"But Mokie," Hadley put in after a moment, "surely they have nothing to fear from Mokie." The Virginian glanced at the girl, walking along the wall with her infant brother in her arms.
"Mokie knows something more," Duncan suggested, "information she probably doesn't think important. But something the killers fear. Keep her close."
Skanawati watched the clouds as Duncan spoke, seeming not to listen until Hadley leaned forward. "We have found a lawyer. He will write a formal opinion that Skanawati's confession is not valid."
"But it was given before so many witnesses," Duncan said with an uncertain glance at the Iroquois chief.
"The lawyer says that what is recited before a military tribunal at Fort Ligonier may not be used in a provincial court. The tribunal was convened by the commander of the fort. That Magistrate Brindle sat at his bench does not change the point of law."
"Surely," Duncan said, "the Virginia negotiators will never tolerate this. They must be placated for the treaty to succeed."
Conawago fixed Duncan with a pointed gaze. "Our Virginian friend and I have found a political solution."
Hadley leaned closer to Duncan. "Each of the three partiesVirginia, Pennsylvania, and the Iroquois-must obtain something of value from the treaty. The Virginians wanted the western tract, the Iroquois want their supplies, Pennsylvania wants security on the western frontier."
"Exactly. The Virginians will never give up on hanging Skanawati unless they get their land."
"There is, in fact, another condolence as important to them, something even more important to the citizens of Virginia. Wives and children."
"I'm sorry?"
"Conawago has spoken with the Iroquois chiefs. They calculate over two hundred Virginia prisoners are among the western tribes. Their return will be offered up. The treaty negotiators from Virginia would be tarred and feathered if they ever took land over the return of loved ones. The Iroquois will get their supplies, the Virginians will get the returned prisoners."
"And Pennsylvania?"
"Penn's colony will get the western fortresses it needs to secure the borders."
Duncan spoke loudly, slowly, to be sure Skanawati understood. "You are saying the treaty could be accomplished without any land being ceded by the tribes, without the Virginians taking the land they claim now, without a hanging?"
"All treaties involve compromise. Yes."
Skanawati slowly moved his gaze toward Duncan.
"You can go home to move your village," Duncan said to the Onondaga.
"The Virginians demand that the chief be held until the treaty is signed. For security."
"Then he needs to be removed from the hole he is kept in," Duncan insisted. "I will exchange cells with him."
Hadley and Conawago shared an uneasy glance. "The final negotiations are not to be held in Philadelphia," the Virginian declared. "The tribes are uneasy here, mindful of how many Indians who linger here die of European disease. Some Indians are already gone. And the city fathers are uncomfortable with so many Indians camped at the city edge. There are complaints. Last night there was a march of citizens to the State House demanding their removal. Lord Ramsey met with the governor."
"I don't understand."
"The negotiations are moving north, to the border of Iroquoia, to the town of the Moravians on the Lehigh River. The treaty is to be concluded at Bethlehem, the chief released there when it is signed."
Duncan finally grasped why his friends were not more cheerful in relating their news. With the treaty delegation moving north he would be in Ramsey's hands. He would be denied the final act of the great drama. "The Moravians are more welcoming to the tribes than any others," he said neutrally.
A new voice rose from the end of the bench, from a worker just arrived at the little assembly. "There will still be an inquest at the least into the deaths of Bythe and Townsend. And the Virginians insist we be ready for a trial if there is no resolution to the treaty. Mr. McCallum will be required as a vital witness." As he spoke the man lifted his hat so his face was no longer obscured. Magistrate Brindle's hands were white from the lime being used to scour the cells.
"I don't understand, your honor," Duncan said.
"The trail of ownership of the Susquehanna Company has been deliberately obscured in the official records. But Mr. Hadley's efforts have allowed us to locate several of the former owners, each with a peculiar tale of calamity that forced them to sell, each being called upon by Lord Ramsey's lawyers within days of the disaster." Brindle fixed Duncan with a pointed gaze. "I have this morning written an order for you to be conveyed to Bethlehem with us," the Quaker declared. "The order will be filed in the court when the convoy clears Philadelphia. Whether Ramsey likes it or not, a prisoner of my court is not released until I say so."
"Praise be to God," Mrs. Bythe declared in a loud whisper.
"And will Mr. Felton join us as well?" Duncan asked.
Brindle stiffened. "Of course. Why?"
"Each time we get close to one of the conspirators he dies. The last one was killed by your nephew in plain sight."
"He is a hero for doing so."
"Perhaps."
"You have suffered too many blows to your head, Mr. McCallum," Brindle observed as he rose to leave.
"Think of it, your honor," Duncan said to his back. "Consider the possibility that Felton works for Ramsey. You said he is making investments. How does he do so on the wages of a scout?"
Brindle halted, his head down for a moment, before proceeding out of the compound.
As the others began to leave and the turnkey escorted Skanawati away, Hadley dropped a newspaper on the ground beside Duncan. "All the world says he is a hero."
The front page of the Gazette held a crude print of a man firing a musket at an Indian with flames rising from his back. A Fire of Fair Return, read the headline, over a story of how the brave Samuel Felton had saved a girl, and the city, from a murderous savage.
"I don't understand the headline," Duncan said, looking up at the Philadelphians.
"The poor boy got his revenge," Mrs. Bythe explained. "His turnabout."
"Revenge?"
"Don't you know? Poor Mr. Felton was a prisoner of the savages for many years."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In his scottish prison, before being thrown onto his prison ship, Duncan had spent a week loosening the mortar of a single stone with a stolen nail, then calculated he had but to loosen another five hundred such stones and he would be free. Now as the prison wagon wound its way through the hills and valleys north of Philadelphia he could not help but consider again the many ways he might escape. His conveyance was merely a modified farm wagon, made for transporting livestock, the wooden slats on its sides susceptible to splintering with a welldirected kick, the roof planks weak with knotholes.
But each time he tested the wood he caught sight of Magistrate Brindle riding close, between the wagon and the Virginian soldiers, as if to protect Duncan and Skanawati. Brindle would be held accountable, Brindle would be disgraced if Duncan escaped. Once the treaty was signed there would be time, he told himself. There would be a return trip of two or three days before he was consigned to Ramsey's vengeful custody. Though it meant risking his life, though it meant he would be forever hounded by bounty hunters, he would make the attempt and flee to the deep wilderness, Felton at his heels or no.
In waking nightmares, he saw the ranks of conspirators. Ohio George, Red Hand, and Winston Burke hovered over him, with Ramsey standing behind, Felton fading in and out of his vision. Again and again he convinced himself that the Quaker was the missing link to Ramsey, only to recollect there was no real evidence, that Felton could have simply been playing the role of the bounty hunter, even the part of the civic hero in killing Red Hand. He had obscured his past links to the Indians. Yet no one who had been a captive of the tribes advertised the fact, for the stigma it would give them.