The Cariboo Search for
Paul and Spintlum

Teamster Finds a Murdered Man in Suicide Valley on the Cariboo Trail—
Chinaman Who Gives Clue to Killer Also Murdered—Posses Scour Country
and Provincial Police Officer Killed by Outlaws—Fugitives Surrendered by

IT WAS a hot day in July, 1911, when
Constable John McMillan of the British
Columbia Provincial Police, stationed at
Clinton, contemplated cutting some hay. He
little realised that within a few minutes he
was destined to set the stage for one of the
greatest dramas ever enacted in that colour-
ful repertoire of human emotions, the clash
of the law with the lawless.

A DraMa UNFOLDS

The gods must have filled the clear air of
the Cariboo with sardonic laughter as they
cast the first skeins to weave a fabric of mur-
derous hate and trepidation that was to hang
like a pall over the beautiful country side for
so many weary months. Only they could
have known that a delayed letter was fated
to cost six lives and more than one hundred
thousand dollars of the taxpayers money.
Certain it is that no human would have en-
tertained the thought, least of all Constable
MeMillan, on that July day.

The first inkling that the constable had
that anything was amiss came when Louis
Crosina, a teamster freighting on the Cari-
boo Trail, raced up to him. McMillan could
see that Crosina was breathless and greatly
disturbed.

‘“There’s a man, a dead man, in Suicide
Valley!” he burst out.

MeMillan knew Suicide Valley, about
four miles south of Clinton, so called because
three suicides had taken place there.

“He was murdered,” Crosina went on.
“His head’s all smashed in.”

Constable McMillan left at once for Sui-
cide Valley.

The moment McMillan saw the body he
recognized it as being that of a teamster
named Whyte. As Crosina had said it was
evident that Whyte had been murdered;
killed by repeated blows of a bloodstained
boulder that lay close by. The body was
some distance from the road and partly con-
cealed behind a log. It could only have been
seen from the road by anyone riding on the
seat of a high wagon. The condition of the
corpse indicated that it had lain there at
least three days.

After conducting an examination of the

the coroner’s inquest.

WINTER EDITION

Indians—Squaw’s Curse.

McMillan’s duties were many. He had
to not only locate witnesses but he must also
conduct a few inquiries that would lead him
to the murderer. It wasn’t likely he would
be able to ask a few questions and then arrest
the guilty one. He must sift the evidence of
witnesses and weigh each word for its full
worth. He was alone in that district and

Paul Spirtlum

anything accomplished there would be by
himself.

In the course of his inquiries, McMillan
found himself talking to the postmaster at
Clinton. From him he learned that Whyte,
who had been driving a team for Billy
Parker of Big Lake, had been discharged
and was waiting in Clinton for his wages
that were to arrive by mail on the first stage
from the north.

“But the letter didn’t come,” the post-
master said. “Whyte seemed very disap-
pointed. He said he was going to the States
as soon as the letter arrived.”

By
EDWARD GREEN

*

“What else did he say?” MeMillan asked.

“Nothing. When I told him there was
no letter he just looked kind of sick and
said,'Too bad. It looks like luck is agin me.’
That’s all he said. Then he went away. The
letter came by the next stage but he never
claimed it.”

McMillan thanked the postmaster and
went away. It was evident that Whyte, bit-
terly disappointed at not getting his wages,
had decided to go down to Ashcroft,
McMillan thought. Acting on this, the con-
stable began making inquiries along the
Cariboo Trail.

CHINESE GIVES THE FirsT CLUE

His first success came when he stopped
at a little hut occupied by a Chinese wood-
chopper named Chew Wye, who lived near
4-Mile Lake. On July 4th, Chew Wye said,
a teamster named Haller had stopped at his
place and bought some eggs. Chew put the
eggs in a pail and then was told to give them
to a man who was on the seat of Haller’s
wagon. This Man, Haller said, was going
back to Clinton and would give the eggs to
Mrs. Haller.

“Did Whyte go back to Clinton?” Mc-
Millan asked.

For a moment it looked as if the bland
inscrutability of the Orient was going to
triumph over the ways of the western world.
Chew Wye thought for a moment before
replying.

“No,” he said in a pidgin that defies ad-
equate recording on paper. “He didn’t. He
and Haller were geting ready to go when
they saw an Indian come out of the bush.
They called to him and they gave him a
drink out of a bottle they carried. They were
both a little bit drunk. Then they asked the
Indian to come and have lunch with them
at 4-Mile Lake. When they went away
from here, Whyte was riding behind the
Indian on the Indian’s horse.”

MeMillan thought guickly. The China-
man’s story indicated that Whyte and the
Indian had gone to the approximate spot
where Whyte’s body was later found. The
liquor, it seemed, had fired something in the
Indian and murder had resulted.

“Who was the Indian? Do you know
him?”

Once again the ways of the Orient
cropped up. Chew Wye’s copper-coloured

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