Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

The Mountie

("The Pilot" ala Dr. Suess)

By Cassandra Hope

(Copyright October 2000)

At the end of the road

Where the buffalo grass grows

And the wind smells slow and sweet when it blows

And no birds sing excepting old crows...

Is the Cabin of the Transferred Mountie.

And deep in the buffalo grass, the Inuit say,

If you look deep enough you can still see, today,

Where the Mountie once stood just as long as he could

Before someone transferred the Mountie away.

Who was the Mountie?

And why was he there?

And why was he transferred and sent far somewhere?

From the end of the road where the buffalo grass grows?

The old sergeant once lived there.

Ask him. He knows.

You won't see the sergeant.

He's dead. You're too late.

His ghost haunts the closet of the new Consulate.

He lurks in his closet, pacing to and fro,

Where he works on his taxes

'cause they'll find you, you know.

And, without warning, he sometimes appears,

And peeks

'round the door

And sometimes he speaks

And tells how the Mountie was transferred away.

He'll tell you, perhaps...

If you're willing to stay.

With a wave of his hand

And a look with no ire,

He'll invite you to pull up a chair by the fire

Where he'll tell a tale that is sad and most dire.

Then he'll fill up your mug,

'til it 'most overflows

to insure that you're comfy

and warm to your toes.

Then he places the pot

On the stove near the fire,

And composes his thoughts

For this story most dire.

Then he sighs a sigh that reaches the bone,

And says, "This story's for your ears alone."

The rocker protests as he rocks it,

Staring into the fire for just a wee bit.

Since he has many thoughts

To get straight in his mind,

And every small detail

He's anxious to find.

"Now I'll tell you," a hand runs through hair now gone grey,

"How the Mountie got transferred and sent far away...

It all started way back...

Such a long, long time back...

Way back in the days when the snow was still here

And the lakes were still frozen

And the sky was still clear,

And the song of the geese rang out into space...

One morning, I came to this glorious place

And I first saw the dam!

The almighty dam!

The bright-colored span of the almighty dam,

Flooding the valley behind it's wide span.

And, under the dam, I saw beavers like ants

Swimming along in almost a dance

Building their own dams and eating the plants.

From the swift flowing streams

Came the comforting sounds

Of grizzly bears fishing

And splashing around.

But that dam! That dam!

That almighty dam!

All my life I'd protected

The land from such scams.

The valley it crossed

Was beautiful to see.

And it had the sweet smell

Of rain, pine, and peace.

I felt a great sinking

Of fear in my chest.

I knew what to do,

What I knew was the best.

In no time at all, I had gathered some facts.

I followed the trail of drowned caribou tracks.

And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed

My friend, Gerard, was warned of the deed.

I tracked drowned caribou to a high rocky lair.

I heard

The sound of death on the air.

My dying thoughts of the son left behind.

Regrets, wishes...now I'm all out of time.

He is tallish. And youngish.

And handsome. And right.

And he speaks with a voice

That is very polite.

"Father!" he calls as he searches the land.

"I am a Mountie. I will get my man.

I will get my man, for this dastardly deed.

And I'm promising you, Dad, I'll do what I need"--

He was very upset as he made this great vow--

"I'll go to Chicago to find my man, now."

"Detective Armani?" he asked at the door

Little prepared for the reactions in store.

"Are you the detective in charge of this case?"

He asks then thrusts a small pad in the face

Of the detective now snarling in anger. He's mad.

"Who let the Mountie in there? I'll whoop his ass bad!

For blowing my cover and springing my trap

And making me look like some kinda sap!"

The Mountie said,

"Sir, my father's been murdered

And you're the man to

Catch the villain I've heard."

"The dead Mountie's your father?" he asked with a groan.

The Mountie's head nodded, the detective then moaned.

Extending his hand, "Vecchio's the name," he said.

"Together we'll find the man who made your dad dead."

And from that moment a strong friendship formed--

Canadian Mountie and Chicago cop born.

On the trail of a dentist

Our heroes began

To follow each clue that

Would lead to their man.

A photo, a nose, and Ray is right on the take...

That nose is a nose that belongs on a Drake.

A bad guy named Drake with a gun that's for hire,

Ben types up the info with skills Ray admires.

But this is the last of the deeds he will do.

(The lieutenant would frown if only he knew

Of the exploits of Mountie and Chicago cop, too!)

A quick trip to a bar,

A cop's cover is blown,

A Mountie intrudes

Where no mercy is shown.

"Please place on the bar

Guns, knives, weapons galore,"

Ben speaks with authority

As Drake heads for the door.

Then...

Oh dear! Eh?

Drake wades into the fray

Holding our wonderful

Heroes at bay.

One dives for a table, one jumps o'er the bar,

The denizens hastily scatter afar.

A gun with no bullets...

"No license," Ben says.

Scowling, Ray asks,

"Do you use serviettes?"

Drake makes his escape

Leaving our heroes to fret.

Broken glass, broken clock, and a wolf that bites,

Just another version of a Chicago bar fight.

Welsh snaps, "Who's the cause of this horrible mess?"

"It was I," said the Mountie getting it off of his chest.

"I was only doing what I thought was best."

In the heart of a city, a Mountie alone

Thinks fondly of wide, open spaces now gone.

Dinner in a diner, a book to read,

Searching for answers he thinks that he needs.

"What you need is a dinner with a family that's big.

There's Ma and Frannie, Maria, Tony, and kids.

Come join my family and eat like a pig!"

Loud and noisy, boisterous and gay,

The family recounted the deeds of the day.

"They only attack the one's they love," Ray replies

As Frannie tries everything to catch Benton's eye.

"He's so polite," Ma says.

"Canadian," explains Ray.

BUT...

Eating is eating!

And griping gives way

To a new clue that sends our heroes away.

A darkened street in a bad part of town,

An apartment house where the Mountie kneels down

To taste of the dirt on the curb by the street

As the cop gags and gags and stares at his feet.

"How could you do that?" Ray asks as the Mountie looks up.

"Didn't you get enough food tonight as we supped?"

"The watcher now thinks I know more than I do,"

The Mountie replied as he gazed at Ray's shoe.

"Where's your husband?" Ray asks as she opens the door.

She glares and says, "He don't live here no more."

And then she added, "He's a mean son-of-a-bitch

And stop him you must or you'll end in a ditch."

A note with an address is passed to our men

And they leave with high hopes of finding Drake's den.

"I had a hunch," the Mountie deftly replies

To the question that lurks in the Chicago cop's eyes.

The Riv roars to life,

Chinatown's where he's at.

Back-up is called

To cover their backs

With instructions to not

Shoot the man in the hat.

Our heroes know not what may await them within

Or where, for that matter, this Drake may have been.

The trap is set, our heroes arrive,

The trap is sprung, the cop takes a dive,

The bomb explodes. The Mountie's alive!

But what of the cop that took the dive

That shoved the Mountie out the window alive?

A hospital room, the family awaits,

For word from the doctors on a beloved son's fate.

Midst tubes, tapes, and needles, a friend stands by

Holding vigil for the one who once saved his life.

Gerard comes to take the Mountie back home

To face discipline, for from the code he did roam.

But Drake is a man on a mission possessed,

To kill the Mountie, he's a man that's obsessed.

His plans go awry as the gun that is drawn

Is the one that's been empty all the day long.

Drake flees in a van that he took from a man

Knowing the Mountie will give chase if he can.

Then the Mountie got mad.

He got terribly mad.

As he cornered his villain and made his arrest,

A shot rang from the dark. "It's all for the best,"

Gerard said as Drake crumpled in death in the dirt.

"You see, my dear Benton, the man had a dirk!"

"There was no knife!" Ben said then he wondered,

And pondered

and Pondered

and Wondered

and WONDERED.

Why did Gerard kill Drake and then lie?

Perhaps Gerard has something to hide.

Home again, the Mountie and wolf

Turn over each rock and look under each hoof--

To hunt for more clues to Gerard's dastardly act

But discover that Dad's been set up as a fact.

A drowned caribou, an executive desk,

An order to put the matter to rest.

Easier said than done, men in white

Discover as they engage in blazing gunfight.

For Ray has traveled hard and long

To aid his friend in righting what's wrong.

"I'm always prepared," Ray says with a grin

Opens his bag--guns, grenades are within.

In the barn with the jeep, Ben feeds all the dogs

While Ray gets ready in the cabin of logs.

Diefenbaker won't eat, he instead snarls a warning

Of white clad death that comes on this morning.

Ben quickly hitches the team to the sled

And gathers Ray from the tunnel that lead

From the cabin now bullet-ridden and blown

By the grenade Ray set to catch the unknown

Assailant that burst in the cabin too quick

To check for booby-traps that go click.

Dogsled and dogs and snowmobiles of white,

Race across landscapes--truly a sight.

A steep dipping slope, a snowmobile rolls

The dogsled continues with three on its toes.

One takes a swim in water so cold

Another one takes the high road so bold.

Our heroes are slowing, the dogs they do tire,

The snowmobiles close, they continue to fire

Their guns at our quaint little crew as they race

Toward a goal known by those that are known to this place.

Ray dives from the sled, his mission to take

Care of a snowmobile that comes in their wake.

His gun won't fire; it's covered in ice.

Whatever he does, he must do in a thrice.

For Ben is counting on him coming through,

A stick is found and Ray hurls it to

Hit the man on the snowmobile. "Cool!"

Racing against time, flipping sled, holding breath,

Ben watches pursuer fall to his death.

"Your father never gave you advice,"

He says with a sniff,

"The one about never following

A man over a cliff."

Now all that was left in that vast land so hard

Was the dogsled

The Mountie...

And Gerard.

The snick of a gun bolt being drawn floated forth.

"They'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth,

If a Mountie you kill." The silence was broken,

Then Gerard fell from his perch like a discarded token.

"My mistake, a caribou, I thought," he said

As the hunter approached. "I hope he's dead."

Then the hunter slip-slapped on his snowshoes away

Leaving justice to the Mountie and the cop on the way.

But Dief's been shot and there's room for just two,

Who should it be, Gerard most foul or Dief true-blue?

"We'll return for him later," Ben's look is much grimmer.

Maybe some wolves will find him for dinner.

The trial is now past, Gerard's in the clink,

And our Mountie, brave Mountie has caused quite a stink.

"Go back to Chicago. It's best, so I think,

To go where you're wanted, to the Consulate gray.

You turned in one of your own, so they say,

And time must pass while you pay and pay...and pay...

And all that the Mountie could leave here behind

Was the knowledge that he was

THE LAST OF HIS KIND.

Whatever that means, well...it's just in his mind.

That was long, long ago,

But each day since that day

I've sat here and worried

And worried away.

Through the months, while my son, Ben

Has moved on with his part,

I've worried about him

With all of my heart.

"But now," says the Sergeant,

"Now that you're here,

The deeds of the Mountie seem perfectly clear.

Unless someone like you

Cares a whole awful lot,

Nothing is going to get better.

It's not.

"SO...

Go," calls the Sergeant,

"The Mountie to find."

Then he opens the door,

"He's the last of his kind,

And the world would be bettered by following his lore

Of kindness, and friendship, and trust to the core.

Make friends with the Mountie. Make friends with the cop.

Make friends with the wolf (jelly donut, icing on top).

Make friends with the new guy, Kowalski's his name.

He'll not disappoint you. It's not in his game.

"Chicago's a better place now to be

Since the Mountie

And all of his friends

Came to TV."

Copyright October 2000 By Cassandra Hope.

Comments are appreciated at baktrak@earthlink.net