Read Original Death for Free Online Page B

chant from sitting at Conawago’s side at all too many burials, and he joined in Sagatchie’s singsong prayer as they set natural adornments around the body. A twig of crimson maple leaves. A turtle shell. A clump of star moss. The skull of a small mammal.
    Duncan folded Hickory John’s shirt and laid it under the dead man’s head, then he reached into a pouch at his belt and extracted a handful of precious salt. He poured the salt into a small pile on the linen near one of the dead man’s ears, then sifted a handful of loose soil into a pile by the other ear.
    â€œIt is one of the old ways of my tribe,” Duncan explained, answering the query in the warrior’s eyes. “Earth for the corruptible body, salt for the everlasting spirit.”
    Sagatchie slowly nodded. “I cannot read all the stories. Someone should be here to speak the full tale of his life,” he said in a forlorn tone. “The women of his tribe should sing songs of lamentation all night. There should be a condolence of at least a week for one such as he.”
    â€œConawago will have songs when he comes,” Duncan offered.
    The Mohawk cast a hesitant glance at Duncan. He seemed about to say something, but he turned to survey the forest floor and pointed to a fallen log. Duncan helped lift the log, and with a grunt of satisfaction Sagatchie swept up a small ring-necked snake. He held the snake close, whispering to it, then gently laid it on the dead man’s breast. With an approving nod he watched the snake slither around his neck and disappear into the makeshift pillow.
    The whicker of the horse broke the spell. It was late. They would have to hurry if they were to reach the settlement before nightfall. Sagatchie turned from the scaffold then hesitated and pulled a piece of paper from his belt and began to place it on the folded shirt. Duncan suddenly recognized it and put a restraining hand on the Mohawk’s arm.
    â€œThat is Conawago’s, a treasured letter sent by Hickory John.”
    â€œHe said I was to leave it with the body. He said those on the other side had to see it.”
    Sagatchie did not resist when Duncan pulled the tattered paper from his hand. He, like Conawago, knew the elegant script and words by heart. The pain of the murder stabbed him anew as he read it one last time. When he finished his eyes were moist. “Surely this is something Conawago himself should do,” Duncan said. “He can bring it here tomorrow.”
    â€œYou do not understand, McCallum. Your friend is not coming.”
    â€œBut he is in the village resting, you said. He will want to come here, to sing the Nipmuc songs.”
    â€œI said I took him to a house to rest. But he left after sleeping two hours. He had a wound on his shoulder that had bled through the bandage, so Madame Pritchard changed it. He was eating some stew brought by those farmers, and talking with them, walking around the room as ifto get strength back in his legs. I was keeping watch outside so they would not be disturbed. He found something, then spoke urgently with them. Suddenly he picked up his pack and rifle and climbed out a window. He nodded his thanks to me as he climbed out, then ran across the pasture to the northwest. His face was like a storm.”
    Sagatchie took the letter, and Duncan watched in silence as the Mohawk reversed the fold so that the original address was on the outside. Duncan glimpsed words he had not seen before, scrawled along the back. He took the paper once more and held it in the sunlight. Stay silent between the worlds , the first sentence read, in Hickory John’s hand though not as elegant as the words inscribed inside. They seemed to have been written hastily, as an urgent postscript, as if Hickory John had made a discovery just as he posted the letter. Hasten , it said at the end, this is how we first die .
    â€œThis is how we first die,” Duncan did not realize he had repeated the