INDIANS CONFESS TO MURDER

WORD .CAME tto the police office at
Prince George in 1921 that the Indians of
Trembleur Lake, 200 miles north, knew
something of the disappearance seven years
before of Max Popovich, an Austrian.
Popovitch had headed into the wilds from
Fort St. James shortly after the outbreak of
the war and had not been heard of again.

Deputy-Inspector Thomas W. S$. Par-
sons, now assistant commissioner, was in
charge at Prince George.

He trekked to Trembleur Lake and with
the assistance of the local priest, Father
Joseph Allard, O.M.L., arranged a meeting
of the Indians at a rancherie house one
evening.

Through an interpreter he made the fol-
lowing speech:

“You know me. I am a police officer.

“A man was killed up Middle River
about seven years ago and I am here to take
those who did it.

“T know who killed him.

“The woods are very large. It is quite
possible for all concerned in this crime to
escape for a time.

“But in this world there are two things
men cannot escape in the long run. One of
these is the eye of God Almighty. The
other is the government.”

His remarks and his tone of voice were
pondered by the Indians. They muttered
among themselves. Then Parsons told them
he would leave them for the night with
Father Allard.

Next morning the priest, about to leave

on his sleigh, turned to Parsons and re-
marked: “My son, the heart has won.”

Page Ninety-Eight

Parsons went back to the rancherie
house.

As he stood before the assembled tribe
two Indians rose to their feet.

“We give you our bodies,” they said.

Parsons breathed a sigh of relief.

The next day the pair took him to the
scene of the killing. Accompanying him in
the woods for four days they explained
exactly how Popovich had been shot and

his body thrown into the lake.

HOSPITALITY REWARDED?

SOMEWHERE in this grand country of
ours lives a Chinaman who will think twice
before accepting the hospitality of an Indian
again.

It was in 1934 that a lonely Chinese was
trudging wearily along the railway tracks
near Lytton. Hungry, dishevelled and
almost exhausted, he sought refuge in a tiny
cabin some 200 yards up from the tracks.

He was met by a friendly Indian, who
willingly threw his abode open to the
stranger.

The Oriental entered, seated himself on
an easy chair and relaxed in solid comfort.

Suddenly a shot broke the stillness and
the Chinaman jumped to his feet, clasping
a hand to his head.

“Tve been shot,” he gasped.

The bewildered Indian saw that the man
was dangerously wounded. The bullet had
entered his head by the left eye.

“Stay,” he said, his face darkening omin-
ously, “I get help.”

Leaping to his horse, the Indian started
on a gallop for town, but he had not gone
far when another shot rang out, and he felt
a stabbing pain in his back.

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Despite his injuries, he continued and
found Corporal O. L. Hall. The Indian
was taken immediately to hospital, where it
was found that a bullet had entered his
spine.

No TRACE OF “JOHN”

When Provincial Police came to the shack
they could find no trace of the Chinaman.
They searched the surrounding bushes un:
successfully, then spread out, and while
some men took the road, adn followed
the railway track.

Near Lytton they found the yellow-skin-
ned traveller trying to make his way, stum-
bling along the ties, but still conscious.

They rushed him to hospital where exam-
ination revealed that the slug had missed
his brain only by a hairbreadth.

The explanation was that there was an
Indian feud in progress, and he had been
mistaken for his darker complexioned friend.

To this day the mystery has never been
solved, but Corporal Hall, now stationed at
Chilliwack, recalls the case as being one of
the most unusual in his career on the Force.

The gap between existence and non-
existence is sometimes easily spanned by a
grade crossing.

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