The old Indian acknowledged him with a slight nod, then solemnly pointed to the trail and began a slow trot toward the north. Duncan squatted by the fire a moment before following, cupping the smoke in his hand as he knew Conawago must have done, washing it over his face.
The old Indian did not speak the few times they paused to rest, but somehow Duncan did not expect him to. He was in mourning still, for the dead who had been killed again by the Ramsey men. He had made no more lacerations on his limbs, and, to Duncan’s relief, those he had made were healing well, though they gave the old man a fierce aspect, the look of an ancient and awful warrior.
As they sat on a high, stony ridge, silently sharing a piece of bread from the mission, Duncan began to notice the wariness in Conawago’s eyes. Pushing ever northward, he watched uncomfortably as the old Indian knelt several times to study the trail, sometimes pressing his ear to the ground. Suddenly he gestured Duncan off the well-used path, leading him at a run to a smaller parallel game trail on the ridge above, then pausing at a stout oak to gaze back, his hand on his club.
The explanation came half an hour later, as they moved along a series of high outcroppings. They had slowed to a walk, Duncan in front, and he had cleared the end of a long pile of huge boulders when he spotted a solitary figure moving at a steady lope nearly a hundred yards away on the main trail. It was an Indian, adorned not unlike those he had seen at the army headquarters, a musket strapped upside down on his back. When he turned to point the man out to Conawago, his friend was nowhere to be seen.
“There is-” he began, then a figure materialized in the air, leaping onto Duncan, knocking him to the ground, clamping a small hand over his mouth. Duncan frantically tried to free himself, then realized his assailant was not trying to hurt him, but was using his free hand to cover them both with dried leaves. A small face appeared near his own, aimed not at Duncan but at the trail below. It was Alex.
A moment later more figures appeared. Alex tensed, seemed to stop breathing. Twenty-four, Duncan counted, all appearing much the same as the first, except for two men in the center who wore white fringed tunics with green wool caps and green leggings. They all trotted at a uniform pace, fleet and silent as deer.
For five minutes after the party had passed, the only part of Alex that moved was his eyes. His hand stayed clamped on Duncan’s mouth. He made no effort to shift the debris from their prostrate bodies.
Finally came a low, warbling whistle behind them, and the boy was up, brushing off his clothes.
“They won’t hurt you, Alex,” Duncan said to the boy. “I know they must terrify you after all they-”
The boy ignored Duncan, stepped eagerly to Conawago’s side. They clamped their forearms together, their hands gripping near the elbow in a silent, emotional greeting. There was a new aspect to the boy, a feral quality that had been absent at the mission. He had unthreaded the sleeves of his shirt and removed them, leaving his arms bare. A length of rope hung around his waist, from which hung a small pouch. Around his neck was a necklace woven of familiar tawny hair. Alex had braided it from the hair of his ox.
“I thought you had grown more particular about your scalp,” Conawago chastised Duncan.
“But they were like-” Duncan suddenly felt weak. He lowered himself onto a rock. Despite his first impression, obviously they had not been like Conawago, not like the army Indians.
“Hurons. And a few Abenaki, if I’m not mistaken. Two French soldiers, at least one an officer. If they’d seen us, we wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. They are not inclined to be merciful, or to take prisoners, this deep in enemy territory.”
Duncan fought a shudder. “A raiding party? Why here? The farms are along the river.”
“Raids on farms are usually by just a handful of Hurons,” Conawago replied. “Which means the better question is why a party so large should be here at all. A party that size acts as skirmishers between units of the main armies. But the armies are far north of here, where General Wolfe is moving on Quebec. They shouldn’t be here.”
They shouldn’t be here, Duncan repeated to himself, just as they shouldn’t even know who Duncan was. But they were here, and the French were paying the Hurons to kill him.
Five hours later Duncan was about to drop from exhaustion when Conawago abruptly halted his relentless pace, dropping to a knee beside a fallen tree. Again Duncan knew the old Indian had seen, or sensed, something invisible to him. It was evening. They had been climbing a series of ledges that rose stairlike up a steep ridge, eating dried meat on the run. In the still air came the call of a bird, a low, two-tone whistle, which caused Alex’s head to snap up with a broad grin. Conawago answered the call, and a figure in green emerged from behind a rock a hundred feet ahead.
Captain Woolford looked worn out. The left side of his face bore a long bruise; one hand was wrapped in a bloodstained rag. He offered a weary nod, then led them to a campsite nestled among rock outcroppings beside a fast-moving spring. It was a base camp of some kind, Duncan realized, for inside the shadows of an overhanging ledge he spied several leather pouches, a kettle, and half a dozen rolled blankets.
After greeting the boy with a long, silent embrace and conferring in low, hurried tones with Conawago, the ranger confronted Duncan.
“Do you have any idea what Ramsey will do to you when he catches up?” Woolford snapped. “You’re going to wish you had chosen to stay on the ship and face Jamaica. With fifty pounds on your head, you’ll probably be better off if it is Ramsey who takes you. He is paying for you alive, but barely alive will be good enough for him.”
“I must start traveling with a clerk,” Duncan replied, his voice heavy with fatigue, “to keep tally of all those who wish me harm.” He decided to tell the ranger about the French bounty on him, leaving the officer gazing in confusion at him. “Now let me see that hand,” Duncan said in conclusion.
The ranger did not object as Duncan unwrapped the makeshift bandage. It had been an ugly gash across the back of the hand, but was healing well. Duncan did some quick calculation. “This was done not long after you left Edentown.”
Woolford gestured to Duncan’s own wound along his temple. “It could have been the same knife that did that. They jumped me at a stream. They had more blades, I had faster legs. And they knew nothing of reloading on the fly.” He sensed the question in Duncan’s eye. “Rangers are trained to load while running, at least one shot a minute, including time to twist about and aim.” His gaze settled on Alex, who was helping Conawago light a fire. “How does he fare?”
“I left him at the mission this morning, thinking he was lost to the world of men. Three hours later he just appeared from thin air. Saved my life. Or more accurately, kept my foolishness from killing us all.”
“The Hurons aren’t supposed to be here. Headquarters tells me all the French Indians have been called back north, to harass Wolfe’s army marching on Quebec. When I sent an urgent message reporting they were wrong, that every farm from Edentown to German Flats has been raided, all I got back were orders to move north myself.” Woolford explained that he had already dispatched most of his men north, then studied the forest with a worried expression. “One of my men had been tracking this party. They were headed north and changed course three days ago, turned back for here.”
“Why?”
Woolford shook his head in frustration. “It’s like a war within a war.”
“We must be close to Stony Run,” Duncan declared.
“No more than ten miles now.”
They fell silent again. “If he had lived, Adam would have found a way to be there now, because of his wife,” Duncan said with a tone of query.
“Because of his wife,” Woolford agreed. “If things had been different.”
It had been one of the many layers of mystery surrounding Adam Munroe. But Duncan had finally realized that he had kept his wife a secret because she was part of the secret of his Indian captivity, because he had married while with the Indians. “Will she be there?” Duncan asked.