“From what I’ve read,” Kamp said, “Blackwater didn’t want to have to talk about what he’d seen in the North Woods.”

Mrs. Doris shook her head. “Sounds like he saw something that shook him up.”

“Indeed.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And so what happened? Carroll’s men were sleeping…”

“Some died.”

“Ah.”

“Carroll sent word south.”

“For help?”

“For help.”

“And?”

“Here’s where the history leads to modern day. A platoon of soldiers, headed by Colonel Wes Farraline, was sent north to bail George Carroll out. Farraline was shocked when, greeted by a half-bearded and fully disheveled Carroll, he learned the settlers had already lost fifty percent of their personnel. And not just the men.”

“Tsk tsk. See where trying to steal gets you?”

“Absolutely. But when Blackwater heard of the cavalry arriving he was flattered. To him, seventy soldiers meant more numbers to overcome. He instructed his men to bring him seventy heads by sunup. Legend has it he wanted the tribe to use them as soup bowls at breakfast. But Blackwater’s son knew better. He saw the weapons Farraline had and he wasn’t going to have his chest blown apart to appease his dying, raving father. He decided he’d do what Dad never did: strike a deal with the white man.”

Kamp sipped his wine. His big elbows dwarfed Mrs. Doris’s little table.

“A deal in dust,” Mrs. Doris said.

“But not yet. When Farraline got word the indigenous people wanted to make a deal, he silently patted himself on the back. He figured they wouldn’t be any more difficult to dispense with than any others he’d encountered. He walked tall through the settlement with the news. But as goes ‘good news’ in history, Farraline got a little greedy and ignored the omens that came with it. He brought Carroll into his tent and suggested they try to trick Son of Blackwater. Get him to sign a contract that would allow Carroll’s gang to live on the land. Then have a second contract drawn up, for Carroll to sign, that stated the natives still owned the land and would be awarded a tax from the settlers. Farraline’s plan had Carroll signing his name in sand. A quill loaded with fine dust; Blackwater’s son would see that Carroll put his name down, but when he put the contract in his satchel the name would slide off, vanishing into nothing but dirt. Then the only legal document would be the one saying Carroll had permission to settle. Carroll readily agreed. His likeness doesn’t grace the Goblin gates for his morality, after all.”

“Not many likenesses do.”

“Do what?”

“Look like what they say they do.”

“No. They certainly don’t. Farraline and Carroll, in full regalia, met with Blackwater’s son in what would become Perish Park.” Kamp fanned a hand to the window, though Perish Park was a few miles east. “The natives agreed. The contracts were signed. Farraline was nervous when Son of Blackwater turned to leave without immediately putting the contract in his satchel. But two steps farther away, he did. And so it appeared their scam had worked.”