"Because he believes the Virginian claims are defeated. They will have to be satisfied with the return of prisoners and nothing else," Duncan said, looking at Skanawati. His fellow prisoner had taken an apple to the window and was eating with no sign of listening. "Now Ramsey needs the Iroquois to think it is Pennsylvania who controls the life of their chief."
"But why?"
"So Pennsylvania will receive the condolence offering, to the benefit of the Susquehanna Company. The tighter Ramsey makes the noose, the greater the offer when the tribes finally step in to save his life."
"The tribes have so little to offer a man like that."
"They have the only thing he desires," Conawago said. "Do you forget he has become the biggest shareholder in the Susquehanna Company?"
"The land," Hadley said in a hollow whisper. "It was always about the land, wasn't it?"
"Ramsey resents the fact that some of the noble families received proprietary colonies in the last century. He means to make his own." Ramsey, if nothing else, was predictable. He tried the year before to steal a colony for himself in western New York and was now seeking the same in the lands west of the Pennsylvania colony.
"He has made an understanding with the western tribes. He has told the Pennsylvania delegation that those Indians will rebel against their Iroquois masters if they must leave without treasure."
Duncan looked at Hadley in confusion. "No. I don't believe it."
Conawago shook his head. "Ramsey has a piece of paper with the marks of half a dozen western chiefs on it."
"My God," Duncan said, realization sweeping over him as he recalled the new fowling piece he had seen Long Wolf carrying. "He will flood the western chiefs with rum and guns to get their support. He means to drive a wedge between them and the Iroquois."
Duncan turned to Conawago. "You have to explain to Old Belt. You have to make him see the shadow descending upon the Iroquois, make him understand how Ramsey seeks to undermine him with the western tribes. Make him ask Long Wolf to look into his heart." He paused, looking to Hadley. "How do you know these things about Ramsey?"
"Mokie," the Virginian replied uneasily. "She hears things now."
"Hears things? I told you to keep her close."
"I tried. She was in Brindle's rooms in one of the great residence halls. But the Moravians in charge of the accommodations claimed she was needed to help with other guests, and she went away, willingly. We didn't know she was being dispatched to their most important visitor. Ramsey made a large contribution to the Moravians here, is not likely to be denied favors. Now she is in his household, for his tenure at Bethlehem. Ramsey was making light, saying what a valuable girl she is. He described how a mouse had appeared in his room and Mokie pulled a pebble from her pocket and threw it, killing the creature."
Something in his words nagged at Duncan.
"Al yi," Conawago sighed and looked to Duncan. "With a bigger stone a man could fall."
The memory of their night at the ochre bed washed over him. "She was there!" he gasped. "In the camp of the renegades, the night before Burke was killed!"
An hour before sunset they heard the rumble of the bar being slid out of its brackets. The door cracked open to reveal the ruddy face of Sergeant McGregor. In his hand were two long sections of handwrought chain. "I have explained to the honorable magistrate that without fresh air ye may just wither like last year's roses," he said good-naturedly. One end of each chain was already affixed to a set of horse hobbles, which were quickly buckled onto the prisoners. Once the men were outside, the other ends were fastened to a heavy iron ring built into the side of the building. Sentries stood at a distance in front of and behind the building. Like dogs in a kennel, Duncan thought to himself, but he nodded gratefully, then even more vigorously when McGregor produced two clay pipes and a small pouch of tobacco and sent a soldier for a burning brand to light them.
Moments after Duncan and Skanawati had taken seats on upturned fire logs, smoking their borrowed pipes, two familiar figures emerged from the shadows. Duncan had forgotten that Reverend Macklin had left Shamokin for meetings with Moravian elders, but now Duncan stood for a warm handshake. Moses, at the German's side, bent and stirred Skanawati from his contemplation of the clouds. The Onondaga greeted the Christian Indian like an old friend, gripping his forearm tightly.
"I should have recognized that a meeting with elders meant Bethlehem," Duncan said to the German.
"I am grieved to find you in chains," Macklin replied. "I know you well enough to know it is undeserved."
"You do me kindness, sir," Duncan replied, then remembered one of the reasons Macklin had gone to the church elders. "Have you found your missing missionary, Reverend?"
"We have not," came the German's unhappy answer. "But Sister Leinbach has been appearing in my dreams. She calls me from a distance, as if in a long tunnel. As if," he added, "she has unfinished business." Macklin gazed up at the evening sky a moment then said unexpectedly, "It is why I asked those Scottish guards if I might speak with you."
"But I know nothing-"
Macklin held up his hand. "I have heard of the terrible end of that Shawnee in Philadelphia. He and Ohio George were the worse of a bad lot. Old Belt brought back his kit, from that barn where he was sleeping."
"I saw it," Duncan said. "A deck of cards. Some of those Shamokin nails. Ribbons."
"And a cross."
Duncan nodded as he remembered. "A simple gold cross on a strand of beads."
"He showed it to us because it seemed a missionary's cross. The sisters have confirmed it was hers, from her last mission with the Seneca. Sister Leinbach was wearing it when she left here nearly three years ago."
"I'm sorry." Duncan puffed on his pipe and looked over at the two Indians. Skanawati was looking up at the sky again as he listened to Moses speak in low, quick tones in their native tongue. "Red Hand gambled. On the frontier such a valuable could have changed hands twenty times in a month." Skanawati leaned back. Duncan followed his gaze toward a circling hawk. He was, Duncan realized, looking for his raven.
"But whom did he gamble with?"
Duncan lowered his pipe. "His band. Ohio George. Some Hurons they sometimes ran with in the wilds."
"And if I understand what Mr. Hadley has explained to me, someone from Philadelphia. A person who knew the comings and goings of Philadelphia surveyors. Suppose such a person," the Moravian said gravely, "also knew the comings and goings of our missionaries. I believe Samuel Felton was brought back to his family three years ago."
The kernel of truth in Macklin's words began to take hold. Duncan nursed his pipe a moment as he contemplated the genteel Moravian town. "In Pennsylvania, if a European youth is freed from the Indians, might he come here, for the transition home?"
"It is not only possible, it is almost certain. The governor favors us with the task, knowing we have our feet in both worlds. Our schools have many children orphaned in raids, more than a few rescued from Indian raiders."
Duncan leaned toward Macklin with new interest. "Would your Sister Leinbach have worked with them?"
"Of course. It was, one might say, her speciality. The elders prescribe a regimen for all students that teaches them about the tribes. The Indians learn from us English and German, and returnees often need to be taught the same. It takes one who has lived among the tribes to truly understand the returnees. Sister Leinbach's husband was with the Seneca when smallpox hit them. He died tending to them, and she insisted on carrying on his work."