John meandered back and forth across the clearing, staring at the ground, trying to make sense of the scene. Bryce’s broken body lay just under the branches of a hophornbeam tree, as if he were taking a nap out of the sun. Blood stained the grass, and the stench of decay tainted the air. The tall grass lay matted down in a rough circle to one side. They dismounted at the edge of the clearing. “Yonder,” he said, and then led them to the clearing where the farmer, Nathan Bryce, had drawn his last breath. Smiling from ear to ear, Mad Jack walked his horse forward and pointed west. Wiggin grunted and nodded in the American Indian’s direction, somehow managing to make the small politeness feel like something much less well-meant.ĭonehogawa grunted back and smiled. The man just didn’t see anyone whose skin wasn’t white. You might recognize him.” He knew Wiggin didn’t and never would, no matter how much time Donehogawa spent in town. “He says ‘Let’s go.’ This is Donehogawa, by the way. Struggling to keep from smiling, John looked down at his saddle. “Lead on, Mad Jack! You’ve seen the body already, no? Unlike you lot, I don’t have all day to waste on this errand.” “Better than no scouts, I guess.” He climbed aboard his buckskin horse and jerked the poor animal in a tight circle. One heathen scout and one crazy scout,” said Wiggin. “I believe we agreed on eight of the clock.” “It is only ten minutes until seven, my good Captain,” John called out. Edward Chambers, the bartender and proprietor of Geneva’s ordinary-Geneva’s tavern-sat on his horse behind Wiggin and grinned. They broke from the trees in time to see Captain Wiggin glaring down at his pocket watch and muttering. “Hello to you, Donehogawa,” said Mad Jack with a tip of his hat and a smile for John. “Like a bear yelling into his cave to see if he’s alone,” he laughed. He preferred being alone in the forest and rarely came to the village.ĭonehogawa chuckled. He nodded a greeting and fell in beside John as they passed. He was dressed from head to toe in cured buckskin and wore moccasins like Donehogawa’s. Mad Jack Martin stepped his horse out of the woods and onto the path in front of them. He couldn’t find a heathen, and so he’s not coming.” John cast an apologetic glance at Donehogawa. Between them, they knew every nook and cranny of the forest west of Lake Seneca in New York-useful knowledge, considering the sun had just broken over the horizon.Īs they approached John’s house on the outskirts of the village of Geneva, the distant voice of Captain Wiggin broke the stillness. The two men were of similar age and had become fast friends during the adventures of their youth. John Calvin Black rode on horseback through the woods with Donehogawa, a tall, straight-backed Onondowaga warrior that he’d known all his life.
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