"Who carries pelts to Quebec in August?" asked Elerson, grinning.
"There's the skin of a wolverine dangling from his pack," I said, in a
low voice.
Murphy touched Mount's arm, and they halted until the man ahead had
rounded a turn in the road; then they sprang forward, creeping swiftly
to the shelter of the undergrowth at the bend of the road, while Elerson
and I followed at an easy pace.
"What is it?" I asked, as we rejoined them where they were kneeling,
looking after the figure ahead.
"Nothing, sir; we only want to see them pelts, Tim and me."
"Do you know the man?" I demanded.
Murphy gazed musingly at Mount through narrowed eyes. Mount, in a brown
study, stared back.
"Phwere th' divil have I seen him, I dunnoa!" muttered Murphy. "Jack,
'tis wan mush-rat looks like th' next, an' all thrappers has the same
cut to them! Yonder's no thrapper!"
"Nor peddler," added Mount; "the strap of the Delaware baskets never
bowed his legs."
"Thrue, avick! Wisha, lad, 'tis horses he knows better than snow-shoes,
bed-plates, an' thrip-sticks! An' I've seen him, I think!"
"Where?" I asked.
He shook his head, vacantly staring. Moved by the same impulse, we all
started forward; the man was not far ahead, but our moccasins made no
noise in the dust and we closed up swiftly on him and were at his elbow
before he heard us.
Under the heavy sunburn the color faded in his cheeks when he saw us. I
noted it, but that was nothing strange considering the perilous
conditions of the country and the sudden shock of our appearance.
"Good-day, friend," cried Mount, cheerily.
"Good-day, friends," he replied, stammering as though for lack of
breath.
"God save our country, friend," added Elerson, gravely.
"God save our country, friends," repeated the man.
So far, so good. The man, a thick, stocky, heavy-eyed fellow, moistened
his broad lips with his tongue, peered furtively at me, and instantly
dropped his eyes. At the same instant memory stirred within me; a vague
recollection of those heavy, black eyes, of that broad, bow-legged
figure set me pondering.
"Me fri'nd," purred Murphy, persuasively, "is th' Frinch thrappers
balin' August peltry f'r to sell in Canady?"
"I've a few late pelts from the lakes," muttered the man, without
looking up.
"Domned late," cried Murphy, gayly. "Sure they do say, if ye dhraw a
summer mink an' turrn th' pelt inside out like a glove, the winther fur
will sprout inside--wid fashtin' an' prayer."
The man bent his eyes obstinately on the ground; instead of smiling he
had paled.
"Have you the skin of a wampum bird in that bale?" asked Mount,
pleasantly.
Elerson struck the pack with the flat of his hand; the mangy wolverine
pelt crackled.
"Green hides! Green hides!" laughed Mount, sarcastically. "Come, my
friend, we're your customers. Down with your bales and I'll buy."
Murphy had laid a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, halting him short in
his tracks; Elerson, rifle cradled in the hollow of his left arm, poked
his forefinger into the bales, then sniffed at the aperture.
"There are green hides there!" he exclaimed, stepping back. "Jack, slip
that pack off!"
The man started forward, crying out that he had no time to waste, but
Murphy jerked him back by the collar and Elerson seized his right arm.
"Wait!" I said, sharply. "You cannot stop a man like this on the
highway!"
"You don't know us, sir," replied Mount, impudently.
"Come, Colonel Ormond," added Elerson, almost savagely. "You're our
captain no longer. Give way, sir. Answer for your own men, and we'll
answer to Danny Morgan!"
Mount, struggling to unfasten the pack, looked over his huge shoulders
at me.
"Not that we're not fond of you, sir; but we know this old fox now--"
"You lie!" shrieked the man, hurling his full weight at Murphy and
tearing his right arm free from Elerson's grip.
There came a flash, an explosion; through a cloud of smoke I saw the
fellow's right arm stretched straight up in the air, his hand clutching
a smoking pistol, and Elerson holding the arm rigid in a grip of steel.
[Illustration: "INSTANTLY MOUNT TRIPPED THE MAN".]
Instantly Mount tripped the man flat on his face in the dust, and Murphy
jerked his arms behind his back, tying them fast at the wrists with a
cord which Elerson cut from the pack and flung to him.
"Rip up thim bales, Jack!" said Murphy. "Yell find them full o' powther
an' ball an' cutlery, sorr, or I'm a liar!" he added to me. "This limb
o' Lucifer is wan o' Francy McCraw's renegados!--Danny Redstock, sorr,
th' tirror av the Sacandaga!"
Redstock! I had seen him at Broadalbin that evening in May, threatening
the angry settlers with his rifle, when Dorothy and the Brandt-Meester
and I had ridden over with news of smoke in the hills.
Murphy tied the prostrate man's legs, pulled him across the dusty road
to the bushes, and laid him on his back under a great maple-tree.
Mount, knife in hand, ripped up the bales of crackling peltry, and
Elerson delved in among the skins, flinging them right and left in his
impatient search.
"There's no powder here," he exclaimed, rising to his knees on the road
and staring at Mount; "nothing but badly cured beaver and mangy
musk-rat."
"Well, he baled 'em to conceal something!" insisted Mount. "No man packs
in this moth-eaten stuff for love of labor. What's that parcel in
the bottom?"
"Not powder," replied Elerson, tossing it out, where it rebounded,
crackling.
"Squirrel pelts," nodded Mount, as I picked up the packet and looked at
the sealed cords. The parcel was addressed: "General Barry St. Leger, in
camp before Stanwix." I sat down on the grass and began to open it, when
a groan from the prostrate prisoner startled me. He had struggled to a
sitting posture, and was facing me, eyes bulging from their sockets.
Every vestige of color had left his visage.
"For God's sake don't open that!" he gasped--"there is naught there,
sir--"
"Silence!" roared Mount, glaring at him, while Murphy and Elerson,
dropping their armfuls of pelts, came across the road to the bank
where I sat.
"I will not be silent!" screamed the man, rocking to and fro on the
ground. "I did not do that!--I know nothing of what that packet holds! A
Mohawk runner gave it to me--I mean that I found it on the trail--"
The riflemen stared at him in contempt while I cut the strings of the
parcel and unrolled the bolt of heavy miller's cloth.
At first I did not comprehend what all that mass of fluffy hair could
be. A deep gasp from Mount enlightened me, and I dropped the packet in a
revulsion of horror indescribable. For the parcel was fairly bursting
with tightly packed scalps.
In the deathly silence I heard Redstock's hoarse breathing. Mount knelt
down and gently lifted a heavy mass of dark, silky hair.
At last Elerson broke the silence, speaking in a strangely gentle and
monotonous voice.
"I think this hair was Janet McCrea's. I saw her many times at
Half-moon. No maid in Tryon County had hair like hers."
Shuddering, Mount lifted a long braid of dark-brown hair fastened to a
hoop painted blue. And Elerson, in that strange monotone,
continued speaking:
"The hair on this scalp is braided to show that the woman was a mother;
the skin stretched on a blue hoop confirms it.
"The murderer has painted the skin yellow with red dots to represent
tears shed for the dead by her family. There is a death-maul painted
below in black; it shows how she was killed."
He laid the scalp back very carefully. Under the mass of hair a bit of
paper stuck out, and I drew it from the dreadful packet. It was a sealed
letter directed to General St. Leger, and I opened and read the contents
aloud in the midst of a terrible silence.
"SACANDAGA VLAIE,
August 17, 1777
"General Barry St. Leger
"SIR,--I send you under care of Daniel Redstock the first
packet of scalps, cured, dried, hooped, and painted; four
dozen in all, at twenty dollars a dozen, which will be eighty
dollars. This you will please pay to Daniel Redstock, as I
need money for tobacco and rum for the men and the Senecas
who are with me.
"Return invoice with payment acquitted by the bearer, who
will know where to find me. Below I have prepared a true
invoice. Your very humble servant,
"F. MCCRAW.
"Invoice.
(6) Six scalps of farmers, green hoops to show they were killed
in their fields; a large white circle for the sun, showing
it was day; black bullet mark on three; hatchet on two.
(2) Two of settlers, surprised and killed in their houses or barns;
hoops red; white circle for the sun; a little red foot to show
they died fighting. Both marked with bullet symbol.
(4) Four of settlers. Two marked by little yellow flames to show
how they died. (My Senecas have had no prisoners for
burning since August third.) One a rebel clergyman, his
band tied to the scalp-hoop, and a little red foot under a red
cross painted on the skin. (He killed two of my men before
we got him.) One, a poor scalp, the hair gray and
thin; the hoop painted brown. (An old man whom we
found in bed in a rebel house.)
(12) Twelve of militia soldiers; stretched on black hoops four inches
in diameter, inside skin painted red; a black circle showing
they were outposts surprised at night; hatchet as usual.
(12) Twelve of women; one unbraided--a very fine scalp (bought
of a Wyandot from Burgoyne's army), which I paid full
price for; nine braided, hoops blue, red tear-marks; two
very gray; black hoops, plain brown color inside; death-maul
marked in red.
(6) Six of boys' scalps; small green hoops; red tears; symbols
in black of castete, knife, and bullet.
(5) Five of girls' scalps; small yellow hoops. Marked with the
Seneca symbol to whom they were delivered before scalping.
(l) One box of birch-bark containing an infant's scalp; very little
hair, but well dried and cured. (I must ask full price
for this.)