Duncan realized there was something else in Mokie's pouch. A chill went down his spine as he upended it and a clock gear tumbled out.
"That was there when we received it," Becca quickly explained. "We never understood. But it wasn't ours. We didn't dare remove it."
"The gears," came Hadley's frightened whisper as he looked toward Duncan. The Virginian understood the reason. The killers had stopped the Indians from pursuing them with lumps of molten metal. Here was another defense in case the slaves were taken. "Word already spread about the killings, and the gears in the bodies. If they found such a gear with escaped slaves," Hadley said with a shudder, they will assume it is the slaves doing the killing. None will ever be brought back alive."
By the time Duncan had discussed his discoveries with Conawago, the magistrate's massive wagon was nearly half a mile down the road, the treaty caravan already stretching nearly a mile before and behind it, lines of Indians on either side like an honor guard for the prisoner. Shamokin, Conawago quickly explained, was the population center for both the tribes of the Susquehanna and the southern villages of the Six Nations themselves, the southern capital, as it were, of the Iroquois empire. At least a dozen tribes were represented there, as well as sutlers who sold wares to the Indians, missionaries, fur traders, and Pennsylvania's Fort Augusta, guarding the colony's northern border, sometimes garrisoned with militia.
"This news of Shamokin," Duncan said, studying his friend's face, "brings you new worry. Why?"
Conawago seemed reluctant to reply. "We should go, Duncan. Back into the forest. That is our place, that is where my work lies."
"Why?" Duncan pressed.
"Because Shamokin is full of renegades and outlaws. And there will be many there who oppose a new land treaty, whether or not the Grand Council seeks to sign it."
Duncan began his loping run toward Brindle's wagon with the intention of warning the magistrate, but by the time he reached it he realized there was someone else he must speak with first. Long Wolf, the chieftain of the Iroquois living in the Ohio lands, was walking beside the team, admiring the heavily muscled mules.
"You spoke last night of a French shaman," Duncan said. "Where will I find this man?"
"He is a man of powerful medicine. He goes where he wishes."
"If you were to seek him where would you start?"
"Do not seek to interfere with the work of nations," came a stern reproach from behind. He turned and looked into the wrinkled face of Old Belt.
"Did you not come here," Duncan asked, "because you think the treaty important?"
"There is a covenant chain that links our peoples since the days of my father's father. We protect their borders. The British provide us with clothing and goods." Old Belt cast a long, worried glance toward the wagon where Skanawati lay in manacles.
"What happens to the chain when the British decide the Iroquois are killing all their surveyors? There will never be another treaty.
"But we are not killing surveyors. We will tell the British so."
"If I place a burning ember in your hand and tell you it is ice, which will you heed, your hand or your ear? Someone is making it appear that the Iroquois are killing the surveyors. If they succeed you will return home with empty hands, Skanawati dead, and the covenant chain shattered."
The two chiefs spoke with each other in low, worried tones. "Shamokin," Old Belt finally announced. "The Frenchman you seek is in Shamokin."
Duncan spent another half hour in search of the magistrate, who had ridden forward to hurry the convoy along. When he finally came upon Brindle's large black mare, his nephew was leading it. Felton explained that his uncle had joined a group of teamsters trying to hoist a heavy wagon to shift a broken wheel.
"Impossible," the magistrate replied when Duncan explained his proposal. "I will not surrender escaped slaves to you. And I will not let you force us into greater difficulties. Already the treaty hangs by a thread, the Virginians ready to steal away Skanawati to hang him, the Iroquois ready to attack them if they try. I will not entertain your fantasy that some broader conspiracy is afoot."
"Only Mokie need go with us. Let Mr. Hadley accompany us so that you can tell the Virginians she is in the custody of a member of the Burke family."
"Us?"
"Van Grut and Conawago will come with me."
"Mr. Hadley is an official record keeper of the treaty proceedings. And of the trial."
"You will take nearly a week to reach Lancaster at the speed of these wagons, more days to organize the proceedings. Give us fast horses to get to the river and we can meet you there with no disturbance to your schedule."
"I will not have you destroy my treaty over a few rumors," Brindle replied in an insistent tone.
"The government of this colony cannot make light of this trial. You know it will need to be precise, correct in every detail, if you are to carry out justice and still maintain relations with the Iroquois. Letting us go shows them that Europeans are trying to get to the bottom of this affair. Do not forget I can offer the precision of science in my report."
Brindle looked at Duncan with new interest but said nothing.
"Of course," Duncan continued, "a scientific expert is duty bound to tell the complete story. I will speak of another murder, at a different boundary tree, exhibiting the same method. Hanging one man for one act in the drama will solve nothing. The Iroquois will be wrathful, as will the Virginians. When the truth reaches Philadelphia you won't find a surveyor ready to set foot in the wilderness for years to come. And when the treaty is ruined the news will be passed on to the king and the Parliament, to the proprietor," he added, referring to the heir of the godlike William Penn. "You will have single-handedly brought to pass the worst interruption in relations with the Iroquois since the covenant chain was formed over a century ago."
For the first time since Duncan had known him he saw heat on the Quaker's face. He had gone too far. "You are insolent, McCallum! A feral Scotsman does not dictate affairs of state!" As Brindle fixed Duncan with an angry gaze his nephew rode up, leading the magistrate's horse.
"The Scottish highlands were scoured clean of resistance in but a few short years," Duncan shot back. "The Pennsylvania wilds and the western forest are vastly bigger. It will take twenty, maybe thirty years to clean them out if the Iroquois fight back. Thousands will die. Expansion of your province will be a distant dream if you alienate the tribes. Fort Pitt will be gone in a day if they choose to attack."
"The biggest threat to our treaty conference is you yourself, Mr. McCallum. I should have heeded Major Latchford's warnings and banned you from our company." Brindle paused. "Before we left Ligonier the major informed me he had sent a dispatch rider to Philadelphia with written inquiries about you."
Brindle mounted, but before riding away he gestured Felton on and turned back to Duncan. "For many weeks Mr. Bythe has been investigating the matters that so upset you. He is fully capable of reconciling the facts to appease the tribes. The tribes will see that we of Philadelphia are their true friends, and the army can stop troubling itself."
"The army?" Duncan asked uneasily.
"You cannot use a smith's hammer against the hornet when it stings."
"Sir?"
"The army is incapable of dealing with stealth, with spies. Bythe knows the tribes, and the nature of the war. It was not by coincidence he was sent to run the provincial outpost at Pitt. He has been collecting evidence of French saboteurs. And if you breathe a word of it I will have you in chains."
"The best chance the French have now is to turn the Iroquois against us," Duncan observed.