"Not at all," Conawago said as he began stripping to the waist. "The creeks at the end of the Warriors Path are full of iron. The rocks rust, tinting the water. It is a name sometimes used for that section of the Monongahela, which can run reddish there after a storm." He pulled the roll of linen bandages from his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. "Now tie me again around the ribs." Duncan watched his friend's face as he pulled the linen tight over his bruised and tattooed chest. Inevitably there was pain on his countenance but also melancholy, and a strange, urgent determination.
"My God," Duncan said as the realization hit him. "You think Skanawati is innocent."
"Look to your heart, Duncan," Conawago said as he began dressing, "and you will find you do as well."
"He confessed. We saw him that very morning, not far from the murder. He has little warmth for Europeans, probably hates us."
"If not to your heart," Conawago said, "then look to the facts. That Virginian came here to fight Indian raiders. He would never have let a strange warrior get so close without firing a pistol, without struggling somehow."
"Burke changed Van Grut's orders before he died," Duncan suddenly recalled. "He abruptly told him to stay away from the last marker tree even though it is vital for the survey. It surely signals the end of the Warriors Path."
"Survey?" Conawago asked. "Orders?"
As Duncan explained what he had learned from the Dutchman, Conawago offered a small nod of acknowledgement, then he turned and began walking westbound on the road. The bloody water and the last marker tree. The dead captain and Skanawati had both been warning them away from the same place, the terminus of the Warriors Path.
The treaty convoy, bound for Lancaster, had left before dawn on the eastward road, with Skanawati, now in chains, joining the slave woman Becca and her infant in the magistrate's huge Conestoga wagon. Brindle had watched with a tormented expression as Mokie and Becca had to be pried apart by the militia. The magistrate had no grounds for keeping the girl away from the family that owned her. The new commander of the company, the oldest of the Burke nephews, meanwhile had declared that he and Hadley with four of the soldiers would travel with the convoy as treaty representatives, and to assure that Pennsylvania did not slacken in carrying out the justice due the killer. Hadley himself would be expected to provide a vivid chronicle of the murderer's hanging.
It was a drunken teamster, passed out in front of the stable, who had given Duncan hope of a quick journey westward that would still allow them to catch up with the slow-moving eastbound convoy. He had discovered the man's wagon in the back of the building, its rear axle jacked up, a broken wheel waiting to be repaired by the smith. If one of the wagons would lag a day or two behind the convoy, its horses would be idle.
"And why would I part with my brass snuff box?" Van Grut demanded when Duncan proposed he give it to the smith.
"Because these horses are available today. It shall be the fee for borrowing them. With good mounts we can reach your western terminus. With them we can reach the final marker, return them, and still catch up with the convoy."
"Why the convoy?"
"Because we are obligated to Skanawati. Because his confession raises more questions than answers. Because," Duncan added, "the fate of your employment rides with it."
Van Grut frowned. "I still have my orders," he began, then considered Duncan's words. "What do you mean my terminus?"
"The end of your survey line. The place that Burke suddenly warned you away from."
"I tend to respect the words of dead men."
"There is a reason men are dying on the trail. I would have thought you would want to know what it is before you set out alone again." Duncan needed the answers that were still hidden in the information Van Grut had gathered for the land company, but even more, he needed the surveyor's resources to obtain the mounts. "No doubt," Duncan said when Van Grut did not reply, "you wish to investigate alone. With the killer in the magistrate's custody you must have nothing to fear."
Van Grut stared unhappily at Duncan, then muttered a Dutch curse, extracted his snuff box, and called out to the smith.
A quarter hour later they had cleared the gates and turned their horses westward at a steady canter, soon overtaking Conawago, who gratefully climbed onto the spare mount led by Duncan. Now they rode in silence, each looking ahead with grim determination. They had gone less than a mile when Conawago shouted in warning, sending them quickly into a thicket to hide as a rider galloped by. With a sinking feeling Duncan urged his horse out of cover and called the man's name.
Hadley wheeled his horse around and halted, saying nothing as Duncan rode in a tight circle around him.
"Desertion is a hanging offense, Mr. Hadley."
The young Virginian hung his head, not looking at Duncan as he spoke. "I said I remembered the murderer spoke with your friend in an Indian tongue, that the Colonel would expect the details of that conversation."
"That is a lie. You never witnessed such a conversation."
Hadley stared at his horse's head. "I am the one who must record what transpired at the boundary tree. It will be published in Virginia with my name on it."
"You mean your words will become the truth."
Hadley looked up uncertainly.
"I have read many words in my time," Duncan declared. "I have read that Scottish Highlanders are the mongrels of God, descended from sinners cast out of heaven, that all Indians are the offspring of wolves and apes."
Defiance flared in Hadley's eyes. "I will write the complete truth, the wholeness of what happened, or I will not write at all. I desire to accompany you, to learn what you learn."
Duncan stared at the young clerk without reply.
"Conawago was freed," Hadley pointed out.
"Did you or did you not see the vine he had tied on Burke's leg? The bandage he cut from his shirt?"
"I don't know." Duncan said nothing. Then Hadley, biting his lip, spoke again. "Yes. But what was the point of my saying so when ten of my comrades sat ready to testify otherwise?" In that moment Hadley seemed but a young boy who wanted nothing more than to run and hide under his bedclothes. "What you did for Becca and her boy," the young Virginian ventured after a long moment, looking uneasily into the forest, "it was an honorable thing." He sighed deeply.
"Surely, Mr. Hadley, an heir to Virginian plantations is not opposed to slavery?"
Hadley's face flushed. "I would like to ride with you, sir," was all he said.
"We ride to find the truth. You seem interested only in truths that are comfortable to you. Which is no truth at all. You still try to obscure your particular connection to Becca and her children."
"They are my uncle's property."
Duncan wheeled his horse around, his back now to the Virginian.
"My father!" Hadley called out in an anguished tone as Duncan rode away.
Duncan turned in his saddle. "Your father?"
"He is permitted to seek distraction with his brother's slaves when it pleases him. Becca is reserved for him."
Duncan brought his mount so close to Hadley's they touched. "Are you saying that Mokie and Penn are your half sister and brother?"
Hadley, again looking at the ground, nodded. "Weeks ago I discovered my cousin Winston secreting packs in the woods near our fields."
Hadley's announcement was so unlikely Duncan was not certain he had heard correctly. "The late Captain Burke, your cousin, was helping slaves escape to Pennsylvania?"
When Hadley nodded again Duncan whistled his companions from the shadows, then prodded his horse into a westward canter.
It was late afternoon when they reached the Monongahela, leading their nearly spent horses, following Conawago, who studied not the ground but the trees for signs. Finally he tethered his mount to a laurel bush near a beech over five feet in diameter, bearing the now-familiar marks of the boundary trees, including a prominent numeral I.