Duncan dropped to his knees, joining Conawago's search of the loose forest debris beneath the nail. They quickly uncovered another skeletal hand. Though it was incomplete, the bones remaining at the center of the palm were crushed. Conawago gave a low whistle, then blew debris away from more bones. Another hand, clutching a large, tarnished compass. And several small brass buttons.
Suddenly Hadley was beside Duncan, staring at the compass, then extending his hand to touch the nail, halting, the fingers trembling before hastily withdrawing as he saw the dark stain on the wood below the nail.
Duncan extracted the nail with his tomahawk and studied the buttons, worked with a pattern of leaping fish, before dropping them into his pouch and turning to face Hadley. "If you came for the truth," he said to the Virginian, pointing to the collapsed Dutchman, "you'll have to start with him."
Van Grut did not look at them, just clutched his arms together and huddled over the little fire. He was visibly shivering.
Duncan, feeling an unexpected anger, leapt forward, yanking the Dutchman up by his shoulder. Dragging him to the far side of the tree, he pulled away tendrils that had partially obscured another set of carvings, six geometric shapes. Van Grut did not react when Duncan reached into his linen bag to extract his journal. He quickly turned to a sketch of still another boundary tree. Previously he had looked for the signs on the sketched trees, now he read the detailed description. It had had a nail driven into the trunk, approximately three feet from the ground.
"Why is someone killing the surveyors?" he demanded.
Van Grut stared at the shapes with wild, frightened eyes. He began to tremble again.
Conawago rested a hand on Duncan's arm. "I will make tea," he suggested.
Taking an ember from the small fire by the cairn, Conawago quickly lit a cooking fire beyond the log. As he set his little copper pot to boil, Duncan, joined by the old Indian, probed the forest floor near where they had found the fresh skulls. Ten minutes later Van Grut let himself be led to the fire, where he silently accepted a tin mug of tea.
"You said there were other surveyors," Duncan prodded. "You never said what happened to them." He dropped a new discov- cry in front of the Dutchman, a small moccasin of fine doeskin, once exquisitely decorated with dyed quillwork, now stained and mildewed.
Van Grut took a deep sip of the tea before answering. "My employers did not provide many details. It was the sutler in Carlisle where I bought supplies on the company account who spoke of the others, said surveyors must be cheaper by the half dozen. He shared some rum when I sketched his wife and gave him the rendering." He stared into his mug.
"There were three others he knew of in the past few months," he continued. "One named Townsend, the first, a friend of the Iroquois, who was reported dead by misadventure in the wilderness. Another called Cooper, from Connecticut, who traveled with his wife, who was half-Iroquois, half-French, from the Iroquois towns. Very young, very pretty, he said. The only other I know of was the former infantry officer named Putnam, from Philadelphia." Duncan closed his eyes a moment. Townsend and Putnam. Skanawati had mentioned finding dead Europeans on the trail.
"They were to be given tracts of land in payment for their efforts," Van Grut continued. "I asked for cash money, to pay for my travels. It was a big tract, and the Virginians were in a great hurry to get their claims registered. Using only one surveyor could easily have taken over a year."
"Why the hurry?"
"I didn't ask. The job they were offering fit my plans perfectly." Van Grut thought for a moment. "Because of the constant disputes between Pennsylvania and Virginia over land claims. Because no one gets any more big tracts until the Virginia tract is settled. Because the victories over the French have whetted voracious appetites for western lands. Because of the treaty," he added after a moment.
"Did you ask what happened to the others?"
"Like I said, it is a huge tract. I assumed they were working elsewhere."
"Did they assign you only one section then?"
"I was to describe the last fifty miles of the trail, then write my report. I was not inclined to ask questions. It was a great boon, to have my expenses paid for my explorations of the west."
Duncan stared at the Dutchman, certain he knew more than he was letting on. "Were you attacked?"
The Dutchman's face darkened. He didn't reply.
"This pour soul was nailed to the tree like Burke, probably practiced on with a knife like Burke. The woman was no doubt bending over to help him when she was struck from behind. It appears she was then dragged to that log and killed, probably had her veins severed while she was unconscious."
"You don't know with certainty that they were murdered," Van Grut argued.
Duncan went back on his knees beside Conawago, searching the ground again. It was the old Indian who found the final evidence, pointing at it with a grim expression. Duncan stared at it for a long, despairing moment before stepping toward the Dutchman.
"No I don't know," Duncan admitted, his voice tight. "Perhaps his mainspring just wound down with no one to wind him up." He dropped the object at Van Grut's feet. A human breastbone into which was embedded a bloodstained clockwork gear. "This is how you will die, Van Grut, unless you tell us all you know."
The color drained from the Dutchman's face.
"They sent you to replace this one who was killed, to work the section of trail north of here. It's only a matter of time before you become another clockwork man. Shall we place you in a box, then wind you up and charge a shilling for a glimpse?"
Van Grut pressed his hand against his chest, as if to protect his heart. He looked as if he would weep.
"Why are surveyors being killed at boundary trees?" Duncan demanded again.
"Burke told me to go to tree four, the next morning after we met. But I had just been paid, hadn't played a game of whist or touched a drop of rum in weeks."
Duncan stepped closer. Finally he understood Van Grut's fear when he had visited the fourth marker tree. "You were sent by Burke to the tree where he died, the same morning he died? Except you got drunk instead?"
Van Grut nodded, closing his eyes.
"We could sit until nightfall," came Conawago's quiet voice, "and not list all those with complaints against boundary markers and surveyors. Elsewhere the British and French may fight each other because their kings hate each other. But here they fight over the rights to land. When the French leave, the war over land will continue, just fought in different ways. Half a dozen companies already compete for these territories, subject to few laws and fewer lawmen. The Virginians compete with the Pennsylvanians, and both oppose the Connecticut and New York companies. The Pennsylvania Susquehanna Company despises the Philadelphia Land Company. The smaller tribes subjugated by the Iroquois resent them for selling their lands, where they traditionally lived. The Susquehannocks, the Conoy, the Shawnee, the Nanticokes, the Delawares consider the transfer of these lands to be invalid. More than a few Iroquois resent the handful of chiefs who sign away possession."
Conawago shrugged. "There are many possible killers, but surely only one effect. Killing the surveyors defeats the Virginia land claims."
As he spoke Conawago had been studying the tree. Now he dropped to his knees and pulled away the vines that covered part of the lower trunk. The markings near the base were nearly obscured by many years' growth of roots and vines. As he began pulling it away from the base of the tree Duncan joined him. Soon they had cleared a radius of several feet around it.