look,puzzled because, although Cobb was wearing a suit, he was obviouslyno gentleman. The suit was wrinkled and too tight around Cobb’sbelly, and his shirt was frayed at the collar. Moreover, his hairwas askew, its several parts headed in contrary directions. On theother hand, he was not a tradesman Diggs recognized. He decided tofollow protocol, at least for the time being.

“I’d like to talk to Mr. Cardiff,” Cobbsaid.

“Who may I ask is calling?” Diggs saidcoldly.

“Detective-Constable Cobb, on policebusiness.”

“I’ll see if he’s available. Please waitinside.”

Cobb cooled his heels in the foyer whileDiggs went back down the hallway and disappeared. Cobb stood there,taking in the thick carpet and small but decorative chandelieroverhead. A few minutes later Diggs returned.

“The master will see you in the library,” hesaid, still puzzled. “Please, follow me.”

Cobb trailed after the butler down thehallway, past several doors, and came to a halt near the end.

“Just inside here,” Diggs said, and then tobe safe, added, “Sir.”

Cobb entered a book-lined room with two broadwindows that let in a wash of light. Humphrey Cardiff was standingbefore a long, mahogany table, a book lying open before him. Hewore a black arm-band. He looked up at Cobb blankly.

“You’re from the police, you say?” hesaid.

“Yes, sir. I’m Detective-Constable Cobb.”

“And what, pray tell, is a detective?”Cardiff’s fingers fiddled with the book.

“It’s someone who investigates crimes. I’m incharge of your daughter’s case.”

“But you have got the murderer, haven’tyou?”

“More or less, sir. I’m just gatheringevidence against him.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry about yer daughter, sir.”

“Thank you. So am I. And I want her killer tohang high.”