The Lynching of Louie Sam Read Free Page B

various Indian bands in this area to make themselves understood to each other, and to us whites.
    â€œYou got it. Mean Jack’s in jail up in New Westminster for murder.”
    This gave all three of them pause, until Mr. Osterman stated what we were all thinking: “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
    If the father was a murdering Indian, so was the son likely to be. We had ourselves a suspect in the murder of Mr. James Bell, and his name was Louie Sam.

Chapter Three

    J OHN AND I AGREED THAT we should send Annie home with Will, and that the two of us should stay at Mr. Bell’s place in case the sheriff had more questions for us. But the men seemed to forget we were there. They found long sticks and poked at the charred remains of the cabin, which were still too hot to touch. Mr. Osterman used the end of his stick to pick up a blackened jug from what was left of Mr. Bell’s merchandise.
    â€œMy bet is Jim Bell caught that Indian helping himself to his goods,” he said.
    â€œHard to tell,” replied Sheriff Leckie, flipping through some tin cans that had exploded in the heat. “Who’s to say what’s missing?”
    â€œI found something!” called Mr. Moultray from the kitchen end of the ruins.
    We all turned to see Mr. Moultray using his thick boots to kick a fire-warped metal box out of the ashes. It sprang open, spilling a fortune in gold coins onto the grass! The sheriff let a whistle out between his teeth.
    â€œIt don’t look like no robbery to me,” he said.
    Mr. Osterman knelt down to count the coins, but the first one burned him when he tried to pick it up. “Goddamit!” he blasphemed, blowing on his fingers.
    â€œThere must be five hundred dollars there,” said the sheriff.
    â€œLouie Sam missed out on the big prize,” remarked Mr. Moultray.
    â€œBut he might have taken Mr. Bell’s horse,” I said.
    The men turned to me and John. They seemed surprised to find us still there. The sheriff rubbed his chin.
    â€œNobody’s seen his horse this morning?” he asked.
    â€œNo, sir,” I replied. “It was gone when we got here.”
    â€œIf that Indian’s on horseback, he could be ten miles away by now,” said Mr. Moultray. “All the way to the border. Assuming he’s heading for his tribe on the Canadian side.”
    â€œSo he’s a horse thief as well as a murderer,” was all that Mr. Osterman had to add.
    B UT JUST AFTER NOON , Robert Breckenridge, a neighbor from a couple of miles away, arrived leading a stray he said had turned up on his land and which he recognized as belonging to Mr. Bell. He had come by only meaning to return the horse, and was shocked by the sight of the cabin—shocked still further when the men told him what had befallen Mr. Bell. Mr. Breckenridge related how just the day before he had seen a lone Indian lurking around near his spread, carrying a rifle, who claimed when challenged that he was hunting game. The men agreed that it stood to reason that the Indian Mr. Breckenridge saw could well have been Louie Sam, and that the rifle he was carrying was very likely the murder weapon.
    Next thing you know Father arrived on Mae, our mare, telling John and me to go home. He’d heard enough from Will and Annie to make him come fetch us. I think he mostly came out of curiosity, though, because a minute later he was caught up in the mystery as Sheriff Leckie and Mr. Moultray told the whole story all over again. On hearing it a second time—with Mr. Breckenridge’s additions—it was plain as day that Louie Sam was the culprit, even if he could no longer be called a horse thief. Murdering an innocent white man in cold blood was just like something a bad Indian would do.
    At that point, Mr. Osterman gave a holler. He had been checking around Mr. Bell’s property and had found tracks leading into the swamp. Sheriff Leckie told us all