The next scene represents the revolt from authority itself. Riel was nominal leader, but in all things he was guided by the cunning brain and persuasive voice of his white subordinate. This latter kept disguised as a blood Indian, with the paint, feathers, buckskin and bead work of the native warrior. For long none suspected the true identity, except, of course, the Indians themselves, to whom he was known generally as the 'White Chief,' or the 'Father's Friend.'
While this disguise remained, Riel triumphed. In every struggle Lamont's unerring rifle accomplished its pitiless work, until police and soldiers grew to dread the report of the Indian marksman's weapon. He kept himself always in a place of safety, well out of the direct flight of hostile bullets.
But an Indian traitor—there were many of them—who entertained a grudge against him, narrated the tale to hunter Sinclair of St Andrews one day while tracing up a moose. Lamont had formerly been an acquaintance. After learning this story he found a means of coming upon him suddenly, to prove the truth of the Indian's word. The name, of course, had been changed, but Sinclair penetrated to the identity by the report of his wonderful shooting powers. In his surprise visit, attended though it was by considerable risk, he was successful. The meeting was a dramatic one. After an appeal had been wasted, the hunter threatened to capture and hand him over to the Government. Lamont replied by snatching a revolver and firing at him. The hunter had moved quickly aside when he saw the intention, so escaped the bullet. In the dark night he escaped without further risk. Later the story became known widely, while a reward was offered for the apprehension of the White Chief. Yet Sinclair alone held the knowledge of his actual personality. To all others he was merely a name and a marvellous shot. Lamont suspected that Sinclair would not open his mouth, in the hope of himself obtaining the reward, coupled with the kudos of having, unaided, captured the Indian auxiliary. His only chance now was to follow up his former friend and kill him—especially as he now began to understand that Riel was doomed, that the Rebellion must fail inevitably.
His motive in thus allying himself to Riel must be sufficiently obvious. He had previously gone over all ground, had reckoned every chance, as he thought, to finally arrive at the conclusion that an insurrection of Indians and half-breeds must be successful. He was but an ordinary adventurer, yet of more than average intellect. He would sway the mind of Riel, the invaders would be conquered and driven out, the half-breed leader would be chief of the entire country—nominally only. The reins of power would actually rest in his own hands. To depose the dull-witted half-breed and obtain entire leadership would then be a comparatively simple matter.
But most men omit in their reasonings the single detail of importance. In this case he had reckoned entirely without the influence of the Church, and the extraordinary power which it held and could exert over its ignorant and superstitious children. When the Archbishop with his assistants first commenced their efforts, he had smiled disdainfully at the wild fancy of men being such fanatics as to be priest led. But this gratification endured no longer than a fortnight, by which time he found many on whom he had confidently relied laying down their weapons, returning to their homes with the declaration that they would abide by the command of their religion. The Intrepid Archbishop had conquered.
So he abandoned Riel to his fate and fled, with the price of blood upon his head, to remorselessly and energetically follow up Sinclair's trail. He might easily have escaped from the country, but the lust of vengeance was hot within him. Besides, he fancied himself in love with Marie Larivière. After the silencing of the hunter, he might be able to fan the flame of passion into a fiercer and hotter rebellion. So he followed the trail, even to the forests of the Great Saskatchewan.
'Well, well, Billy,' said the Factor, half an hour later, 'it's a wonderful experience you've had. I tell you, if you could have seen young Winton that night, and old Blackey rocketing around, you'd have reckoned yourself you were dead.'
'What's the matter with drinking Billy's health?' said Dave, thirstily.
'You're a cute lad,' said the Captain; 'fill up and pass the bottle. It's all right; Alf pays the racket.'
'I mind now,' broke in Dave. 'It was when I was raddled in the fort I recognised Lamont. Called him White Chief, I did, and he turned a sort of green colour. I mind it all now.'