Chapter 40

Jack walked silently through the farmhouse, not wishing to wake anyone on his way out. With luck, he could take care of his tribe business, be back by daybreak, and then be on their way.

The winter air felt good on his skin after his latest dream—more of a nightmare this time. He had spent hours staring out into the night, waiting for Nora to fall back asleep so he could go meet his contact at the British Army post. He was running out of time. They needed to leave New York immediately. That left him little time to complete his mission for his tribe. He felt reasonably sure word that he was allegedly wanted for kidnapping could not have reached the garrison commander as of yet. Rogan couldn’t have known that Jack would be going there. He needed to get in, conduct his tribe business, and get out before Rogan’s empty allegations reached the New York British post. He knew the danger of presenting himself to the British in the face of Rogan’s false allegations, but he would not fail his tribe.

Under his heavy fur, he wore his buckskin breeches, a shirt, and vest with the markings of his tribe. His moccasins were not suitable for this sort of travel, so he wore his knee-high boots, but they were not visible under his pants. His clothing showed his place in both worlds, exactly as he wanted. As he moved through the city towards the army post, he knew Running Bull followed him. Jack wished Running Bull would stay at the farm and rest, as he still recovered from his injury and could barely sit a horse, but he refused to stay behind. Jack would need him to make the return trip to the tribe with the results of the negotiations as soon as he was healthy enough to travel. While the injury he’d sustained was not severe, Running Bull’s result-ing illness left him exhausted.

As Jack rode along the quiet dirt and cobblestone roads of New York, he considered his dream. He knew this city well enough now, having been here a few times on tribe business. When he’d woken earlier, he could feel the death around him. He knew this was the city in his dream, but when was the question? Would he see these tall buildings in his lifetime? They were much higher than the ones that stood here now. And what of the tunnels? Did they exist now? What were they used for?

Jack wished he could talk to Ben about it, but then he would have to reveal his deepest secret to another person, and he’d already told Nora. Telling her felt right, though he got no comfort from telling her he saw her death. Had he seen her death? Who was the man in the tunnel, and what was the Fox doing there? What were the flying metal birds? Did they hold people? Were they a military weapon?

Each question only brought more questions. Jack knew now from meeting Nora that he would find out the answer in time. Were there that many inventions to come in his lifetime then?

Nora hadn’t seemed repulsed by his ability when he explained it to her either. She had said that they’d figure out the dreams together. They only had twelve days to get to Boston. Would that be enough time for them to do so?

He dismounted out of sight of the garrison gates, leaving the horse for Running Bull to collect, and approached the gates of the post, but the sentries there stopped him.

“Whoa there, man,” a sentry said. “What is your business here?”

“I am White Bear of the Shawnee Indians. General Gage is expecting me,” Jack replied with confidence.

The sentries eyed each other then called a private over to the gates. “Inform General Gage there is a White Bear here to see him. Inquire if we should let him pass.”

The private ran off, and Jack waited until he returned with permission to bring Jack in. He walked past the guards and wondered where Running Bull had concealed himself.
He would be close by and would not be comfortable letting Jack enter the garrison alone, white skin or not. Still, the brave would stay back and not interfere.

The private stopped outside a door and knocked. The man who answered was not quite in full uniform and was missing his coat. Jack must have gotten him out of bed. It was early, but he didn’t have any other choice.

“When I agreed to meet you, White Bear, I did think it would be during daytime hours,” General Gage said, leaving the door Jack assumed led to his bed chamber slightly ajar, and moving to the bar in the sitting room of his quarters.

“I apologize for the inconvenient hour, sir,” Jack said as he entered the room. “I leave for Boston today and was detained until now.”

“I wasn’t expecting a white man,” Gage said, handing Jack a whiskey.

“I am here to negotiate on behalf of my tribe,” Jack replied, unwilling to get into his life story with this man. It was irrelevant to these negotiations.

“Won’t you sit down, sir,” Gage invited, “and tell me what the British Army can do for your tribe.”

“The Shawnee are a peaceful people,” Jack began as he sat in one of the wooden chairs.

“Peaceful, you say?” Gage replied. “They feud with Lord Dunmore in Virginia. They violated treaties.”

“My tribe is peaceful, sir, and not located in Virginia. They are in Pennsylvania,” Jack replied tersely. “I do not speak for all of the Shawnee, but for my tribe alone. If there comes a war with the Colonists, my tribe would like to stay neutral. I am here to negotiate that treaty.”

“And how, sir, do I know your tribe intends to keep that treaty? The Shawnee in Virginia had treaties, as well.”

“They were provoked.”

“Both sides claim provocation,” Gage replied. “Why are you different?”

“My tribe is small,” Jack said. “There are only about a hundred of us, and that is mostly elders, women, and children. I have advised my tribal elders to move the tribe west into Ohio. They do not wish to be here in the event of conflict.”

Jack eased forward in his chair as the general stood up and crossed to his desk, picking up a piece of parchment. A feeling of dread began to slither over him. Gage turned the paper around, and Jack found himself staring at an artist’s rendition of his likeness. Jack’s stomach felt like it plummeted to his feet. He was alone in the British garrison. Nora didn’t know he was here, and Running Bull hid somewhere outside. He was on his own.

“And what about this, sir?” Gage questioned. “You are asking me to accept the word of an accused kidnapper.”

“General, I don’t know who that is.” He didn’t expect the British commander to believe that, but Jack was hoping to buy some time to formulate a plan of escape.

“It is supposed to be you.”

“It doesn’t look anything like me.”

“I disagree.” Gage said. He walked towards Jack and held the paper up next to Jack’s face, studying them both side by side. “The artist is very talented. It’s almost like you sat and posed for it. Would you like to see the drawings of your Indian companion and the girl you kidnapped?”

“General Gage, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. I have traveled here from Pennsylvania to petition you on behalf of my tribe.”

“And littered the countryside on your way with the bod-ies of my dead soldiers. Good men with families,” Gage snapped. “You and your Indian companion have cost me many valuable men. Where is the girl?”

“What girl do you speak of, sir?” Jack asked. He was grasping at straws. He knew it. General Gage probably knew it, as well. Jack had been counting on these accusations not having reached New York yet. While Jack would not admit his crimes to the general, it was true that they had killed many soldiers. The thing that vexed him now was, if they had killed them all, who was left to turn them in? How was anyone able to provide a likeness of them for these wanted sheets? The only conclusion he could reach was that somebody in Nora’s network wasn’t as trustworthy as she was led to believe. Who had betrayed them? Or was there a spy following them and keeping their distance? That could explain how Rogan’s men always seemed to know where they were.

“Do not insult my intelligence,” Gage snapped. “Lord Rogan seeks the immediate and safe return of his daughter. You will tell me where she is, White Bear.”

“Or else?” Jack challenged.

“Your tribe will suffer for it,” Gage said. “You see, two Shawnee Indians are in possession of a noble English lady. It’s an intolerable act of aggression—an act of war. If you don’t tell me where she is, I will send a regiment to your tribe to retrieve her. If she is not with your tribe, anyone who resists will be pun-ished as traitors to the crown.”

Jack was reasonably sure Gage bluffed. Sending a regiment to a peaceful Indian tribe when war was imminent was strategically flawed. Either way, there would be no treaty between the British army and his tribe. For the first time in his life, Jack felt the bitter sting of defeat.

“So, you see, sir, you can tell me where the girl is now,” Gage said, clapping his hands together once and the room filled up with heavily armed soldiers, “or we will take the information from you via alternative methods.”

Raising his chin defiantly, Jack realized he would be tortured. He had failed at protecting his tribe, but he would not fail at protecting Nora. He could withstand torture. He would have to.