"I hear," said another voice.
Matthew turned around.
Behind him and just to one side stood Walker In Two Worlds.
They stared at each other for a moment, as the fire crackled and blue flames curled.
Walker held up his right hand, in which was gripped the silver watch.
"I like this." His eyes were full of shadow. "I'm sure it was very expensive, in your land." He stepped forward and put the fingers of his left hand under Greathouse's nostrils. "Still alive. I think he must be a very strong man."
"Do they think he'll live?" Matthew motioned with a lift of his chin toward the two women, who stood watching from the far wall.
Walker spoke to them, and one answered. "She says it's too early to tell, but it's a good sign that his soul has decided to stay in his body, at least for now." He looked down upon Greathouse's placid face. "Sleeping well, it seems to me. They gave him some strong medicine. He shouldn't wake again before tomorrow."
"Can they give me something?" Matthew asked. "For my hands and feet. Maybe also to keep me going."
"They do medicine, not " Walker probed his memory for the right word. "Miracles," he said. "You need food and sleep." He spoke once more to the women, and was answered again by the same one. "She says they can put a poultice on your hands and feet and bind them up, yes, but it won't take away all the pain."
"Just so I can walk."
"You won't be doing any walking today. Better to let them work on you, and rest until morning." He nodded toward Greathouse. "Is this man your brother?"
"In a manner of speaking," Matthew replied, "I'd say he is."
"But you betrayed him? And now you seek to make things right?"
Matthew didn't know how much of his confession Walker had heard, but obviously the Indian had caught some of it. "Yes."
"And the man called Slaughter? If I refuse to track him for you, will you still go?"
"I will. He's going to have a long headstart, but he has no shoes. The first thing he's going to do is try to get a pair of boots." Matthew had already given this some thought. Would Slaughter try to get the wagon backed up on the road above Fort Laurens? It would be a hard job for one man. He might try to unharness the horses, but those old nags weren't going to hold a rider. Matthew recalled, with chilling clarity, Slaughter's comment to Reverend Burton: Looks to me as if we'd wear near the same size of boots. You wouldn't have another pair, would you?
Matthew thought that was going to be Slaughter's first destination, but where he would go after that was anyone's guess. Matthew could only hope that Slaughter took just the boots, and left Burton and Tom in one piece.
"You may never find him," Walker said. "You know that, don't you?" "I know I'll never find him if I don't try."
Walker stared into Matthew's eyes for a time, until Matthew uncomfortably felt as if the Indian was gauging the territory of his very soul. "True enough," said Walker. He spoke to the medicine sisters, who acknowledged him by going about business that involved pouring some of the contents-different kinds of tree bark and berries, it appeared to Matthew-from a few of the jars out into a bowl and then grinding the mixture with a pestle made from an animal's bone. "Do you like fish?" Walker asked, and when Matthew nodded he said, "Come on then, there's always some on the coals at " He paused as he put together the correct translation. "Happy River Turtle's house."
As they progressed through the village, Matthew noted that most gave Walker a wide berth, and some averted their faces or clasped their hands over nose or mouth as if to avoid a bad smell. Women picked up children at their approach, and hurried away. A few braves motioned angrily at them, their attention directed specifically to Walker, but Walker paid no heed to his critics and actually laughed harshly in the face of one who came up close enough to spray them with spittle.
"Don't mind them," Walker explained. "This is a show they put on."
Matthew had to ask the question, though he didn't know how to phrase it. So he simply asked it as best he could: "How are you insane?"
Walker looked at the watch as they continued on, and rubbed its silver back with his palm. "I know too much," he answered.
Happy River Turtle indeed must have a fine reputation as a cook, Matthew thought, for there was a crowd around the longhouse he and Walker were approaching. There was an outside fire burning at the center of a communal eating area. It was almost a festive atmosphere, of people drinking from clay cups and hollowed-out gourds and taking from the fire roasted meat and fish on sharpened sticks. It shouldn't have surprised him, he mused, because it was time for the midday meal here just as in New York. He didn't see that any payment was being made for the culinary items, but maybe it was simply on the basis of share-and-share-alike, or that some system of bartering was happening beyond Matthew's understanding. In any case, Walker waded into the throng-which parted for him, and became more sullen until he had passed through-and then returned bearing a stick on which sizzled large chunks of charred white-fleshed fish along with pieces of tomato and peppers. Matthew reasoned they were to share the item, so there was enough to go around.
Matthew sat on the ground to eat the portion that Walker gave him, for his legs were giving out. He felt exhaustion coming upon him, slowly and steadily; it was a process he could not halt, no matter how steadfast his will. As he ate, he couldn't help but go over in his mind again and again the events of the morning. When he could tear his thoughts away from Greathouse's precarious situation and his concerns about Reverend Burton and Tom, he found himself pondering the trick safebox. How had Slaughter managed to rig such a thing? Some kind of explosive device had been concealed in it, yes, but how had the thing worked? And all the time Slaughter had been pretending to fear for his life he'd known that box was in its hole, protected from the damp by all the straw, ready to go off in Greathouse's face. Had Slaughter primed the thing over two years ago, and left it waiting like a bomb? But for what reason? His fear that Indians might dig it up? Slaughter couldn't have known he wouldn't be back to his cabin that day he was captured, so perhaps the box was primed to go off when and if an Indian tried to open it. But what had been inside to make it explode? Matthew wished he could get a look at it, just to satisfy his curiosity.
His hands were stiffening up. He finished his food, grateful to get something in his stomach, and then struggled to his feet again. Walker remained a few yards away, crouched on his haunches as he ate. No one had dared to come anywhere near either of them. Matthew watched Walker as the Indian stared out impassively toward the other villagers. Insane? Because he knew too much? Matthew noted that Walker kept firm hold of the watch, and gazed at it every so often. In admiration, or for some other reason? It was hard to tell. Equally hard to tell was whether Walker had decided to help him or not. If not, then Matthew was on his own, but he had to keep going. Tomorrow morning he would set out, no matter what. First to the reverend's house, and then?
He wasn't sure. Would Slaughter head back for the Philadelphia Pike, or toward the nearest settlement, which would be the trading post at Belvedere? It seemed to Matthew that once Slaughter got boots on his feet his next item he'd try to get was a horse that could carry him at a reasonable speed. If that happened, the chance of catching up with him became even less likely.
Matthew felt that if he closed his eyes for just a second and reopened them, all this might fade away and reveal itself to be nought but a bad dream brought on by the experience-long ago, it seemed now-at the