"My God!" came a terrified voice behind him, "this place is cursed for Virginians!" Hadley was gasping, shaking with fear.
Duncan studied the figures ahead and saw that it was, indeed, the small party of returning militia who were under attack. "Do you know how to shoot that thing?" Hadley had at least had the presence of mind to bring his musket.
"It isn't loaded," the Virginian confessed in a voice cracking with fear. He pulled out the ramrod and reached for a ball and cartridge, but his hand shook so much half the powder spilled out of the barrel. Duncan took the ammunition and finished the job as Van Grut arrived, clutching his fowling piece.
"What else do you have in your kit?" Duncan demanded as he noticed the pack on Hadley's back. As the Virginian dumped it onto the ground Duncan probed the contents with his foot, keeping one eye on Conawago, who was creeping closer to the skirmish. He bent and lifted a small piece of carved bone. Hadley had kept the end of the Iroquois signal arrow shot at the trial. Duncan studied the whistle for only a moment before speaking in a low, urgent voice, then made Hadley and Van Grut repeat his instructions before sprinting forward.
Seconds later he was beside the old Nipmuc. Duncan quickly explained his plan, bringing a cool grin to Conawago's face, then stole away to another rock formation a hundred feet away. A moment later an odd raspy sound, the call of a shrike, rose from Conawago's hiding place. Duncan repeated the call and saw one of the raiders pause and look fearfully toward them just as Hadley sounded the Iroquois whistle, followed an instant later by the flat crack of Van Grut's gun. Hadley blew again, then fired his own gun.
Duncan had no faith in the marksmanship of his companions, had told them to simply aim in the general direction of the raiders, but he took a moment to sight his own rifle, selecting a tall Huron who bent over an unseen body with his knife. He hit where he aimed, in the shoulder of the knife arm, knocking the man onto his back. A moment later, as the Iroquois whistle sounded again, the man struggled to his feet, clutching his shoulder, then he shouted several syllables, and the raiders faded into the shadows.
The joy with which the two Virginians still on their feet greeted Hadley disappeared as Duncan explained the ruse, mimicking the signals favored by Mohawk warriors, the fiercest of the Iroquois nations.
"There's no one else?" the younger of the two moaned. "We're all dead! Attacked by a hundred at least!"
"No more than fifteen," Conawago said, then joined Duncan in examining the four men on the ground. Two were dead, two had flesh wounds. "And these Hurons will flee for miles before wondering why they are not pursued. Get across the river with your wounded, find a cave for the night. No fire until you reach Fort Cumberland."
"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."