Read Online Eye of the Raven by Eliot Pattison - Free Book Online
Authors: Eliot Pattison
Tags: Fiction
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at the center of the U, the third a right angle with its corner at the left top, a dot tucked into the corner.
He spied curled pieces of bark beneath the signs and knelt, lifting one, bending it, smelling it. The pieces were fresh, not yet dried out, excised no more than a day before. Someone had carved the signs after Burke had been killed, perhaps as it happened. The valuable buttons had not all been cut from Burke's shirt, but the symbols had been carefully carved, as if they were more important than the silver.
He turned to see Van Grut on a log, pulling a journal from the linen bag that never seemed to leave his shoulder, then extracting a writing lead from inside his waistcoat.
"You knew about this tree," Duncan said to the Dutchman.
It was not a question.
Van Grut seemed strangely shamed. "I suspected. I was not certain," he said, his tone one of apology.
Duncan approached the Dutchman. "You were paying off debts at the fort," he said in an accusing tone. "Burke's purse was empty."
The color drained from Van Grut's face. "Surely you don't-"
"In all this broad wilderness, you knew something about one particular tree."
Van Grut once more looked longingly toward the road.
Duncan demanded, "Why this tree? Why these marks?"
"It's not just one tree," Van Grut said. "There are others."
"Others?"
The Dutchman turned with a stubborn gaze then sighed, opened his journal, and began leafing through it. As Duncan watched he paged through detailed drawings of Indians, birds, and mammals, stopping at a sketch of a large tree. It seemed to be the one in front of them, until Van Grut pointed to the legend he had recorded underneath. Boundary Marker No. III. Duncan read on. 1 mile SE Forbes Road, 4 miles W. Ligonier. Monongahela Land Co.
Duncan looked up, suspicion in his eyes. "You didn't come to help me." He shook his head angrily. "You are using me."
Van Grut looked away, at the tree. "My travels, my equipment, are costly. My family lost every guilder in the collapse of the markets in Antwerp years ago. There are three ways one can earn an income while living on the frontier. Trapper, soldier-"
"Or surveyor," Duncan finished.
"It is an honorable pursuit," the Dutchman protested, but the hint of remorse in his voice was unmistakable.
"Yet you didn't tell me."
Van Grut twisted his fingers around the drawing lead in his hands. "I do two or three days of survey work, then two or three collecting specimens." He regarded Duncan apologetically. "They said he was nailed to a tree. How was I to know it was this tree?"
"You suspected it. Why?" Duncan grabbed the journal and pushed it toward Van Grut's face. "Why?" he demanded again.
"Burke," Van Grut whispered. "He was one of the owners of the land company I work for."
Duncan sighed heavily. "All the time in the infirmary, you never said a word."
"Surely it would not have changed anything you did. And he was here in his role for the militia."
Duncan did not argue. He looked back at the tree, seeing again the dying man in his mind's eye. Burke clearly stood at the confluence of many events. Of many mysteries. "Tell me about the land company."
"It is owned by Virginians. A vast tract was ceded to them by some Iroquois chiefs, but the government will not accept the deed without a more definite description. More land claims will come, everyone knows, and they mean to use this tract as the anchor for fixing the location of future deeds."
"It was Burke who paid you?"
Van Grut nodded. "A month's wages."
"When?"
"The day before yesterday."
"Where?"
"By another marker tree, the one with the roman three cut in it. A few miles east of here."
Duncan paged through the book and found the corresponding drawing, complete with the roman numeral and Indian carvings, but none of the geometric symbols found on the tree before them. He pointed to the strangely haunting shapes. "What do they mean?"
"I have no idea."
"You were not curious?"
"I am always curious. They seem to mark
He spied curled pieces of bark beneath the signs and knelt, lifting one, bending it, smelling it. The pieces were fresh, not yet dried out, excised no more than a day before. Someone had carved the signs after Burke had been killed, perhaps as it happened. The valuable buttons had not all been cut from Burke's shirt, but the symbols had been carefully carved, as if they were more important than the silver.
He turned to see Van Grut on a log, pulling a journal from the linen bag that never seemed to leave his shoulder, then extracting a writing lead from inside his waistcoat.
"You knew about this tree," Duncan said to the Dutchman.
It was not a question.
Van Grut seemed strangely shamed. "I suspected. I was not certain," he said, his tone one of apology.
Duncan approached the Dutchman. "You were paying off debts at the fort," he said in an accusing tone. "Burke's purse was empty."
The color drained from Van Grut's face. "Surely you don't-"
"In all this broad wilderness, you knew something about one particular tree."
Van Grut once more looked longingly toward the road.
Duncan demanded, "Why this tree? Why these marks?"
"It's not just one tree," Van Grut said. "There are others."
"Others?"
The Dutchman turned with a stubborn gaze then sighed, opened his journal, and began leafing through it. As Duncan watched he paged through detailed drawings of Indians, birds, and mammals, stopping at a sketch of a large tree. It seemed to be the one in front of them, until Van Grut pointed to the legend he had recorded underneath. Boundary Marker No. III. Duncan read on. 1 mile SE Forbes Road, 4 miles W. Ligonier. Monongahela Land Co.
Duncan looked up, suspicion in his eyes. "You didn't come to help me." He shook his head angrily. "You are using me."
Van Grut looked away, at the tree. "My travels, my equipment, are costly. My family lost every guilder in the collapse of the markets in Antwerp years ago. There are three ways one can earn an income while living on the frontier. Trapper, soldier-"
"Or surveyor," Duncan finished.
"It is an honorable pursuit," the Dutchman protested, but the hint of remorse in his voice was unmistakable.
"Yet you didn't tell me."
Van Grut twisted his fingers around the drawing lead in his hands. "I do two or three days of survey work, then two or three collecting specimens." He regarded Duncan apologetically. "They said he was nailed to a tree. How was I to know it was this tree?"
"You suspected it. Why?" Duncan grabbed the journal and pushed it toward Van Grut's face. "Why?" he demanded again.
"Burke," Van Grut whispered. "He was one of the owners of the land company I work for."
Duncan sighed heavily. "All the time in the infirmary, you never said a word."
"Surely it would not have changed anything you did. And he was here in his role for the militia."
Duncan did not argue. He looked back at the tree, seeing again the dying man in his mind's eye. Burke clearly stood at the confluence of many events. Of many mysteries. "Tell me about the land company."
"It is owned by Virginians. A vast tract was ceded to them by some Iroquois chiefs, but the government will not accept the deed without a more definite description. More land claims will come, everyone knows, and they mean to use this tract as the anchor for fixing the location of future deeds."
"It was Burke who paid you?"
Van Grut nodded. "A month's wages."
"When?"
"The day before yesterday."
"Where?"
"By another marker tree, the one with the roman three cut in it. A few miles east of here."
Duncan paged through the book and found the corresponding drawing, complete with the roman numeral and Indian carvings, but none of the geometric symbols found on the tree before them. He pointed to the strangely haunting shapes. "What do they mean?"
"I have no idea."
"You were not curious?"
"I am always curious. They seem to mark
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