"There is a mine," she said, sitting down heavily.

"Well, not a gold mine, at any rate." Hawkeye's tone bordered on the apologetic.

"Copper? Silver? Diamonds?" She was close to hysterical laughter.

"Silver," said Nathaniel. "The Kahnyen’keháka knew about it before the Europeans came."

She drew in a deep breath.

"Aha. Since you could not risk the gold guineas, you took the silver when we left for Albany, and traded it for cash. Which in turn paid the debts. How long have you been mining the silver exactly?"

Nathaniel blinked. "Ten years, maybe."

"And you take it out . . . ?"

"Bears takes it out one canoe trip at a time."

His tone was calm, but his eyes were hooded with worry.

"Let me see if I understand," she said, quite softly. "My aunt Merriweather's gift, those two thousand pounds, that has not been touched?"

"It's earning interest."

"And there is the output from the mine, which is . . ."

He shrugged. "I'd say there's maybe twenty thousand dollars by now."

"Nineteen five," corrected Hawkeye. "But it ain't ours, not really. Bears looks after it, sees to it that it gets distributed among the Kahnyen’keháka. What we borrowed from the silver money in the spring we'll pay back when you two go to Albany you can take care of that, too."

"I see. With the gold, I presume. There are one thousand five—guinea gold pieces?"

"Closer to fifteen hundred," said Hawkeye, grinning now.

With an incoherent sound of surrender, Elizabeth put her face in her hands. After a long minute, she looked up.

"I married for money."

Nathaniel glanced at his father, and then at her. "It looks that way, Boots. Do you mind very much?"

She laughed. "I'm not sure. I will have to become accustomed to the idea before I can say." She found her handkerchief and wiped her brow with it. "If my father or brother should find out about the mine—"

Hawkeye grunted. "It would get loud around here," he said. "And it might complicate things in Albany, down the line."

"Of course we must go to Albany, soon, to settle our agreement on this place." Elizabeth paused to look around herself. "But how is that relevant?"

Nathaniel said, "There's still that bench warrant issued for you. The mine would make things look suspicious."

Elizabeth came to stand in front of him, so that she had to raise her head to look into his eyes. She was close enough to feel the heat of him. "Did you marry me to get this mine, Nathaniel Bonner?"

"I did not." He met her gaze without flinching. "Is there anything else you have not told me about? Landholdings in Albany? A peerage in Scotland?"

He shook his head.

"So." She looked between them. "You two did manage to deceive my father in this, that much cannot be denied. He could legally claim the profit from the mine before title was transferred—”

“But only legally," said Hawkeye. "The way I look at it, the money that's come out of that mine is part of what should have been paid to the Kahnyen’keháka for the land."

Elizabeth looked at them, dressed simply in worn buckskin, with work—hardened hands. They did not live easy lives; they had not profited personally from the mine. There was nothing of greed in what they had done, but there was something of pride.

"Yes, I see your point," she said finally, and there was a soft flicker in Nathaniel's face: relief and gratitude.

"And given the fact that my father found it within his heart to publicly accuse me of murder—" Elizabeth held up the newspaper. "I cannot find it in mine to be outraged for him."

Nathaniel held out his hand to her. "Then let's go and settle this business."

"One thing more," she said, holding back.

The men froze.

"With the gold and the silver, there will be quite a lot of cash available to us. I will have a say in how it is spent."

Hawkeye glanced at his son, and then nodded. "That's fair enough."

"Then let us go," said Elizabeth, pulling up her hood. "It promises to be an eventful day."

Chapter 47

Elizabeth found Anna's trading post just as she had left it: crowded with men, and overwhelmed with the smells of human sweat, tobacco and wood smoke, wet wool and bear grease, pickled onions and drying venison. The walls were still covered with signs and advertisements, and Anna was in her usual place behind the counter, rummaging head and shoulders deep in a cubbyhole. Poised at the open door, Elizabeth saw the assembly turn their attention to her and fall silent, one by one. With her cape wrapped around her and water dripping from the brim of her hood, she made sure to meet every eye she could catch. There were only ten men, half of whom she could name. But no sign of Axel, or of Jed McGarrity, the two she would have most liked to have seen.

Leaning on the back wall, his arms crossed on his chest, was Moses Southern. He was half—turned toward the much smaller Claude Dubonnet, who for Elizabeth would always first be Dirty—Knife, although she could not call him that. He had straightened up to stare at her from the newspaper he had spread out over the pickle barrel. Elizabeth thought briefly of offering to read it out loud to them, for she had no doubt what it was that had captured their interest. More of Julian's work, she was sure.