Eliot Pattison - Bone Rattler

“What things?” Duncan asked, his throat tightening.

“A musket sword.”

Woolford spoke again, in a desolate whisper. “Bayonet. A bayonet in her back.”

The tale opened a frigid chamber inside Duncan’s mind. He was back in Flanders, learning for the first time what the English soldiers had done to his family.

“Sometimes I find a snake in the forest and ask to visit her,” Alex said. “They live in the valley of the butterflies, just like Adam promised they would. By a river, because of Adam.”

“They?” Duncan asked. “Who else is there with her?”

“Adam. He just came a few weeks ago.”

A new chill crept down Duncan’s spine as he exchanged a haunted glance with Woolford.

“What do you mean beside the river, because of Adam?”

Alex looked up uncertainly, then gazed into the embers. “A spirit totem is his secret, not for words of men.”

But Duncan did not need to be told. The beaver. The beaver had been Adam’s sacred sign, the beaver who had been carved on the mast when Adam died, the beaver who swam deep.

“She didn’t want to leave him at the mission that day. Adam said she had to save the ancient thing, or the soldiers would find a way to use it against her people. He promised she would be safe, that there was nothing to worry about, that he knew she would never let go of it, never let it fall into enemy hands, that it would protect her, that if anything happened to her he would know. He vowed on the spirit of their child that if she went to her sacred land before him, he would know and he would join her.” Alex poked at the embers. “Sometimes when I see them, there is a small shape in the shadows behind them. It’s him, I think. Their son.”

There was no sound for a long time, none except the distant lonely call of an owl.

“I killed them,” Alex said in a tiny voice, filled with pain.

“Impossible,” Duncan said.

“I didn’t understand until later, when I heard those soldiers complaining. They had been told there would be a large reward paid for Sarah. They thought I would have family who would pay as well. It’s why they followed, because of me. What they took from her only paid for a few mugs of rum.”

When Duncan finally stirred, Alex was asleep, his head on Conawago’s leg. He rose and stepped across the fire. “You knew about the thing she was protecting, the ancient thing,” he said to Woolford’s back. “You recovered it.”

“Like the boy said, it took awhile to understand. When I did, I rescued it from those who stole it. But Adam decided to flee that very night, as far from the army as he could go.”

“But why didn’t he run back into the woods?” Duncan asked.

“Because he knew there were men who would use him against the Indians. Because he heard that Major Pike was coming the next day to interrogate him, and if he went among the Iroquois, Pike had ways to find him.”

“You recovered the ancient thing and then it was stolen from you on the ship.” The bear, Duncan knew now, had been in the bloodstained doeskin pouch passed around the prisoner’s hold. He glanced at his pack, where the bear lay snug against his pipes.

“I was trying to keep it safe. I never expected Adam to take it with him. He must have decided it was the only way for it not to be used against his wife’s people.”

“Or he could not abide that it was in your possession. You belonged to the ones who killed her.”

Duncan regretted the words instantly. For a moment the sturdy ranger looked as if he might weep. “It was a mistake, McCallum. Those soldiers didn’t understand. Some may have wanted a bounty. But all of them assumed she was stealing Alex back into slavery.”

Duncan settled onto the ground by the fire. It was a long time before he slept. When he awoke two hours before dawn, he saw that Conawago had replaced Woolford as the sentry. He rose and gestured the old Indian back to the sleeping forms by the fire, to take his turn on watch.

Crickets chirped along the spring. An owl called in the distance. Duncan lay back on a rock and stared up at the stars.

It wasn’t the sunlight that woke him, nor the morning calls of the birds. It was the cold steel of an army sword pressed against his jugular.

“Breathe wrong and you’re a dead man, McCallum.”

Duncan resisted only for a moment. The instant he twisted his neck he felt his skin begin to break, sensed something warm oozing down his neck. He froze and looked up into the cool gray eyes he had first seen at the army headquarters in New York. Major Pike had abandoned his wig, but had added a pistol and a silver-hilted dagger to his belt.

“Careless of you to venture forth without your patrons,” the officer hissed. “No royal cousin to interfere. No soft-hearted general.”

Someone at the edge of his vision lowered a pack and extracted something, clinking of metal. A red-coated soldier stepped beside Pike carrying a set of manacles. As Pike looked up, Duncan twisted slightly, trying to see the rest of the camp. It was empty. What had Pike done to his companions? He had failed them, had fallen asleep while on watch. Duncan’s hand reached for his belt. His tomahawk and knife were gone.

“Where is he?” Pike demanded. He placed a foot on Duncan’s belly, jammed the sword’s point against Duncan’s heart. It was the action of a hunter about to dispatch his wounded prey. The soldier, a brawny man with a face like a hatchet, bent over Duncan and fastened the manacles around his ankles.

“Lord Ramsey?” Duncan said, struggling to keep his voice level. “Much closer than you think.”

A cool satisfaction entered Pike’s eyes. “My Indian fighters report a charming habit among the heathen,” the officer declared. “Making necklaces of their enemy’s body parts.” He extracted his dagger and handed it to the soldier with the manacles. “A man with medical training might regret the loss of some fingers. Sergeant, the right hand first.” The sergeant offered a cool smile as he bent over Duncan again, so close Duncan could smell the tobacco on his breath, so close he could see the pockmarks on his cheek, oddly set in two pairs, four inches apart.

“Maiming a member of His Majesty’s rangers,” a cool voice interjected, “could raise regrettable questions when General Calder hears of it.” Pike’s sword relaxed enough for Duncan to twist and see Woolford, squatting at the fire, calmly rebuilding it.

“This is not your concern, Captain,” Pike growled. “Do not dare to meddle in affairs of my office.”

“Above all it is my concern. This man is a member of my company.”

“Ridiculous.”

“His left waistcoat pocket.”

Pike angrily gestured to the sergeant, who probed Duncan’s left pocket, offered a low curse, and rose with a large round medallion, one of the rangers’ identification badges. It had not, Duncan was certain, been there the night before.

Woolford produced a small, dog-eared, leather-bound book from his own pocket and waved it toward Pike. “Duncan McCallum was entered on my rolls yesterday.”

Pike’s face went crimson. “You have no authority.”

“A combat officer in a combat zone has worlds of authority,” Woolford countered in a casual tone, then shrugged. “You could challenge it, Major. But you would have to do so in Albany or New York town.”

“Bold words for one officer alone in the wilds.”

Woolford fixed Pike with an unblinking stare. “Many have made the mistake of underestimating the strength of a ranger in the field.”

“And many have made the mistake of thinking they can mock me,” Pike snarled.

Woolford stood, suddenly quite sober. “If you are looking for satisfaction, Pike, I am your man.”

“Easy words when you know the king’s officers are forbidden to duel.” A different kind of hunger seemed to build on Pike’s face. “The ranger company was ordered toward Canada, Captain. You are in violation of your orders.”