“Didn’t see any sign that he’d crossed our path,” Beddowes said.

“That’s because we weren’t looking.” Wyatt frowned, then swore under his breath as the realization hit him.

“Lieutenant?” Donaldson said.

“They sent another runner.”

There was a moment’s pause. “They wouldn’t send two back the same way,” Donaldson said warily. “So which way’d he go?”

Wyatt’s head lifted. “Ticonderoga’d be my guess. New Hampshire Militia’s mustered close by. That’s, what, ten miles east of here? From there, Bulwagga’d be less than a morning’s march.”

“Damn it!” Beddowes’ shoulders slumped.

“Colonel needs to know,” Wyatt said.

Billy Drew sighed and slung his rifle over his shoulders. “Bloody hell. More runnin’.”

Wyatt indicated the two dead Oneida on the trail. “Throw them over; weapons, too. We’ve enough to carry. Take their ammunition, though. We can always use that.”

The Rangers heaved the bodies into the river, not bothering to watch as the current dragged them under. They would undoubtedly bob to the surface and beach either on the rocks below or somewhere further downstream. Concealing evidence of their presence was no longer a priority for Wyatt and his men. If a second Oneida scout had indeed been dispatched to report on the column’s progress and destination, the most pressing matter was to make it to the embarkation point and the boats of the Provincial Marine before the enemy got there.

Or, as Billy Drew put it as they set off:

Runnin’ like buggery.

Flattened grass and drag marks showed where the Oneida brave’s body had been pulled through the underbrush to the spot where it now lay, sprawled on its back and partially concealed beneath a clump of copperleaf, twenty metres from the edge of the stream.

The area around the base of the shrub was crawling with flies and in the middle of the swarm that buzzed around the body the curve of a rib could clearly be seen protruding from the corpse’s chest cavity and the torn remnants of a blood-soaked shirt. As the sickly smell drifted towards him, the boy wrinkled his nose and turned his head away, tightening his hold on Jonah’s halter.

“No, Tam!” he said sharply as the dog started forward to investigate, snout twitching.

The dog turned and looked up at him, puzzlement on its face.

“Heel!” the boy commanded, patting his thigh.

Reluctantly, the dog returned to the boy’s side, head hung low.