"Can't just leave them," the older soldier said, with a gesture to his dead friends.
Duncan nodded back toward Braddock's battlefield as he began ripping the shirts of the dead for bandages. "They are in good company. No time for graves, just cover your comrades with rocks. Once back at your fort you can have a larger party sent back."
The older soldier grimaced and glanced at his terrified companion. "I reckon we just be making direct for our farms as quick as our feet will carry us. We've had a bellyful of Pennsylvania."
"But they took him," protested the younger soldier. "We can't just-"
"They took a prisoner?" Duncan asked in alarm, looking out in the direction of the fleeing raiders.
"The captain," the soldier said, his voice haunted.
A chill ran down Duncan's spine. "You're saying they took the body of Captain Burke?"
"Aye. The first thing they did, cut out the mule carrying the body."
"Surely they didn't understand," Hadley countered. "A mistake. They saw a mule and thought it was loaded with supplies."
"Witchcraft!" Van Grut muttered in a fearful tone. Duncan and Conawago exchanged a worried glance. The raiders would not have mistakenly taken a dead man. The tribes were usually as wary of the dead as Europeans, but they did indeed have their own witches who sometimes broke taboos in their dark pursuits.
Conawago examined the dead men, leaning over one who held a knife. In his other hand was a chest plate of hollow bones and shells, ripped off the man's attacker. Conawago studied it with worry, then stuffed it inside his own shirt.
The men from Virginia quickly covered their dead companions, departing hastily the moment Conawago finished fashioning a crutch for one of the wounded. "The young one," the old Indian said. "Wasn't she with-" His words were cut off by a sob from Hadley, who knelt behind a low boulder forty feet away. As they rushed forward he lifted Mokie's limp body.
Duncan quickly realized that the raider he had shot had been hovering over the girl. Not merely hovering, he saw as he reached her. The Indian's knife could have killed her in an instant. But instead he had used the blade to cut the rope that had hobbled the girl's legs. The mysterious raiders had come to take not only Burke's body but also the young slave.
The treaty convoy had become a traveling village, its ranks more than doubled since leaving Ligonier. More Indians of the lesser tribes had joined, as had settlers and trappers with business on the Forbes Road who had heard of the raiders and flocked to the long line of wagons for protection.
Duncan and his companions had reached Ligonier in the predawn light, taking Mokie to the infirmary. She had not regained consciousness, though her pulse was strong. "I want her watched over," he had instructed the one-legged corporal. "Clear broth when she awakens."
The orderly had shaken his head. "Soon as the major hears of her she'll be back in the guardhouse. Or, worse, he'll turn her over to the militia."
Van Grut, who had bartered for four scrawny horses, did not argue when Duncan arrived at the stable with the still-unconscious girl, wrapped in a blanket for travel. "My second watch," was his only comment when he saw Duncan examining the mounts. "It took an entire night at the table to win it two months ago."
Now, as Duncan, bone weary from the day's ride, dismounted in the camp and sought out the wagon with the girl's mother, he realized that he might be putting Mokie in still greater danger. There were more Virginians with the convoy, including the arrogant lieutenant now deputized as a treaty negotiator, as well as traders who would be well aware of the rewards paid in Virginia for the return of escaped slaves. As Duncan pulled a blanket flap over the girl's head, Hadley seemed to feel the same anxiety, stepping out in front as if to guard her.
It was past the time for the evening meal, and the fires beside many of the wagons were being banked for the night. Hobbled mares nickered in the twilight as they grazed on the new spring grass. From the high meadow Brindle had chosen for his camp Duncan could see miles of long ridges, like massive waves on a moonlit sea. A ribbon of silver snaked toward the east, the river the settlers called the Juniata. From a teamster camp came the low tones of a fiddle. Somewhere someone read a newspaper out loud, in the tone of a village crier, so that all within earshot knew that in Philadelphia the first lightning arresters, invented by the estimable Dr. Franklin, had recently been installed, and that Mr. Hoyle had published new rules for the playing of whist.
A hulking figure with a musket stood by a tall stump choked with vines near the campsite. "An tusa a tha ann," the sentry murmured.
Duncan had taken two more steps toward the magistrate's wagon before realizing the greeting was in the Highland tongue. "McGregor? What brings you so far from the fort?"
"The Ligonier garrison be responsible for the safety of the convoy," replied the big Scot, looking at the limp girl as Duncan handed her to Hadley. "And the major was right put out by my speaking up at the trial. He said walking to Lancaster and back would suit me and my squad just fine. He sent a company to patrol north of the road, to clear out the raiders from the path of the delegations."
Duncan considered McGregor's position, and his words. If he were worried about Huron raiders, he would be patrolling the edge of the forest. "Surely the camp of the magistrate is not in jeopardy."
"There was a wee fracas yesterday. The prisoner was walking behind his honor's wagon when he was set upon by the Virginians with clubs."
Duncan's jaw tightened and he found himself staring at Hadley, who looked with shame at the ground. "How does he fare?"
"The savages in the convoy came to the chiefs assistance. 'Twas not a moment for treaty negotiation, ye might say."
"Is he injured?"
When McGregor offered no reply, Duncan took a step toward the wagon.
"She won't let anyone near," the sergeant said to his back.
Not understanding, Duncan approached the rear gate of the huge wagon, one of the heavy ones made along the Conestoga River near Lancaster. Something flew past his head. Something else struck him in the cheek. The third projectile he caught. A stale biscuit, hard as rock.
"You be getting the pitchfork next if you come near the chieP." came a furious, high-pitched challenge. "The Philadelphia Quakers be here!" the voice added, as if it were the ultimate threat.
Hadley hurried to Duncan's side, holding the unconscious girl. "Becca, we have your Mokie," the Virginian said into the shadows. "The raiders attacked."
The wagon creaked, then Becca materialized out of its deep shadows. She moaned as she saw her daughter, then lifted the girl inside. Duncan and Hadley followed her into the wagon, down an aisle between sacks of flour and other supplies as she laid Mokie down beside Skanawati, asleep next to a large basket that held the infant boy. The baby named Penn was wide awake, gazing at the flame of a candle lantern.
Duncan lifted the lantern and studied the Indian's injuries as best he could without disturbing him. Cuts and bruises on his shoulders, scrapes from the manacles that cut into his ankles, nothing more. "The other Indians," he whispered to Becca, "why aren't they helping to guard him?"
"They did, all day. But when they came to camp tonight they stayed but a few minutes and left, looking like they had seen a ghost. A chief in a fox cap kept muttering something like a prayer, another aimed loud, angry words at the magistrate in the tribal tongue." Duncan saw now that Skanawati's hand was closed around the amulet that hung from his neck. He turned to leave and was restrained by a hand on his arm. "You're a medical man," the woman said beseechingly.
"She has a concussion," Duncan told her. "A bruising of the brain. Some say it means the flux between the inner and outer lobes has been blocked." He saw the pain in Becca's eyes. "Could be hours, Becca, could be days. Even if she were with the best doctors in Philadelphia there would be nothing more a medical man could do. The best thing for her is what only her mother can give her."
Becca choked back tears, then returned to her daughter, lifted her head on her lap, and began stroking her hair, a moment later beginning a soft, whispered song. As he turned to leave he saw that Skanawati was watching through half-opened eyes. The Iroquois prisoner, he suspected, had been awake the entire time.
Outside, Conawago stood near McGregor, surveying the campsite, slowly walking around the six-foot stump that was serving as his sentry post. Confused as to why his friend would not want to see Skanawati, Duncan approached and had opened his mouth with the question when three dark figures appeared by the campfire. Magistrate Brindle consulted briefly with McGregor, who pointed at Duncan, then the Quaker leader called for Duncan to join him at his campfire, which the two other men were feeding with fresh wood.
The magistrate, clearly distracted, quickly introduced his two companions, whom Duncan had seen at Ligonier. Felton, the lanky man who had hovered by Brindle in the major's office, guided the supply wagons that served the provincial sutler's post at Fort Pitt. He had the air of a Philadelphia gentleman, yet moved like a woodsman. Felton nodded at Duncan, then tossed him a piece of the jerked beef he pulled from his belt pouch. The stocky man was Brindle's brother-in-law Henry Bythe, the representative of the province at Pitt. At Brindle's request Duncan explained what he had found at the marker trees, then Hadley described the skirmish on the Monongahela. He was nearly done when Brindle looked up, as if just registering the Virginian's words.
"You say the savages stole Captain Burke's body?" he asked, visibly shaken.
"Taken by the Indians," Hadley confirmed. "I shudder to think to what end."
Brindle shook his head. "'Tis an ill wind that blows in these mountains," he said. "The Indians have all shifted their campfires tonight, as if our presence offended them."
"The raiders would never attack us with so many in our party, uncle," Felton observed. "Their way is to strike where they have the advantage in numbers then disappear into the forest."
Brindle fell silent, his face grave. It wasn't their safety that so worried him. He had one overriding concern on this journey, Duncan knew, and his mood meant he suspected that the treaty was already in jeopardy.
As Conawago sat beside them at the fire Brindle lifted a lantern and stepped to the wagon to investigate his charges. "The wolf shall dwell with the lamb," he observed as he returned, "the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and a little child shall lead them."
Duncan's gaze moved back to Conawago. His friend was upset about something, even deeply disturbed. It was not simply that he was convinced that Skanawati was innocent. Something else, unseen by Duncan, was out of balance. The men around the fire fell into a long silence, broken finally by Brindle's invocation of another Psalm. "Why do the heathen rage," he recited toward the flames, "and the people imagine a vain thing?"
"Now ask the beasts, and they shall teach thee, and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee," came a deep solemn voice in response.
The Quaker looked up with a sad smile. "You surprise me, McCallum."
"'Twas not I, sir," Duncan replied.
Brindle lifted his lantern, taking notice of Conawago for the first time. The shocked expression on his face was unmistakable. He looked back and forth from Duncan to the old Nipmuc as if they were working some trickery on him. "Sir?" he ventured.
Duncan recalled that Conawago had not spoken at his trial. He remembered his own first conversation with the Jesuit-trained Indian, when he had awakened after being snatched from certain death, his eyes covered by the bandage that wrapped a slash in his scalp. He had assumed from his voice that his rescuer had been a well-educated English gentleman.
"I too enjoy the Old Testament," Conawago said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you know the remainder of the verse?"
"It is job, is it not?" Brindle tossed more wood on the fire, as if he needed to see better.
The Indian nodded. "Speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee ... "
Brindle, although clearly accustomed to teaching by means of the scriptures, seemed confused. "What is your meaning, sir?"
"He discovereth deep things out of darkness," Conawago continued, "and bringeth out to light the shadow of death."
It wasn't the attention Brindle was paying to Conawago that caused Duncan to consider the Quaker with new respect, but rather the sincerity with which he sought to understand the old Indian. "What is the particular light you offer, sir?"
"You must move this camp.'
Brindle turned for a moment to Duncan, then to his nephew Felton as if for help. "We will break camp at dawn, of course."
"No. Tonight, if you value the hearts of your allies."
Conawago, looking grim, stood and extended his hand for the lantern. Brindle hesitated only a moment before complying. Following him toward the tall stump, he watched in confusion as Conawago pulled away the vines that remained on it. McGregor brought another lantern. Scores of marks revealed themselves on the high stump, some symbols of animals, others just notches and lines, many Xs with smaller circles or triangles over their tops.
Felton offered an exclamation of wonder. "I must have driven past this post thirty times," he muttered, then ran his fingers over the carvings.
"Gaondote, it is called in Iroquois," Conawago explained, then fell silent as he moved the lantern along the rows of markings. His expression grew heavy, and for a moment Duncan saw the patient torment of the sin eaters he had known as a boy. At last the old Nipmuc looked up, as if shaking off his visions. "A war post. Used by raiding parties to tether prisoners. This one was used for many years, over generations. The Xs indicate prisoners, the marks above them signifying if they were male or female. Many were fated to be finished at the stake. They would know early in their captivity, for their faces would be blackened with soot. Throughout their entire journey the marked ones understood it would end with their being burned alive."
Conawago looked up at Brindle. "Though you may not sense the pain and darkness in this place, I assure you those of the tribes do. The fear, the hate, it all still lives here. The tribes assume you chose this place to torment Skanawati. You have an Iroquois prisoner proceeding to his death on a British rope."