The nearest Oneida scout looked mesmerized by the half-ton of horse flesh bearing down upon him. As he fell beneath the hooves, Lawrence turned the pistol on the second attacker. There was hardly time to aim but he was too close to miss. The gun spoke and the Oneida spun away clutching his groin. The third warrior raised his carbine to his shoulder.

His discharged pistol now transformed into a dead weight, Lawrence employed it in the only way possible. He threw it. He knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that it would hit its target from the back of a moving horse, but it was all he had left.

It missed, though not by much; passing close enough for the warrior to flinch and alter his aim for a second. As Lawrence galloped past, the Oneida threw up his carbine once more.

Lawrence heard the crack and felt the burn as the ball shredded his sleeve and then he was clear and galloping. His heart flew.

As behind him, another report sounded.

It had taken Walker eleven seconds to re-load and his target was at the limit of the weapon’s effective range when he fired. Through drifting smoke, he saw Lawrence duck and cursed as the fleeing horse and rider were swallowed up by loitering fog.

Lowering the gun, he moved quickly to the body of the warrior Lawrence had shot. He bent down and laid his hand on his friend’s arm. Cornelius was a war captain and had been recruited by the Continental army back in the Revolution. His first scouting mission had been for General Sullivan during the ’99 campaign to lay waste the Iroquois homeland.

Walker had been a lieutenant with George Read’s 2nd New Hampshires when they’d met, at the battle of Newtown, where Cornelius had saved his life during Joseph Brant’s counter-attack on the slopes above the Chemung River. They’d scouted together ever since, leading reconnaissance missions for the rebel army throughout the rest of the war. And now, with a fresh conflict having broken out between old enemies, they had resumed their duties, scouting enemy territory, working in advance of the main force, from Tippecanoe to Gananoque and from Queenston to Quebec.

When Cornelius’s eyes blinked open, Walker gasped.

The Oneida chief frowned. Cautiously, he sat up and reached a hand to the back of his head. It came away bloody. He peered at it in mystification, then at Walker. His eyes widened. Grasping the gorget that hung round his neck, he stared at its engraved surface. The dent made by the musket ball was plain to see.