York boat brigade carrying prisoners to Norway House

Warned of the medicine man’s
escape, O’Neill paddled to the bar-
racks with canoe loads of half-breed
and Indian trackers and plunged into
the woods. Red men put their hands
to their mouths, assured that Pece-
quan had enlisted the aid of evil
manitous and been spirited beyond
the reach of the red-coats.

The sun had dropped behind the
pines as O’Neill continued to search.
Through the forbidding forest, dark
and dreary with approaching night,
they stumbled over springy moss and
muskeg, their ears filled with the
drone of mosquitos. Suddenly
O'Neill’s arm was caught in a vice-
like grip. “What’s that?” came the
fear-filled voice of his companion.

“What ... where?”

“There. Swinging from that tree
there.” The constable pointed to a

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TWENTY-FOURTH EDITION

dark object silhouetted against the
gold and indigo of sunset—an object
that swayed eerily in the fitful gusts
of wind.

His Own Time and Place

From the bough of a gnarled old
pine hung the body of Pecequan, the
medicine man, his L’Assumption belt
knotted tightly about his neck. He’d
gone to meet the Manitou of the
Saulteaux. But he’d chosen his own
time and place, and not been jerked
into Eternity by those Wapiskiweasuk
dogs he hated and despised.

Next day Chief Mistainninew faced
his paleface accusers in the historic
Council House.

Behind a flag-draped table presided
Commissioner Perry of the Mounted
Police, with dark-gowned lawyers on
either side. Flanked by his scarlet-
coated guards, the longhaired chiet-
tain faced a jury of white-collared
clerks of the fur company, moccasined
traders and  copper-visaged  dog-
drivers, while priests, trappers and
coppery Crees from the surrounding
forests filled the hall to overflowing.

In his deep guttural voice Mistain-
ninew told what happened in that
lodge that cold October morning.
They'd decided that Sapwaste must
die. Old Pecequan had placed the
rope around the young squaw’s throat,
and as she struggled the chief had
held her down. As the jury retired he
stared stolidly at the beams above.

Lusted for Blood
Old-timers, recalling the supersti-
tious character of the red men, were

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