“Anyone could have dropped that,” Sun Conch said, pointing to the trail. “This trail is used a lot. It’s the quickest way from Oyster Shell Landing to Flat Pearl Village without paddling all the way around the neck. It’s customary to drop a runner off here to let Flat Pearl know they have company coming. The runner will be in the village two or three hands sooner than the fastest canoe can make it. I’ve run this myself more than once for Black Spike. Anyone could have dropped that.”
Nine Killer shrugged, on the verge of tossing the chip.
“No,” Panther said thoughtfully. “I want to keep it. It may come in handy.”
Nine Killer handed it over and Panther dropped it into his belt pouch before continuing to sift through the leaves. The rest of the search proved fruitless.
Panther stood, smacking his hands clean. “Enough of this, War Chief. Show me where the body was dragged to.”
Nine Killer rose and pointed northward along the ridgeline. “Over there.” He led the way no more than thirty paces to a shallow depression behind a hickory tree. There, leaves were still scattered from where Red Knot’s body had been.
Panther cocked his head, squinting back toward the trail.
“This doesn’t tell us much, does it?” Nine Killer propped his hands on his hips. “Anyone could have dragged her here.”
Panther said nothing as he studied the spot, then studied the shagbark hickory that blocked the view from the main trail. Like the walnut, it remained a mute witness. The hollow had been formed years past when a tree had blown down, the roots tearing a hole in the ridgetop. Over the many years since, the deadfall had rotted back to the soil from which the tree had once sprung. Even the earth had, for the most part, healed the scar.
Once again, Panther crouched down and searched the leaves for anything that Red Knot or her killer might have dropped—and found nothing. He sighed and rubbed his sore knees.
“Anything else?” Nine Killer asked.
Panther winced as his bones crackled through the effort to stand. He hobbled painfully back to the trail and stared down the east side toward Oyster Shell Landing. “Yes, I suppose so. I should go down where High Fox says he was waiting.”
“If you wish.” Nine Killer tapped his fingers rhythmically on the handle of his war club. “The only thing down there are huge piles of oyster shells. It is said that they date back to the days when First Man walked the earth.”
“I can believe it,” Sun Conch agreed. “It would take lifetimes to eat that many oysters.”
Panther made a face as he stared down that long slope.
“Once down there, I suppose I’ll have to climb all the way back up?”
“We could send a canoe around for you.” Nine Killer gave him a crooked smile.
“If you have trouble, I think I could carry you up, Elder,” Sun Conch said seriously. “You’re not that heavy, and I’m a strong girl.”
“If it comes to that, Sun Conch, I may let you.” Panther took the first step onto the steep descent. Aspects of determining the identity of Red Knot’s killer—like climbing such slopes—just didn’t fit him anymore. “Who knows, perhaps we shall find Flat Willow’s missing arrow?”
Hunting Hawk sat beside the fire in her long house and breathed deeply. Pounded willow bark! What a godsend! She flexed her fingers. Not in years had she been able to clench her fist tight—let alone do it painlessly. No matter what other trouble he might be, The Panther had brought her the first relief she’d had in years. For that, she could almost forgive him his accusation.
But not quite.
Slaves and servants bustled about behind her, feeding Copper Thunder’s remaining warriors. Out of courtesy, the Great Tayac had sent home three canoe loads of his men, reducing the demands made on Hunting Hawk’s food stores.
That was tactfully played, for not even at threat of death would she have complained about his men eating her winter food supply. To do so would have demeaned herself in the Great Tayac’s eyes—insinuated that she couldn’t care for honored guests.
Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem. She would have sent out messengers asking for donations from the Independent villages, but at this strained time, with the bad blood between Flat Pearl and Three Myrtle Villages barely patched, she had no desire to push her luck.
The ten men who remained with Copper Thunder had been helping to make their own way by scouting, hunting deer, raccoon, opossum, muskrats, and rabbits, as well as working the fish weirs and casting nets for the killifish that invaded the shallows on warmer winter days.
Copper Thunder sat across from her now and used a piece of damp leather coated with sand to polish the gleaming copper spike on his war club. With each movement, his thick muscles rolled under his smooth bronze skin.