The boy’s thoughts strayed to the sounds he thought he had heard the night before as he’d drifted off to sleep. At the time, he hadn’t been sure if the noises were real or a figment of some descending dream. Now he knew why they had reminded him of the noises Tam made when he was chewing on a bone. Something had been drawn to the riverbank by the stench of death. Something with the strength to move the body to a place where it could feast without being disturbed. From what he’d seen before he’d averted his eyes, there looked to be a substantial amount of flesh still available. No doubt the scavenger would return to finish its meal. The boy scanned the edge of the woodland nervously. He was very glad that Tewanias was with him.

The Mohawk paid no heed to the remains, other than giving them a cursory glance as he led the way past. The Oneida warrior had chosen his path and had paid dearly for it, as decreed by the laws of war. By now, Wyatt and his fellow Rangers would surely have caught up with and passed sentence on the rest of the scouting party, dispatching them into Ha-ne-go-ate-geh, the land of eternal darkness, where they would rejoin their companion and, together, reflect upon the wickedness of their deeds. It was not Tewanias’s task to dwell on the destiny of others. He had but one duty now and that was to escort the boy to a place of safety. It was a duty he would carry out even if his own life became forfeit in the process.

“Awaiting your orders, sir.”

Colonel Johnson, who had been studying his watch, returned the instrument to his pocket. “No word from Stryker, I take it?” he asked his second-in-command pensively.

“No, sir.”

Johnson gnawed the inside of his cheek and then sighed. “Damn it. Very well. You may recall the piquets.”

Scott touched his cap, turned away, hesitated and then turned back. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The words were of small comfort. Johnson acknowledged them with a resigned nod. “What of other scouts – are they all returned safely?”

“All save Lieutenant Wyatt and his Rangers.”

“Wyatt?” Johnson said, more sharply than he had intended.

“Yes, sir.”

God damn, Johnson thought. He closed his eyes, counted to three, opened them and then nodded again. “Thank you, Thomas. You may carry on.”

He watched the captain walk away. In truth, not counting Stryker and his men, the fact that only one scouting party had failed to report back was more than he could have dared hope for. Hearing that it was Wyatt who was still out there, however, did detract from what might have been a greater sense of relief.