The blast of the pistol deafened Raoul, and in the momentary blaze of

light he saw the face of a young Indian, distorted with anger and fear.

It was a face he hated on sight--dark skin, narrow black eyes, flat but

for a beak of a nose, shaven skull. A face like those in his nightmares.

It stayed vivid in his mind's eye when the flash of light was gone.

The Indian's war whoop ended in a cry of pain.

_Got the sonofabitch!_ Raoul exulted. He'd been holding his pistol low,

must have hit the Indian in the gut.

The flash had temporarily blinded him, but reflexes honed in dozens of

riverfront brawls took over. He jammed his pistol into its holster and

switched the knife to his right hand. Every fiber of him hungered to

kill. He lunged forward, knife straight out in front of him. He could

feel his lips stretching in a grin.

The knife hit something solid, yet yielding. With a yell of triumph he

drove the point in, was rewarded with a scream of agony. He was

beginning to see again. The shadow facing him lifted the tomahawk. Raoul

jerked the knife free and swung; it chunked into the Indian's arm like a

meat cleaver. He heard the tomahawk clang on the rock floor.

Raoul threw himself on the Indian, stabbing, stabbing. His enemy's body,

smaller and lighter than his, crumpled under his weight. The fingers of

his left hand dug into smooth skin and hard muscle. He felt hands

pushing against him, but their efforts were weak, the struggles of a

dying creature. The cries and groans of pain made him eager to hurt the

Indian more. It was too dark to see where his knife was going in, but he

brought it down again and again. His hands felt wet. Some of his thrusts

sank deep, others were stopped by bone.

A pulse pounded in his brain. It did not matter that he was fighting in

the dark; fury blinded him anyway. He forgot everything but the knife in

his hand and the soft, bloody body under him. He screamed with rage and

triumph, drowning out the agonized shrieks of his enemy.

After a while, no more cries. The body under him did not move. Raoul lay

on top of the Indian, panting.

He began to think again. Carefully he slid his hand over the Indian's

chest, the buckskin shirt slippery with warm blood. No heartbeat, no

lifting of lungs.

_By God, I did it, I killed him!_ He felt as if rockets were going off

in his head, and he laughed aloud. He'd fought for his mine and spilled

his enemy's blood to make it his own.

_No goddamned Indian is ever going to steal what belongs to me._

He climbed to his feet. His knees were shaking violently under him.

His head ached so badly he felt as if his eyes were being pushed out of

his skull. He realized that in the fight he'd completely lost control of

himself. He'd become a wild thing, a creature without a mind. It had

happened to him several times before, in fights that had ended with his

killing a man.

Thoughts of triumph that he had killed his enemy, of terror at the

realization that this fight could have gone the other way, chased each

other around in his brain, but he felt even more alive and happier than

he had last night with Clarissa.

Sudden light dazzled him. An arrow of fear shot through him. More

Indians?

"Raoul!" It was Eli Greenglove's voice.

His eyes adjusted, and he could see Eli, Hodge Hode and Levi Pope

standing at the entrance to the side tunnel. They looked at the body at

his feet and the bloody knife in his hand, and then up at him and their

eyes were wide and their lips parted.

_Those looks are worth as much to me as this whole mine._

"You really chopped him into mincemeat," Eli said. "I'll have to get me

one of them Arkansas toothpicks."

"Get the other two bodies in here," Raoul said, making an effort to keep

his voice steady. "We'll find some place to bury them."

"Better search the whole mine, make sure there's no more redskins," said

Eli.

Raoul agreed, but he felt certain this one he'd killed was the only one

in the mine. He looked down at the dead face. The Indian wasn't much

more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Good, he thought. Hadn't had

long enough to do much harm.

But why, Raoul wondered, had this young buck thrown his life away

attacking him near the entrance to the mine? He'd have had more of a

chance of escaping if he'd hidden deeper.

Maybe he'd figured there was at least a little light to see and fight by

near the entrance. If he'd gotten Raoul, then somehow managed to get

away, he'd probably have claimed the right to wear a brave's feather.

The thought of himself lying dead in the dark and his scalp hanging on a

pole in front of a lodge down at Saukenuk made Raoul shudder.

But it was Raoul who'd won his feather. No Indian would ever kill Raoul

de Marion.

And any redskin sluts, and any mongrel bastards, that showed their face

around Victoire would have to deal with a man who killed Indians as

easily as he killed any other sort of vermin.

Time to have it out with Pierre.

* * * * *

Pierre wanted to weep as he saw what was about to happen. He rushed

forward and thrust out his hand to stop Raoul.

"Not the vase!" he cried. Maman had loved it so.

Raoul was too close to the mantel for Pierre to reach him in time. He

got to it in two strides and, just as Pierre had expected, seized the

vase that had been in the family for four generations, had stood on the

mantel ever since they built this chateau.

"Raoul!" Papa cried. "Think what you are doing!"

Raoul turned, holding the vase high over his head. He fixed Pierre with

the wide-eyed stare of a madman. His teeth flashed under his black

mustache in a grimace of fury.

He dashed the vase to the flagstone floor. The white egg shape vanished

with a hollow crack, and shards scattered, some hitting Raoul's boots,

others flying into the huge stone hearth.

A sudden silence filled the great hall of Victoire. Pierre felt as if

his heart had broken with the vase.

_You killed Maman_, he wanted to cry out, _now you would kill the memory

of her_.

But he held his tongue and hated himself for even thinking what he had

almost said. What an evil thought! How could he blame Raoul because

Maman died giving birth to him?

_Think what you are doing!_ Papa had cried. That was precisely what

Raoul never did. Thought was for afterward, for escaping the

consequences of his actions. Now he had worked himself into a rage, lost

all governing of himself, because, somehow, he had heard about Sun Woman

and Gray Cloud.

Pierre had to try to win Raoul over, to find a way to break through the

anger that divided him from his younger brother. Raoul had to be

persuaded that it was only right that Sun Woman and the boy be brought

here to Victoire. If Raoul did not accept that, his rage would tear

their family apart.

But how, in one afternoon, batter down a wall that had been building

over the past dozen years?

Pierre realized that he was still standing with his hand held out to

Raoul. He lowered it slowly, feeling his shoulders slump at the same

time. He had been reading with Papa when Raoul came in. Now he took off

his spectacles, put them in the silver case that hung from his neck by a

velvet cord and dropped the case in his vest pocket.

Elysee de Marion clutched the arms of his leather wing chair with

clawlike hands, half rising from it. Raoul stood staring at the two of

them, panting and trembling.

Elysee said quietly, "Why did you do that, Raoul?"

"To make you listen." Raoul's voice was deep and strong, and it

resounded powerfully against the beamed ceiling and stone walls of the

great hall. But in its tones Pierre heard the screams of that hysterical

boy whose tantrums and nightmares, after they'd finally succeeded in

ransoming him from the Potawatomi, had wrenched the hearts of the whole

household and renewed their grief over the loss of Helene.

But now that painfully thin, frightened child was a broad-shouldered man

over six feet tall with a knife as big as a broadsword and a pistol

strapped to his waist. A very dangerous man. A man who, they said, had

killed half a dozen or more opponents in fights up and down the

Mississippi.

"We have been listening," Elysee said.

"Pierre hasn't," Raoul said resentfully. "_You_ tell him, Papa. Tell

him he'd better leave his damned squaw in the woods where she belongs."

_Damned squaw._ The words pierced Pierre's chest like arrows.

Elysee sat back down in his wing chair and stroked his jaw. He looked

like an old turkey cock, with fierce eyes, a hooked nose and a long,

wrinkled neck. The leather-bound copy of Montaigne's essays that had

been lying in his lap had slipped to the floor to join newspapers piled

around his feet like autumn leaves, a mixture of local papers like Frank

Hopkins's _Victor Visitor_, and the Galena _Miners Journal_, months-old

papers from the East--the _New York Evening Post_, the _Boston Evening

Transcript_, the _National Intelligencer_ from Washington City, the even

older copies of _Mercure de France_ from Paris.

"Come here, both of you," Elysee sighed.

Hoping his father could reconcile them where he had failed so dismally,

Pierre went to stand before Elysee's chair. After a moment's hesitation

Raoul approached too. But Pierre saw that he was pointedly keeping more

than an arm's-length distance between the two of them.

Elysee said, "That's better. I can't see you when you stand far from me.

These eyes are good for very little but reading, and when I can no

longer read, I will shoot myself. And if I cannot see well enough to

load the pistol, one of you must do it for me."

As he often did, Elysee was attempting to use humor to put out the fire.

Pierre glanced at Raoul to see if their father had drawn a smile from

him. But Raoul stood with arms folded across his chest, his mouth hidden

under his black mustache, his eyes narrowed. Except when he smiled--and

today he was far from any smiling--the mustache made him look

perpetually angry.

"Raoul," Elysee said. "Be assured that we are listening to you. Tell us

what has driven you to destroy one of our family treasures."

"Just because Pierre soiled himself with a squaw," Raoul demanded, "do

we have to live with what came of it?"

Pierre felt his face burn. He wanted to slap Raoul.

_My life with Sun Woman was as honorable as my life with Marie-Blanche._

He forced himself to control his temper. If he became as angry as Raoul

was, this day would surely be the ruin of the house of de Marion.

Pierre felt a sudden twinge of pain in his belly. He fought down an urge

to rub himself there. He wanted no one to know about his illness. Worse

than the pain was the fear it brought on, the chilling suspicion that he

was a dying man.

Fearfully he wondered what death would be like. Though Pere Isaac said

such notions were foolish, he could not help seeing God the Father as an

enormous white-bearded judge, seated among the clouds. And what would

the Father's sentence be if Pierre de Marion turned his back on a wife

and a son?

He wished he could tell Raoul that he thought he was dying. Then perhaps

his brother would understand why he had to do his duty to Sun Woman and

the boy. But he feared that if Raoul was aware of his weakness, he would

try to take over the whole estate at once.

Praying that his brother would understand, he said, "Ever since

Marie-Blanche died, I have been thinking of Sun Woman. After five years

of life together, I left her and our little son. Lately I have been

seeing her and my son, Gray Cloud, in dreams. I know God wants me to

make amends to them."

Pierre felt sweat break out on his forehead and upper lip. Why must

Raoul stir up such turmoil with his hatred? Couldn't Raoul understand

that not all red people were like the ones he had encountered? Pierre

saw Sun Woman in his mind, so strong and wise, holding the hand of their

grave, brown-eyed boy. How beautiful they were.

Elysee said, "I do not believe that Le Bon Dieu announces his intentions

in dreams, Pierre."

Always the cynic. Papa had read too much Voltaire.

Elysee turned to Raoul. "But, Raoul, it does seem simple justice, what

Pierre wants to do."

"What about justice for me?" Raoul came back. "Isn't this my home as

much as Pierre's?"

Stung by Raoul's bluster, Pierre said, "Raoul, you live more at your

trading post than you do in this home."

To Pierre's surprise, Raoul's face reddened, making Pierre wonder what,

exactly, Raoul was doing at the trading post. It had seemed natural that

he would spend most of his time there, since Papa had given him the

Illinois Fur Company when he divided his property between the two of

them. But perhaps it was not only work that kept Raoul at the trading

post night after night. A woman? Pierre found himself hoping it might

be. A woman could be good for Raoul, civilize him a bit.

He had slept there last night. How, then, could he have learned about

Pierre's plans for Sun Woman and Gray Cloud?

_Is someone in our household spying on me?_

Pierre turned to Raoul. "How did you learn about this? I was going to

tell you, but you found out before I could."

Pierre took some small satisfaction in seeing Raoul's cheeks flush a

deeper red, in seeing his hesitation. He had come storming in here

unprepared to explain just how he knew about Pierre's plans.

Raoul said, "I overheard you and Papa talking about it."

"Absurd! We did not speak of this till this morning. You were not here."

Could Armand have heard, and told Raoul?

Armand must certainly know about Marchette, Pierre thought. But he knew

Armand would never directly attack him. Armand's ancestors had come to

America when this part of the country was still New France, and such

people retained a feudal outlook. The poor fellow doubtless considered

him far superior in birth and breeding. But he was capable of seeking

some kind of revenge, such as turning Raoul against him.

Pierre opened his mouth to chide Raoul for setting one of the servants

to spy on him, but he closed it again when he saw the look of

self-righteous reproach in Raoul's face.

His brother felt betrayed too. He had never stopped feeling betrayed

since the massacre at Checagou. Then how could Pierre expect him to be

reconciled to what must be done now?

Perhaps it would be best to leave Sun Woman and Gray Cloud where they

were. He could just send them gifts. Doubtless they were content. His

own years with the Sauk and Fox had shown him what a good life they had,

so simple, so closely attuned to Nature, so constantly aware of the

things of the spirit. Those years had been the happiest of his life.

No, sending gifts from afar would not be enough. It would be as if he

was hiding his Indian wife and son away, concealing his sin in the

wilderness. As he had been doing all these years, to his shame. The boy,

Gray Cloud, was flesh of his flesh, the only child he had in the world.

He was a de Marion as much as he was a Sauk Indian. He had a right to

come here and to know what his heritage was. He had a right to know his

father, in the time his father had left to him.

_I cannot face God and tell Him I turned my back on my son._

And that beautiful Sauk way of life, what a fragile thing it was! Powers

were massing, Pierre knew, to drive them from their homeland, to force

them to choose--exile in the Great American Desert, or annihilation.

Knowledge might help Gray Cloud meet that threat.

From the depths of his chair Elysee said, "Pierre, it is quite obvious

what is at the bottom of this. It is distasteful to speak of wills and

inheritances, but it is best to be candid. Raoul is afraid that you will

marry this Indian woman and make her son your heir in place of him. Can

you set his mind at rest?"

Pierre stared at Raoul. Ten years ago, on the day of Pierre's wedding to

Marie-Blanche Gagner, Papa announced that he was getting on in years and

was transferring ownership of the de Marion estate to Pierre, the older

of his sons. This January, consumption had taken poor, frail

Marie-Blanche, still childless. The place of Raoul, fourteen years

younger than Pierre, in the line of inheritance was now a certainty.

Surely Raoul could not be afraid that Pierre would take a Sauk Indian

boy who knew no other life but woodland and make him heir to the de

Marion fortune. The notion was so bizarre that it had never even crossed

Pierre's mind. Papa, sitting in his chair by the fire day after day,

reading, reading, would sometimes entertain the most ridiculous

fantasies.

Pierre observed that Raoul looked equally startled.

Then Pierre saw Raoul's expression change from surprise to dawning

anger. Papa had inadvertently given Raoul a new reason to be angry.

Hoping to pluck out the suspicion before it took root, Pierre quickly

said, "My God, Raoul, I have no intention of changing my will. The boy,

who is called Gray Cloud, is my natural son, that is all. Since I have

no legitimate children, you are my heir. Surely you see that."

Raoul's black mustache drew back from his teeth. "What I don't see,

brother of mine, is why in hell you couldn't get a proper son in almost

ten years of marriage with Marie-Blanche. That squaw use you up?"

Again Pierre felt like striking Raoul. His face grew hot.

Elysee asked, "How old would this--Gray Cloud--be?"

Pierre frowned, subtracting dates. "He was born in 1810. So he would

have just turned fifteen." He turned again to Raoul. Perhaps knowing

what he really did have in mind for Gray Cloud would calm his brother

somewhat.

He said, "Pere Isaac, the Jesuit, visits the British Band regularly. I

make offerings to the Jesuit mission in Kaskaskia, and I've asked him to

teach the boy a little English, some elementary letters and ciphering.

Now I want to see Gray Cloud for myself. See what sort of person he has

become. And I want him to know me. And, if I thought he could benefit

from it, I might help him to be educated. I might send him to that

secondary school in New York where our cousin Emilie's husband is

headmaster."

"Educate him so he can take over here?" Raoul demanded, and Pierre's

heart sank. Perhaps he should not have said anything about educating the

boy. He had momentarily forgotten what a disaster Raoul's year in New

York had been, what with whores, drink, money thrown away at cards,

brawls with street toughs and the police. The effort to educate Raoul

had ended when he beat his Latin teacher so badly the man was in New

York Hospital for a month. It had cost Papa a fortune to persuade the

teacher not to press charges. Of course Raoul would be insulted at the

suggestions that a savage Indian boy might succeed where he had

disgraced himself.

"No, Raoul." Pierre shook his head vigorously. "At the most, I might

want his mother and him to have a small bequest. Not even as much as

will go to Nicole. So little you would never miss it. Surely you would

not let greed for wealth and property come between us."

"I came here today to protect our family honor, and you call me greedy!"

Raoul's broad chest heaved.

"What I propose _is_ honorable!"

"How could you consider it honorable to make Indians part of our family

after what they did to us?"

It hurt Pierre to call those awful memories to mind. Yes, perhaps if he

had been there and suffered as Raoul had, and had seen Helene raped and

murdered, he might hate Indians as his brother did.

Pierre said, "Raoul, when I was with Sun Woman I knew nothing of what

happened to Helene and you. Once the war broke out in 1812 I was in

effect a prisoner and had no word from the white world. The Sauk held

me for three years from the start of the war. And then, when I found

out--why do you think I left Sun Woman and Gray Cloud? And never

returned, only sent messages through the priest, never tried to see

them? It was because after I learned about Helene--about what they did

to you--I, even _I_, Raoul, could not be with Indians anymore. It has

taken all these years before I could face them again."

Elysee said with a frown, "Raoul, you keep mentioning that this woman

and her child whom your brother wishes to help are Indians, as if that

in itself made them intolerable. Now, I could quite agree, if they were

Englishmen--"

Raoul spoke in a low, steady growl. "Being Indians does make them

intolerable. They're animals."

Pierre felt anger growing inside him. He was trying to understand Raoul,

but Raoul's insults were becoming more provocation than he could endure.

"Animals?" said Elysee incredulously. "Come now, Raoul. Surely you do

not believe that. The red people are as human as we are."

Raoul laughed bitterly. "Sure, you'd have to say they're human.

Otherwise Pierre's mating with one of them would be like a half-witted

farmer mounting one of his sheep."

Something exploded in Pierre's brain and he heard his own cry of anguish

as if from a long way off. He felt tears running from eyes blinded with

fury.

And when his eyes cleared, all he could see was Raoul's sneer. He burned

to smash his fist into those so-white teeth under that black mustache,

silence that filthy tongue. He lunged forward, fist drawn back.

Raoul caught his arm in an iron grip, but the force of Pierre's rush

threw his brother back against the great chimney. Pierre reached to grab

Raoul's neck and slam his head against the stone.

"Stop!" Elysee cried.

The old man stood up more quickly than Pierre had seen him do in years

and pushed himself between them.

Suddenly afraid that his father might be hurt, Pierre forced himself to

let go of Raoul. Every muscle in his body went rigid, and he trembled

from head to foot.

"You must control yourselves," Elysee said. "Pierre, you raised your

hand against your brother."

Pierre took a step backward, still shaking. How could this father

reproach _him_, after what Raoul had just said?

_The voice of Reason_, Pierre thought bitterly. _He does not know there

are some feelings that cannot be reasoned with._

Pierre realized that he was still crying. Raoul, having let go of his

arm, was looking at him with disgust.

"I loved Sun Woman," Pierre stammered. "For him to speak of her so--to

speak so of our love--"

"Surely," Elysee said, "Raoul spoke in the heat of anger."

"I don't take back a word," Raoul said in a hard, flat voice.

But, though it was hard to read the features behind that fierce black

mustache, Pierre thought he saw uncertainty in Raoul's face. As if Raoul

finally understood that he had gone too far.

_He drove me to try to hit him. He's never pushed me that far before._

Perhaps, Pierre thought, Raoul would now apologize. Appalled at his own

words, he might seek to be reconciled.

_I will make no more overtures. He meets every attempt with insults._

Pierre waited. He could see Raoul struggling within himself. Perhaps

Papa's suggestion that he might lose his inheritance had made him

realize what consequences a rift between them could have.

_Of course, I would never disinherit Raoul. There's no one else who

could manage the estate after I die. And I may be gone sooner than

anyone expects._

Pierre saw Raoul's broad chest swell as he took a deep breath. Now,

thought Pierre, surely Raoul was going to apologize and ask forgiveness,

and they would work out some way that Sun Woman and Gray Cloud could be

brought here without stirring up old hatreds.

Raoul said, "Don't bring Indians into this house, Pierre, I warn you. If

any Indian tries to claim he's a member of my family, I'll make him wish

he had never been born at all."

The pain that might one day kill him sank its teeth deep into his guts.

Raoul's words seared him like a branding iron. He felt his shoulders

sag.

Raoul turned his back on his brother and his father, and the clump of

his hard leather boot heels echoed through the great hall.

"Raoul!" Elysee cried. He held his hand outstretched, as Pierre had when

Raoul was about to smash the Limoges vase.

Looking down at those glistening white shards scattered over the

flagstones, Pierre wondered what would happen when Raoul inherited the

de Marion fortune. Would he destroy it in one of his rages as he had

this beautiful object that had been part of the family treasure? Or

would he use its power as he used his fists and pistol and knife, to

destroy others?

The de Marion fortune.... Once it had been a huge tract of land in

northeastern France dominated by the chateau of the Counts de Marion,

held by them so long that no one knew when or how they first obtained

it. Just as the origin of the de Marions themselves was something of a

mystery.

Converted into gold, the de Marion fortune had sailed, with Elysee, the

last Count de Marion, his countess and his children, across the

Atlantic. Elysee, in the early 1780s, had foreseen the bloody upheaval

that would sweep away the king and the nobility of France. He had made a

friend of the American ambassador to France, Thomas Jefferson, and had

thought much about Jefferson's new nation. Their revolution was over and

done with. The de Marion fortune might thrive in those United States.

And on the American prairie the de Marion fortune had purchased a vast

new estate and built a new chateau.

Elysee sighed and took a step toward his chair. Pierre turned the chair

toward the fire so that its wings would gather in the warmth of the

small fire and hold it around his father's body.

"Would you consider not bringing this woman and this boy here?" Elysee

said as he sat down. "To keep the peace in our family?"

Pierre hesitated. For ten years Sun Woman and Gray Cloud had lived in

their world, and he in his. Why provoke so much strife now by trying to

change that?

But Gray Cloud was the only son he would ever have, and if he left

things as they were, he would die without knowing him.

"She is my woman--in truth, my wife--and the boy is my child," Pierre

said. "Raoul has much. They have little. Raoul is wrong to cling to this

hatred. To give in to him would mean abandoning these two people to whom

I owe so much. As soon as the weather is a little warmer, Papa, I mean

to leave for Saukenuk. And I do dread what may happen, but, yes, I still

mean to come back with my wife and my son."

5

Star Arrow

_White Bear. My name is White Bear._

The sun, shining down through branches dotted with budding leaves,

warmed his back. He wore the knife his father had left him sheathed at

his waist. His eyes searched among the branches of the trees. He did not

know exactly what he was looking for, but Owl Carver said that he would

know it when he found it. He stopped at the base of an oak tree and

looked up.

He thought he heard something moving through the bushes on the upriver

side of the island. He stopped peering at the branches and looked up at

the sky.

The black trunks of the oaks and hickories rose above him. He felt as if

he were standing in a circle of wise old men, who were there to advise

and protect him. Ever since that time of sitting in the sacred cave when

his soul had gone out of his body, whenever he was by himself he never

felt alone. He felt the presence of spirits in all things--trees, birds,

plants, rocks, rivers.

After a moment's listening he heard nothing strange and went back to his

search. He had chosen this island because he had come here many times at

different seasons with his mother, gathering plants for medicines. Today

he was looking for one thing. Somewhere on this island grew the branch

from which he would cut his medicine stick. Owl Carver had carefully

instructed him.

_It will call to you out of the forest. It may be of oak or maple or ash

or cedar or even hickory. You will know it because it will not be like

any other branch you see, and your eye will be drawn to it._

A cloud drifted over the sun, and his arms and shoulders suddenly felt

cold. The coldness felt strange, and he remembered that his spirit

guide, the White Bear, was said to live in a very cold place. He stood

still. He felt he should wait for something to happen.

A shaft of sunlight fell on the black trunk of a tree a short distance

in front of him. Where the light struck the tree, a branch was growing

out, pointing right at him. He might not have noticed it if the light

had not fallen in just that way.

At the end of the branch three bright bur oak leaves were growing. This

was the Moon of Buds, and the limbs of most trees bore only the many

round swellings that would, as the days grew warmer, open and spread

into the first leaves.

But the three oak leaves at the end of this branch were fully grown, fat

leaves with deep, irregular lobes.

It was as Owl Carver had said. This branch called out to him from the

forest.

He went up to the tree, and as Owl Carver had taught him, he said,

"Grandfather Oak, please let me have your arm, to take with me to make

strong medicine for our tribe. I promise I will not hurt you, and I will

leave all your other arms untouched so that you can grow strong in this

place."

It was a small, new branch growing out of the tree at eye level. When

trimmed and stripped it would be just the right size for a medicine

stick. He would dry the leaves and keep them, too, he decided, as part

of his medicine bundle.

With his knife he reverently cut the branch away from the tree trunk.

A voice behind him said, "My son."

He jumped, startled.

At once he recognized Sun Woman's voice. As always, a warmth flooded

through him at the sound.

Still, he was angry with himself. How could he let someone slip up on

him like that?

He turned. He looked into his mother's brown eyes, level with his. Not

so long ago, he remembered, he had to look up to see into her eyes.

He saw pain tightening the muscles of her face. Her lips trembled as

they parted. Only a few times had he seen her in such distress, and his

heart beat harder. What was wrong?

"You must come back to Saukenuk, my son," she said.

"I have found my medicine stick, Mother. But now I must trim it here and

peel the bark in the place where I found it. Owl Carver told me how it

must be done."

She swept a hand across her body to say no to that. "It is Owl Carver

who says you must come now. Leave the stick here. The spirits will

protect it, and you can come back to it later. A man has come to our

village. You must meet him."

Tears on her brown cheeks reflected the bright sun.

"What is wrong, Mother? Who is this man?"

Again the hand gesture, rejecting his question. "It is better you see

for yourself."

"But you are sad, Mother. Why?"

She turned away, the fringe of her doeskin skirt swirling about her

shins.

He laid the severed oak branch at the base of the tree he had cut it

from, and with thanks to Grandfather Oak, turned away.

Baffled and apprehensive, he followed Sun Woman through the forest to

the edge of the island, where he saw her small elm-bark canoe pulled up

beside his.

Silently they paddled their canoes side by side upstream along the

narrow stretch of black-green water that separated the island from the

riverbank. The Rock River was in its spring flood. Paddling against the

powerful current strained White Bear's muscles. He glanced over at his

mother and saw with envy how easily she wielded her paddle. She seemed

to know how to do everything well. But an expression of sorrow was

frozen on her face.

They left the island behind, and soon White Bear saw the hundred lodges

of Saukenuk through the weeping willows, hackberries, maples and oaks

that grew along the riverbank.

They grounded their canoes on tree roots growing on the edge of the

river. Sun Woman beckoned, turned her back on him abruptly and started

walking through the woods by the riverbank. White Bear followed.

They passed two newly made graves in the shelter of the trees, mounds of

earth, each marked with a willow wand with a strip of deerskin attached

to it. Coming out of the woods, they walked, amidst the band's grazing

horses, through the blue-grass meadow surrounding the village. Beyond

the meadows, as far up and down the river as White Bear could see,

stretched stockade-fenced fields where the first shoots of corn, beans,

squash and sweet potatoes dotted the freshly turned black earth like

pale green stars in a night sky.

White Bear followed Sun Woman into the concentric rings of long lodges

with peaked roofs, built of wooden poles and walled with bark sheets,

laid out in the sacred circular pattern. Here the Sauk lived all summer,

three or four families to a lodge. But today the outskirts of Saukenuk

seemed empty. White Bear was surprised to see no one at the riverbank or

about the lodges.

Sun Woman walked past the lodges with back straight, legs stiff, her

arms rigid at her sides, her head high. Never once did she look back at

him.

Reaching the heart of Saukenuk, he saw that all the people were gathered

in the central clearing around Owl Carver's medicine lodge. As Sun Woman

approached the crowd, a child spied her and tugged its mother's skirt.

The mother looked first at Sun Woman, then at White Bear, then whispered

to another woman standing next to her. That woman turned, and then the

whispers spread in every direction and more and more people looked. The

crowd parted, making a path through which Sun Woman walked with her

stiff stride. White Bear followed.

At the end of the pathway through the crowd sat Owl Carver and another

man, side by side at the door of the sacred lodge. Owl Carver's long

white hair spread like a snow-covered spruce tree. His chest was bare

save for his necklace of megis shells, and was painted with diagonal

stripes of blue and green, the colors of hope and fear.

White Bear slowed his steps, studying the man seated beside Owl Carver.

His heart thumped hard when he saw who it was.

This was the man he had seen in his vision with the White Bear and the

Turtle. He stood still, his mouth open.

The vision-man had black hair streaked with white, tied with a ribbon at

the back. His face was dominated by a powerful beak of a nose. He must

have spent much time in the sun; his skin was tan, though not as rich

and dark as the skins of White Bear's people.

A beloved face caught White Bear's eye. Redbird was standing among the

people, looking not at the stranger, but at White Bear. Their eyes met,

and hers were wide with worry. He wanted to take Redbird's hand and run

with her into the forest, away from all these people and from whatever

made Redbird and his mother look so miserable.

And especially away from the thin, pale man who was now staring at him

as intently as a hunter with drawn bow watches a stag.

And yet, the pale eyes stranger had been part of the vision that had

given White Bear his new name and put him on the path to becoming a

shaman.

_He must be a good man if he appeared to me with the White Bear and the

Turtle. And he must be important to me._

"Sit here, White Bear," said Owl Carver, and White Bear walked slowly

toward him. Owl Carver gestured that he was to sit beside the pale eyes.

White Bear felt his heart fluttering as he sat down. Owl Carver pointed

to a place beside himself for Sun Woman. The four formed a semicircle,

backs to the medicine lodge, faces toward the crowd of curious people.

As was the way of the Sauk, the four sat for a long time with no one

speaking. White Bear's body grew colder and colder, and he had to fight

to keep from trembling.

After a time, White Bear turned to the stranger and saw in the gaunt

face a mixture of pain and joy. The man's pupils were a strange, almost

frightening gray-blue color. From such eyes, White Bear knew, the Sauk

took their name for this man's people.

As the man looked at White Bear and then over at Sun Woman, it seemed

that his heart was glowing with happiness. But it was a happiness tinged

by regret, the glow of a setting sun.

White Bear's inner sense told him that something was hurting more than

the pale eye's spirit, was draining his life away. White Bear wished at

once that he could work a healing of this good man's body.

But why was Sun Woman so unhappy? And why was Redbird frightened?

Owl Carver whispered to a small boy who stood beside him. The boy ran

off.

Now the shaman sat nodding his head slowly. White Bear could see that

Owl Carver stood at the branching of several paths and was trying to

decide which one to take. White Bear's fear grew.

Owl Carver turned to White Bear. "This man is your father."

_Yes!_

Taught by Owl Carver that rather than puzzle over a vision it is best

to let it reveal its meaning in its own time, White Bear had chosen

months ago not to ponder who the pale eyes in the Turtle's lodge might

be. Owl Carver must have known when White Bear described the vision to

him, but thought it better not to tell him.

White Bear turned and looked again at the man seated beside him, who

raised his arms tentatively, as if he wanted to reach out to him. White

Bear kept his hands in his lap, and the man lowered his arms again.

White Bear felt a strangeness, such as he had never known before. This

man looked at him with love. He was certain, now, that because this man

had come today, everything was going to be changed.

"Your father is called Star Arrow," said Owl Carver. He turned to Star

Arrow and said, "Your son is called White Bear."

"I greet you, White Bear," Star Arrow said. White Bear was glad to hear

this man speaking the Sauk language.

"I greet you, Star Arrow, my father," White Bear said. The word _father_

felt strange on his tongue.

_Star Arrow._ He liked that name and wondered what it meant. _Father._ A

shiver of joy went through him.

He spoke in the English Pere Isaac had taught him. "Good day to you,

Father."

"My son," said Star Arrow in the same tongue. White Bear saw now that

tears were running down his father's face, just as they had in the

vision.

He heard a commotion at the back of the crowd. People were stepping

aside.

A thrill went through White Bear as he saw that Black Hawk was coming

toward them. The leader's careworn face glowed as if he were seeing a

long-lost brother. He shifted his feather-adorned war club to his left

hand and raised his empty right hand in greeting to Star Arrow. White

Bear was amazed. He could not remember seeing Black Hawk smile so

happily.

Star Arrow raised his hand in reply. White Bear felt himself surrounded

by giants--Black Hawk, Star Arrow, Owl Carver. He remembered the circle

of trees he had been standing in when Sun Woman called to him.

"Star Arrow has come back to us," Black Hawk declared. "It is well."

Wolf Paw, Black Hawk's oldest son, now strode down the line of people.

His presence, as always, made White Bear uneasy.

Sun Woman made room for Black Hawk to sit beside Owl Carver. The chief

handed his feathered war club to Wolf Paw, who sat down behind him and

rested the club across his knees.

Three more men pushed their way through the crowd. When they came to the

front, White Bear saw that they were three chiefs, members of the

council that ruled the day-to-day affairs of the Sauk and Fox in

peacetime. One, Jumping Fish, was older than Black Hawk. Another, Broth,

was a deep-chested man and a well-known orator. The third, Little

Stabbing Chief, was a prominent member of the Fox tribe.

With a courteous gesture Black Hawk invited the three chiefs to join the

sitting circle.

The nine sat quietly for a time before their people while a breeze

whistled over the bark rooftops of Saukenuk.

Black Hawk broke the silence. "Our fathers and our grandfathers have

known many kinds of pale eyes. The French pale eyes traded with us. The

British pale eyes made us their allies in war. But the American pale

eyes drive us from our land and kill us when we resist. American pale

eyes are not our friends. But this man, Star Arrow, we call friend. We

trust Star Arrow.

"Thirteen summers ago the British long knives made war on the American

long knives. The great Shawnee chief, Shooting Star, led braves and

warriors of many tribes to fight on the side of the British against the

Americans. We among the Sauk and Foxes who followed Shooting Star have

been known ever since as the British Band. This man was living among us

then, seeking to trade with us and to know us better. When the war began

there were some who said, 'He is an enemy. Kill him.' And I might have

said so, too, but I did not, because already I knew that he was a good

man. We could not send him back to the Americans, but we let him live

among us. We even let him share the bed of Sun Woman.

"After the war, when Star Arrow went back to his own people, he left

with us this boy, White Bear." Black Hawk turned to White Bear, and when

their eyes met, White Bear trembled under Black Hawk's gaze. The chief's

eyes were infinitely black, like a night without stars.

"He left us another gift," Black Hawk said.

He reached into a beaded bag hanging at his belt. He took out a shining

metal disk on a thin silvery chain and held it up so that the people

could see it.

"Inside this disk of metal there is an arrow that points always to the

north. Even on a day when I cannot see the sun, on a night when I cannot

see the stars, I know where the sun should be and I know where the

Council Fire Star is, the star that does not move all night long. He

gave us this magical gift. And so we give him his name among the

Sauk--Star Arrow. His heart is as constant as the Council Fire Star and

as true as the arrow."

There was a murmur of assent among the people.

Black Hawk raised his hand. "Let Star Arrow now tell us why he comes

back." Black Hawk folded his arms.

White Bear, his heart beating as hard as a drum in a dance, turned to

the pale eyes. Star Arrow turned his own head to look long and gravely

at Sun Woman, then at White Bear.

Star Arrow said, "Chief Black Hawk, I lived with Sun Woman as her

husband, and then I left her with a son, this young man, White Bear. I

wronged Sun Woman and White Bear. He should have had a father as well as

a mother. I went back to my people and married a pale eyes woman.

Earthmaker has punished me by giving me no children by my second wife

and at last taking her from me. Because of this my heart is like the

ashes of an old fire."

He held out his arms toward Sun Woman. "Now I want to make it right."

Owl Carver leaned forward into the circle of speakers. "You want to come

and live with us again, Star Arrow?"

At the thought of Star Arrow returning to the band, White Bear's heart

leaped with happiness. All his life he had been hoping to meet his

father, waiting for his father's return, but never believing it

possible. So that his father, returning, might be pleased with him, he

had even let Pere Isaac teach him things he could never use.

To have this strange new man who was so respected by the Sauk living

with him and Sun Woman--this was almost as thrilling a prospect as his

dream of becoming a great shaman.

Star Arrow said, "No, I cannot stay among you. Nothing, I think, would

make me happier, but I have many things to do among my own people. I own

much land."

Owl Carver said, "If your land keeps you from doing what you want, then

it owns _you_."

Star Arrow smiled ruefully. "Owl Carver speaks truly, but I cannot

change this. I must care for my land myself, because there is no one who

can do it for me."

Star Arrow turned to look at White Bear, who sensed a question: _Could

you be one who helps me care for my land?_

Again White Bear felt the presence of a death-with-claws that had its

grip on Star Arrow's body. He must speak to Owl Carver. Perhaps Owl

Carver could tell him how to help his father.

Owl Carver said, "We know about your land, Star Arrow. You traded

honorably with us, and gave us many valuable goods, so that you and your

family could live on that land to the north and farm it and graze your

animals on it."

"That is so," said Chief Jumping Fish. "Star Arrow gave me a fine rifle,

and he made our tribe rich with what he paid us."

White Bear felt a chill of fear when he heard that Star Arrow lived to

the north. There was danger, it seemed, in the north. Three Fox men,

including Sun Fish, a youth his own age who had been a playmate of his,

had gone north two moons ago to work a lead mine and had not been heard

from.

Star Arrow said, "I have come to ask Sun Woman and White Bear to live

with me in my home."

White Bear heard an amazed murmur from the crowd, and he himself felt

his heart drop as if he plummeted unaware into a deep pit.

Leave the tribe? He could not picture it. It made no sense. Being

without the tribe would be like trying to live without his arms or legs.

White Bear's eyes met Redbird's. Her slanting eyes were big with fear,

and he tried to tell her with a look that he did not want this. Now he

understood why she looked so unhappy. She must have guessed what Star

Arrow would ask.

To leave Redbird. No longer to learn from Owl Carver. Give up hope of

being a shaman. Leave the forest. Leave Saukenuk. He had heard that no

spirits lived among the pale eyes. In the land of the pale eyes the tall

prairie grass was burned away and the trees were cut down.

Black Hawk and Owl Carver looked at each other. In the glances that

passed between them White Bear saw surprise, questioning, but no

disapproval. He felt his hopes sink. Would he have to fight this fight

alone?

No--his mother would say no to Star Arrow.

She stood up to speak, tall and stately. She turned to Star Arrow, and

White Bear saw love mingle with the pain in her dark brown eyes.

"I am happy to call Star Arrow husband. He has not wronged me. It is

right that a man should live among his people."

White Bear thought, _Now she will say that we must stay with our people

and cannot go with him_.

"I am glad that Star Arrow remembers me and White Bear, that he comes to

ask us to live with him. But I cannot go. I have my work, the gathering

of medicines, the healing, the teaching of what I know." She turned to

Redbird, who smiled uncertainly.

Sun Woman spoke on. "I could not look into pale eyes faces all day long.

My heart would dry up."

In the long silence that followed, White Bear waited uneasily. Why had

his mother not spoken of him?

Star Arrow unfolded his long, thin limbs, went over and stood before Sun

Woman. He put his hands on her shoulders. A sudden breeze rattled the

bark walls of Saukenuk.

"I understand what Sun Woman says."

Sun Woman and Star Arrow both looked at White Bear. He felt as if the

ground were trembling under him. He wished it would open up and swallow

him.

"This young man," said Sun Woman. "Your son, White Bear. Half of him is

you. It is right that he should see the pale eyes who are also his

people."

The earth was tilting. White Bear was falling.

His own mother--betraying him. Sending him away.

"I have always believed that Earthmaker meant some special destiny for

White Bear," Sun Woman said.

The shout burst from White Bear. "No!" He did not even remember getting

to his feet, but he was standing.

Heads turned toward him. Eyes opened wide. He saw Black Hawk lift a hand

to silence him, then lower it again. The three chiefs stared angrily.

Words tumbled out of him. He spoke to his mother, who had turned against

him.

"Earthmaker meant me to be a shaman. How can I learn to be a shaman if I

live among pale eyes? If I spend many summers and winters away from the

tribe I will no longer be a Sauk."

White Bear could see the pain-taut lines in Sun Woman's face. This was

hurting her, he knew that. But his anger at her burned in his chest. She

was trading his life for hers. She would stay here in Saukenuk, but she

would give Star Arrow part of what he wanted--his son. Why should he be

sacrificed to make Star Arrow happy? It was she who had chosen to take

this pale eyes into her lodge.

Sun Woman turned to Owl Carver. "We need to learn much more about the

pale eyes if we are to protect ourselves from them. Some of us must live

with them and come to understand them from within their tribe. Such a

one must be young enough to learn new ways. And he should be specially

gifted, a favorite of the spirits."

Then Owl Carver stood up to speak, facing White Bear.

"White Bear, listen to the words of your teacher. There is more than one

way to become a shaman. Here in Saukenuk live many people of the Fox and

some of the Winnebago, Piankeshaw and Kickapoo tribes. Who says their

lives are over because they live among the Sauk? If you live with the

tribe of pale eyes, it will make you a man of greater knowledge. To go

among them will take the courage of a warrior and more. Of knowledge, of

courage, is a shaman made."

Owl Carver turned to Black Hawk. "Sun Woman is right. Let the boy go

with Star Arrow. I know Earthmaker has blazed this trail for White

Bear." He crossed his arms before his chest and sat down again.

White Bear cast about desperately for words that would answer Owl

Carver. He felt helpless to fight the current that was sweeping him

away.

"If Earthmaker wants this for me, how is it that _I_ do not know it?" he

cried. He went cold inside, realizing that in his desperation he was

defying Owl Carver before all the people. He was questioning Owl

Carver's powers.

He wanted to say that he hoped to be the great prophet of the Sauk after

Owl Carver had departed to the land of the spirits. But he did not dare

say such a thing. Earthmaker himself might punish him for such

presumption.

"Did I not come back to you from the sacred cave with the very words of

the Turtle?" he said, holding his hands out in appeal. "Surely I will

bring you other great visions if I stay with you. Among the Sauk I have

grown to manhood. Why does this man come now to tear me away from the

only tribe I have known?"

He was surprised to see Star Arrow smile warmly at him.

"This man is your father," Owl Carver declared. "You are a Sauk. A Sauk

never shirks the demands of honor. A Sauk is loyal and respectful and

obedient toward his father."

"I am proud of my son," said Star Arrow. "He speaks with power before

the people."

At that, a hopeless feeling swept over White Bear. Star Arrow was not

fighting him, any more than water fights a drowning man. Star Arrow was

a current dragging him away from his people, his village.

And the village was not trying to hold him. Sun Woman, Owl Carver, Black

Hawk, were pushing him out, as they would a man who was so wicked he

could not be allowed to live with the people. He felt utterly alone.

What did he know of the pale eyes? Only the little that Pere Isaac had

taught him. And that they were great land thieves. Always they were

scheming to take land away from the people who had held it since the

Great River first began to flow from the Turtle's breast. Why must he

live among his people's enemies?

Owl Carver sprang from his seat. He leaped at White Bear and crouched

before him. His eyes opened wide as those of his totem bird. White Bear

felt himself pulled toward their black centers, as if they were

whirlpools in the Great River. Owl Carver's long white hair fanned out

like wings on either side of his head.

"_You will listen!_" Owl Carver said in a soft voice of terrible

intensity. "_You will hear!_"

Silently White Bear stood looking at the shaman.

"You are the son of my spirit as much as you are the son of Star Arrow's

body. I tell you to live with this man as I told you to go to the sacred

cave in the Moon of Ice. This is a far greater test for you. Going to

live with the pale eyes will be like journeying to another sacred cave.

And you will bring back other visions."

White Bear saw in the blackness of Owl Carver's eyes that if he defied

this decision he would lose his place in the tribe. There was no way to

break free from the current that was sweeping him away from Saukenuk.

White Bear felt as if something in him had broken. He held his face

expressionless. He did not want to show his hurt before the tribe. But

he knew he would soon be unable to stop himself from weeping.

Among the witnessing people he saw anguish and determination struggling

in Sun Woman's face. Others looked at him only with curiosity, not

sympathy. In all the people around him, the only face that shared his

unrelieved wretchedness was Redbird's. His gaze met hers, and the pain

they felt together deepened his despair.

Black Hawk spoke in a low voice over his shoulder to Wolf Paw, who stood

up. As he left the circle before Owl Carver's medicine lodge, Wolf Paw

glanced at White Bear, and White Bear saw the light of triumph in his

eyes.

Black Hawk held a hand out to Star Arrow. "If we let you take White

Bear, you must one day let him return to us, bringing his new knowledge

to help the Sauk."

Owl Carver moved from his crouching position before White Bear and sat

down again, facing Star Arrow. "This young man is most precious to us.

The mysteries have been told to him, and he has seen visions of the past

and future."

At this White Bear's heart was eased a bit. The tribe did want him to

return.

_I am both red and white._

And both his tribe and the pale eyes wanted him.

_To go among the pale eyes will make you a man of knowledge_, Owl Carver

had said, and Black Hawk had agreed. Perhaps he could become a star

arrow, pointing the way for his people in the troubled days the Turtle

had foretold.

"I promise to keep him with me only for a time," said Star Arrow.

_He has not long to live. That is why he can promise._

And that meant that White Bear's time of exile from the Sauk would be

short. But knowing that brought White Bear no relief. He did not want

his father, whom he had just met, to die so soon.

"I ask one more thing," said Star Arrow. "It will be harder for the boy

to learn the ways of the pale eyes if he always feels the pull of his

Sauk people. For the first few summers and winters that he is with us, I

ask that he not return to you even for a visit, and that you send no

messages to him and he send none to you."

"That is much to ask," said Owl Carver. "That is hard. The boy may die

of longing for his people."

Star Arrow shook his head. "I would never let that happen. If I see that

it is unbearable for him, I will send him back to you. But I will do

everything I can to make him happy, and if he does not see the British

Band or hear from them, the pain of parting will go away sooner."

"I understand what Star Arrow says," said Black Hawk. "It is granted."

White Bear sat down slowly, feeling as if he had been mortally wounded.

Never to have a word from his mother or from Redbird--how could he bear

it?

Star Arrow continued, "He will go to a fine school in the East. And when

he has learned all he can learn, I will send him back to you."

"Let it be done," Black Hawk said.

Wolf Paw came through the crowd, holding up in both hands a calumet, a

sacred pipe. Its hickory stem was as long as a man's arm, wrapped in

blue and yellow bands, and its high, slender bowl was of dark red

pipestone, quarried in a valley far to the west.

Black Hawk took the pipe from Wolf Paw and filled the bowl with tobacco

from a beaded pouch at his waist. Owl Carver went into his lodge, and

brought back a burning twig that Black Hawk used to light the pipe.

Black Hawk said, "By the smoking of the sacred tobacco let all these

promises be sealed."

White Bear went cold as he saw the light gray smoke curl up from Black

Hawk's pipe and smelled its sweet scent. Once he put the pipe to his

lips and drew the smoke into his mouth, he would be bound to go with

Star Arrow as firmly as he was bound to the Sauk tribe.

Holding the pipestem with one hand in the middle and the other at the

end, Black Hawk ceremoniously drew on the pipe and let a cloud of smoke

out of his mouth. He handed the pipe to Star Arrow, who fixed his gaze

on White Bear and did the same. Next the pipe went to Owl Carver, who

took the single puff that bound him to the agreement. Owl Carver took

the pipe in turn to Jumping Fish, Broth and Little Stabbing Chief. Each

puffed on it, bearing witness.

Then Owl Carver walked over to White Bear and handed him the pipe.

Trembling with fear that what he was about to do might be the ruin of

him, White Bear took the pipe in his hands. His fingers felt the ridged

wrappings and the smooth, warm stone of the bowl. He had never smoked a

sacred pipe before.

He could hand the pipe back to Owl Carver and refuse. But he knew that

this had gone so far that if he did that, not only would he never be

accepted as a shaman, he might not even be accepted as a Sauk.

He wanted to look at Redbird, but he dared not. He looked instead at Sun

Woman and saw her eyes warm with the wish that he would smoke the pipe.

He put the calumet to his lips and pulled the hot smoke into his mouth.

It burned his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. He took the pipe

away and held the smoke for a moment, then puffed it out. As he did so,

a sigh went up from the watchers.

Black Hawk was standing before him. White Bear handed the pipe up to

him.

"May you walk this path on which we send you with courage and honor,"

Black Hawk said.

He turned to the people. "This council is at an end."

White Bear knew he could not hold back his tears any longer. He sprang

to his feet and blindly hurled himself into the crowd that was already

beginning to disperse. He felt a hand on his arm, but he pulled away

from it.

He began to run. He ran through Saukenuk, through the meadow, into the

trees by the river's edge. He ran past the graves. He ran with the hard,

steady stride of one carrying a message.

But a messenger did not run sobbing, with tears streaming down his

face.

6

In the Ancient Grove

Redbird watched, an aching, empty place in her chest, as White Bear

disappeared into the woods at the edge of the Rock River.

"What a fool!" Water Flows Fast, standing nearby, had spoken. "The pale

eyes have steel knives and blankets and big sturdy lodges that are

always warm and never leak. They always have enough food. I would be

happy to go live with a pale eyes if he asked me."

"Is your prattling tongue never still, woman?" said her husband, Three

Horses.

"It was my prattling tongue that agreed to marry you."

Redbird had no heart to listen to them bicker.

"Let me through!" she cried, and the crowd parted before her.

"Where are you going?" cried her mother. "It is shameful to run after

him." She grabbed Redbird's sleeve. "All the people will laugh at you."

"Let me go!"

As Wind Bends Grass pulled at her, Redbird's eyes met those of Wolf Paw,

standing beside his father, the war chief. He glared at her. She knew

he, too, wanted to tell her not to run after White Bear. But if he

showed that he cared that much, the people would make fun of _him_.

She turned her back on all of them--Wind Bends Grass, Wolf Paw, Black

Hawk, Owl Carver--and began to run.

When she reached the riverbank she saw no sign of him. For one

panic-stricken moment she thought, _Did he throw himself into the

river?_

Then, downriver, she saw a canoe gliding over the glistening water. He

was paddling hard and was almost out of sight around a bend.

Her own small bark canoe, on which she had painted a bird's wing in red,

lay a short distance down the riverbank. She pushed it into the water,

jumped into the rear and seated herself in the middle. The canoe's

bottom scraped over the riverbank as she pushed off with her paddle.

She stayed a distance behind White Bear, just close enough to keep him

in sight. He might not want her to follow him. She could not guess what

was in his mind right now.

What would she do when she caught up with him? She had hoped to marry

him, if not this summer, then the next. Ever since she was a small child

she had found him endlessly fascinating. More so than ever since his

return from his spirit journey. Nothing, she thought, would make her

happier than living with him. Sun Woman had told her all about what

happens when a man and a woman lie down together--knowledge that Wind

Bends Grass had insisted that she did not yet need. It sounded painful,

pleasurable, frightening and exciting. She had looked forward to lying

down with White Bear.

But now she was going to lose him. How could Sun Woman send her own son

away from the tribe?

_And send him away from me._ Redbird felt more hurt than if her own

mother had turned against her.

And did White Bear truly mean to go with the pale eyes? He had smoked

the calumet. He must.

The current carried her canoe through the water, brown with silt caught

up in spring flooding, almost faster than she could paddle. Ahead the

river divided, flowing around an island near the right bank, thick with

trees. White Bear turned into the narrow channel that ran between island

and shore, and she backpaddled to slow herself and watch.

His canoe rounded a huge fallen tree, whose exposed roots clutched at

the island's shore like the fingers of a drowning man, and disappeared

behind the trunk.

She let her paddle drag in the water, first on one side then on the

other, holding her canoe back until he had time to land. Then she glided

into the narrow channel and around the dead tree.

He had drawn his canoe up in a small sandy cove, and was gone. She

landed on the patch of sand beside his canoe and pulled her canoe

partway out of the water.

She listened, and for a moment heard nothing but the wind in the trees.

A redbird, her namesake, trilled long and loud, and another answered

from a more distant tree.

Then she heard a human voice. No words, just an outcry. A cry of pain.

She plunged into the forest that covered the island, pushing her way

through the shrubbery toward the sound of his voice.

He was sobbing so loudly that she was sure he could not hear her coming.

She had heard a man sob like that once before, a dying hunter whose leg

had been torn to shreds by a bear.

She moved through some trees and saw him. He was sitting with his back

against the big black trunk of an oak. He was in a grove of trees so big

and so old that little grew in their heavy shade, and there was an open

place to sit. The season was so young that their branches were still

almost bare, and she could see White Bear clearly in the afternoon

sunlight. He held a severed tree branch in his lap. His eyes were

squeezed shut and his lips were drawn back from his teeth, and his cries

of pain came one after another.

She stepped out of the bushes into the grove. He looked up, and the face

he showed her was so twisted that she could not tell whether he saw her.

He went on sobbing hoarsely.

Her heart hurt to see him suffer so. She sat down beside him.

For a long time she listened to him weep, waiting for a chance to speak

to him.

She looked at the branch he was holding. It was almost as long as her

arm, and, surprisingly, it had leaves at its tip, even though this was

only the Moon of Buds. He clutched it as a child clutches a doll for

comfort.

Gradually his weeping subsided. She reached out very carefully and

patted his shoulder lightly. When he did not pull away, she rested her

hand on him. She eased herself closer until they were pressed together

side by side, and she slid her arm around his shoulders and held him

tightly.

At first she felt no answering movement. He seemed only half alive. She

wondered if he knew she was here. Then his head dropped to her shoulder.

She felt the weight of his body yielding to her.

She put her other arm around him. She held him as if he were her child.

In spite of his sorrow and her own, it was a great happiness to hold him

like this.

He sighed and wiped his face with his hand. She stroked his cheek,

brushing away the tears.

She wanted to talk to him, but waited for him to speak first.

"There is nothing I can do," he said. "I must go with Star Arrow, my

father."

She studied his face as he stared off into the forest. She could see now

the features of his father in him. There had always been something odd

about his eyes, but she had never been quite able to decide what it was.

Now she saw that they were rounder than most people's. They were shaped

like his father's. His nose was thin and bony, with a high arch, and

sharp at the end, like the beak of a bird. His eyebrows were thick,

black and straight across. His chin was pointed. She loved the

strangeness of his face.

She said, "When it gets dark we could go back to the village and fill

our canoes with food and blankets and tools and weapons. There will be

feasting tonight for Star Arrow. Everyone will sleep soundly after that.

We could cross the Great River tonight, and tomorrow we could be far

away."

He stared at her. "But I do not _want_ to leave my people."

She had not thought that far ahead, about what it would be like to be

away from Owl Carver, Iron Knife, Sun Woman, her sisters, her mother,

all the others. Yes, it would be a great loss. But she could stand the

pain, she thought, if she were beside White Bear.

"But we would have each other. Would it not hurt you less if you had me

with you?"

He did not answer at once, and that made her feel as if a rough hand had

squeezed her heart. But then he smiled at her, and she felt better.

"Yes, if I could share my life with you, the pain of leaving Saukenuk

would be less." Then his face darkened. "But we could not live on our

own. A man or a woman cut off from their tribe can no more be happy than

a flower after it is picked can continue to grow. And I would have

dishonored the promise I made with the sacred tobacco. The spirits would

turn their backs on me. My mother and Owl Carver say that if I go with

Star Arrow, I may learn things that would help our people."

She was thunderstruck to realize that he actually wanted to go with Star

Arrow. Then what was all this weeping for?

He did not care for her as much as she did for him. That made her angry.

She pushed herself a little apart from him.

"I see that I have been a fool to chase after you, just as my mother

said. It means more to you to go and live with the pale eyes than it

does to have Redbird as your woman."

His eyes widened. "We have never before today spoken of this, you and

I."

"Did we have to speak?" She felt herself getting angrier and angrier.

"Why do you think I went looking for you when you went on your vision

quest? Why do you think I followed you from the village today? And why

did I say I would go with you across the Great River? Yes, I did want to

be your woman. But you do not want me. You want to go away with this

pale eyes father of yours, and maybe you want to take a pale eyes woman

for yourself."

His mouth as well as his eyes opened up in amazement. "I have never even

seen a pale eyes woman. How could I want one? I do want Redbird to be my

woman. And I weep at leaving Saukenuk because I must leave you."

Again she reached out to him, putting her hands on his arms. "I would

rather be cast out of our tribe than lose you."

He shook his head. "We do not have to lose our people or each other. It

was part of the promise sealed with sacred tobacco that I am to come

back. If we ran away now, Earthmaker would be angry with us."

She moved closer to him. She had seen Earthmaker in dreams. He was

taller than the tallest tree, and he carried a great war club with a

ball-shaped rock at the end of it and looked much like Black Hawk, with

a long black lock of hair coiling down from the top of a shaved head.

"I wish I could meet and talk with the spirits, as you have," she said.

"Sometimes I think I do meet them, in dreams."

"It can be dangerous to meet with the spirits," he said. His eyes seemed

to be looking into the distance. He had seen so many things she had not.

It was unfair, she thought sadly.

She had gone out to him in the bitter cold when the world was an endless

white waste. She might have frozen to death. She might have been

punished by drowning in the icy river. She had risked almost as much as

he had.

"I do not say that I am as strong as White Bear, or as worthy to speak

with the spirits," she said. "I only wish I had a chance to."

He took her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes.

"The real danger of a shaman's vision is not to the body."

"What is the real danger?"

"I did not want to come back."

She felt a cold wind blowing across her neck, as if spirits had quietly

entered this grove with them and were standing about them, listening to

them, judging them.

"It is so wondrous," he said in a voice so low she had to strain to hear

it over the wind whispering in the tree branches. "You are there with

them. The White Bear, the Turtle. You see them, talk to them. You see

the Tree of Life, the crystal lodge of the Turtle and the spirits of all

living things. Why would anyone want to return?"

Redbird shivered. But she still envied him.

"Your hands are cold," White Bear said, and he put his arm around her

and drew her close to nestle on his chest. She slid her hands under the

leather vest he wore and felt the smooth warmth of his skin and the

firmness of his muscles. How powerful his arms were around her. She

thanked Earthmaker that White Bear had found the inner strength to

return from that other land.

A new thought occurred to her. "What if you find that the land of the

pale eyes holds you fast? Then you will never come back to me, and to

the Sauk you will be dead."

He smiled gently and patted her shoulder. She pulled herself closer to

him.

"Can the land of the pale eyes, altogether without spirits, hold me,

when the spirits themselves could not?"

"I do not think so."

"Can the land of the pale eyes hold me, when Redbird is not in it? _I_

do not think so."

Her body seemed to be melting. She wanted to flow together with White

Bear as the Rock River flowed into the Great River.

His arms tightened around her. Then he raised his hand to brush the

fringe of hair that fell over her forehead.

She moved against him until her cheek touched his. Slowly she slid one

side of her face against his, then the other side. A hunger filled her.

It was almost as if she wanted to devour White Bear, but all she could

do was touch his smooth cheek with her fingertips.

His nostrils flared and his lips parted and she could hear his

breathing. His hands were roaming over her body, awakening powerful

feelings wherever he touched her, making her want more.

How did they come to be lying down? They must have moved without

realizing it. She could see, feel and think only of White Bear. Her head

was pillowed on his arm and her face was pressed against his. With his

free hand he caressed her, seeking her flesh under her jacket and skirt.

His hand became bolder, plucking at the laces that held her clothing

together, baring places that only a husband should look at as he was

looking now. And touching those places, sending ripples of delight all

through her.

And she wanted him to do that. She felt no shame or fear, only

happiness. She let him do whatever he wanted. She helped him. She moved

her hands also, to touch more of him. Her hand found the oak branch that

he had been holding just before she sat down with him. She put the

branch aside and let her fingers feel the hardness pushing against his

loincloth; he was ready to come into her in the way that Sun Woman had

explained.

She could still stop him if she wanted to. She knew him and trusted that

he would not do anything she did not want.

But she wanted this. She wanted his hand to go on skillfully preparing

the way for him. She wanted this golden glow inside her to fill her more

and more. This was happiness, and she was climbing toward a greater and

greater happiness. She felt him move, and all at once her hand was not

on his loincloth, but on his hot flesh. She wanted to open herself up to

the part of him she held so tightly.

Then he was upon her, and she felt a sudden stabbing pain. She cried

out. Almost at once his cry of pleasure followed on hers and his hips

thrust forward violently and she felt him filling her. He let out a long

sigh and relaxed, lying on top of her, resting all of his weight on her.

I am like the Turtle holding up the earth, she thought.

There had been mounting pleasure until her moment of pain. Now there was

an ache and a faint memory of the good feelings. She wanted more

pleasure. Sun Woman had told her it would hurt only the first time. And

that from then on it would be better and better.

Slowly he withdrew from her and they lay on their sides looking at each

other. His eyes were huge right before her face.

"For a moment," he said softly, "I felt as I did when I walked on the

bridge of stars."

She thought of asking him whether it made him so happy that he would

stay with her now instead of going to the country of the pale eyes with

his father. But she knew what his answer would be, and that his saying

it would only hurt him and her.

She said, "It was Sun Woman, your mother, who told me about this--about

what men and women do together."

He laughed. "It was also she who told me." His face reddened. "I feel as

if my mother were here watching us."

It was Redbird's turn to laugh. "What would she see that she did not

know about already?"

He shook his head. "I would not want anybody to see us doing that."

"The spirits watch us."

"That is not the same. They watch everything, so it is not special to

them."

"Is it special to you?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. Something has passed between us. I have given a part of myself

to you. And I have a part of you too. Now, even if I must leave you, we

will still be with each other."

She did not want to hear him speak of leaving. She wanted to stay here

with him in this grove of ancient trees forever. When she had spoken to

him of going off and being alone together, this was what she imagined it

would be like. But then a dark thought crossed her mind.

"White Bear, they might send people looking for us. They might catch us

together like this." Anxiously she started to pull her clothing

together.

He sat up beside her and put his hand over hers. "I do not think anyone

is coming." He sounded so sure that she thought he must be speaking as a

shaman.

"They know I will come back to the village," he added. "They saw me

smoke the calumet. And in a few days I will leave with Star Arrow."

He said it with such finality that the sun seemed to go out.

"And so there is time," he said, "If you want ..." and guided her hand

to touch him. To her joy she felt him strong in his readiness to be

within her again. This time, she was sure, it would not hurt. She would

know the full delight that Sun Woman had told her of. The afternoon

sunlight slanting through the budding branches was warm again, bathing

her and making her feel joyful and free.

Their flowing together lasted longer this time, and gave her all the

happiness she had hoped for.

And it came to her, as they lay peacefully side by side afterward, that

this might have happened someday, but it would not have happened today

if Star Arrow had not come to claim his son.

7

Raoul's Mark

On the morning of the fourth day of their journey north from Saukenuk

along the Great River, when the sun was halfway up the sky, White Bear

and Star Arrow emerged from a forest into a prairie. To their right were

gentle hills covered with new green buffalo grass and prairie flowers of

every color. To their left the hills stood taller, then dropped suddenly

to the Great River. White Bear saw a large boat with great white wings

above it to carry it along.

Star Arrow brought his tall black stallion to a sudden halt and climbed

down, gesturing to White Bear to dismount from his brown and white pony.

"Look at this stone," Star Arrow said, pointing to a large gray rock

that stood upright on the edge of a bluff overlooking the river.

White Bear saw carving on the rock and, remembering Pere Isaac's

lessons, recognized it as the pale eyes' letter M.

"M for de Marion," said Star Arrow. "We are now on land belonging to the

de Marion family. You see no fences here because we could not cut enough

wood to fence off all our land. There is so much of it."

He reached out and rested his hand on White Bear's shoulder, his fingers

squeezing through the buckskin shirt. "But before we come to the place

where I live, and where you will live, we must speak of names. Among the

pale eyes I am called Pierre de Marion. My full name is Pierre Louis

Auguste de Marion."

He made White Bear say "Pierre de Marion" after him.

"According to our custom you should call me Father," Star Arrow said,

saying the word in English. White Bear already knew it.

"Now I will tell you what your name will be among the pale eyes."

White Bear pulled free of Star Arrow's hand and took a step backward.

"I already have a name. I was born Gray Cloud because I am neither white

nor red." He could hear reproach in his voice, though he had not meant

to sound that way. "But now I am White Bear. That is the name given me

by the shaman Owl Carver after my spirit journey. I must keep that

name."

"And you will keep that name, son. You will always be White Bear. But,

just as I am happy to have the British Band call me Star Arrow, so you

can have a pale eyes' name. One that tells pale eyes when you go among

them who you are--that you are a member of the de Marion family--that

you are my son."

_He is proud that I am his son._ White Bear's anger faded and he felt a

warmth toward this man who wanted to give him a name. He decided that if

Star Arrow could have two names, so could he.

"What is my pale eyes' name to be, Father?"

Star Arrow put his hand on White Bear's shoulder. "I wish you to be

called Auguste de Marion. Auguste is a very old name. It means

'consecrated,' a sacred person, and that is a good name for one who has

seen a vision and wishes to be a shaman. Say it after me. Auguste."

"O-goose."

As they rode on through the de Marion lands, people called out from

cabins. Mounted men, who saluted Pierre with a wave of their hands, rode

among herds of cattle and horses.

_Dozens of horses!_ Auguste thought, realizing he was seeing wealth that

would amaze any man of the British Band.

Farther along they passed fields fenced off with logs split in two and

piled one on top of the other. Sheep roamed over low hills and cropped

the prairie grass to its very roots. Inside a smaller plot huge gray and

pink pigs rolled in mud beside a pond.

They passed fields planted with crops. The whole village of Saukenuk

with all the farmland around it would fit into one of those fields. He

recognized one crop, corn. Corn as far as he could see. How much corn

could the de Marions eat? They must be a huge tribe.

As they rode along, Pierre said, "One more thing for you to know,

Auguste. You will meet the rest of your family today--your grandfather

and your aunt, my sister." He stopped his horse. Auguste reined up his

pony and waited. Unhappiness dragged down the lines in Pierre's face.

"I must tell you that I also have a brother, your uncle, who--" He

hesitated. "Who may not be friendly to you."

"Why?" Auguste asked.

"Thirteen summers ago another sister of mine and he were captured by the

Potawatomi during the war between the British and the Americans. My

sister was murdered by them. Raoul, my brother, suffered greatly until

we found him and ransomed him. He hates not just the Potawatomi, but all

red men. He did not wish me to bring you back here to our home."

"I do not understand," said Auguste. How could a man hate all tribes

because of what the men of one tribe had done to him? Again he realized

what a mystery the pale eyes were, and he felt fear.

Pierre said, "He probably will not be there when we arrive. I had to

tell you about Raoul, but I do not want you to be afraid of him."

But he _was_ afraid, he told himself as they rode on. His belly felt

hollow, and his heart beat faster than his pony's trotting hooves. He

was afraid of the pale eyes and their strange ways. He felt more fear

now than he had when he walked on the bridge of stars with the White

Bear.

"There!" Pierre suddenly held out his hand. Auguste's eyes followed the

gesture, and his mouth dropped open.

What at first he thought he saw was a forest of trees covered with snow.

In their midst something rose like a great gray hill. Snow in the Moon

of Buds? Perhaps the pale eyes did have a magic of their own.

As they rode closer, the snow on the trees turned into flowers. He had

seen wild apple trees in bloom and knew that many trees flowered around

this time. But these trees were all planted in straight rows, and each

one was a mass of white blossoms.

What he had thought was a gray hill was the biggest lodge he had ever

seen. He jerked the reins of his horse to stop, so that he could sit and

wonder at what he was seeing. He felt Pierre stop beside him.

The great lodge seemed to be made of three or four lodges all joined

together with one central building higher than all the rest. Its high

peaked roof was of logs split in half with the flat sides turned

outward. The lower part of the lodge was made of stones, the upper part

of logs.

Dread filled him, seeing that these people could do so much. They could

hold so much land that a rider needed half a day to cross from edge to

center. They could make the land obey their wishes, fence it, fill it

with animals, plant huge fields with crops, enjoy a forest of flowering

trees. And in the very center of all this they could make a lodge

gigantic enough to hold a hundred families.

The pale eyes could do anything. They were magicians so mighty as to

make a shaman like Owl Carver look childish. How could he ever hope to

know all that they knew?

Despair crushed him. He wanted to see no more.

Pierre patted Auguste's pony on the neck, and the little horse started

forward again. Numbly, Auguste felt himself being led toward the great

lodge, his pony's hooves falling softly on white petals.

Pierre pointed proudly. "We call our house Victoire."

Closer and closer they came until the house blocked out part of the sky.

It was gray, the logs it was built of having weathered. Auguste saw that

there were many smaller buildings scattered around the giant

lodge--smaller only compared to the huge one in the center. Some of the

smaller houses were connected to the great one by sheltered walkways.

The smallest was much bigger than the biggest lodge in Saukenuk.

In a moment they would emerge from among the flowering trees. Auguste

saw a log fence ahead. The fence surrounded a low hill covered with

close-cropped grass, leading up to the house. One large old maple tree

shaded the south side. He checked his pony. He could go no farther.

"What is it?" Pierre asked him.

"I cannot," Auguste said. "I cannot go there." He felt a quaver in his

voice and his lips trembling, and he held himself rigid.

"Why not, Auguste?" Pierre said softly.

"I do not know what to do here. I have never seen such a place as this.

I will do foolish things. All those people will laugh at me. You will

not want me for a son."

"Let us wait," said Pierre. "Get down from your horse."

Biting his lip, Auguste dismounted.

"We shall sit here," said Pierre. They sat, facing each other. Auguste

saw people approaching through the straight rows of trees. Pierre saw

them, too, and waved them away.

They sat for a long time in silence while their horses grazed nearby.

Auguste held his misery in until he felt calmer.

He looked at Pierre and nodded to say that he was in control of himself.

Pierre nodded back. Auguste looked at the petal-covered ground, feeling

crushed.

"All this is strange to you," Pierre said.

"Yes," said Auguste.

"And it is not foolish to fear. There are some people here who will hate

you just because you are a red man. There are people who will be afraid

of you. But there are dangers in the life you come from--fire and flood,

sickness, bears and wolves, the Sioux and Osage, enemies of your people.

You fear those things, but you have been taught how to live with those

dangers. There are other people here, people like myself, who will care

for you and protect you and teach you how to live with the dangers of

the pale eyes' world. You must come to know these people who will help

you. I want you to be glad you came from Saukenuk to Victoire."

Auguste did not answer. They sat in silence for a while. Then Pierre

spoke again.

"The pale eyes are here, Auguste, and you must learn to live with us."

Auguste sighed and settled down again. He listened to the buzzing of

locusts rise and fall.

_If my vision of this man meant something, then come to me now, White

Bear, and tell me what I must do._

He carried a handful of bits of magic mushroom in a saddlebag, but

several times since his spirit journey the White Bear had spoken to him

without the help of the mushroom and without his mind leaving his body.

All he needed to do, sometimes, was sit quietly and listen. He waited

now, sometimes looking at Pierre, sometimes looking at the twigs and

moss and grass on the ground.

_Perhaps no spirit can reach me here in the land of the pale eyes._

He was about to give up and get to his feet. He would beg Pierre to let

him go back to the Sauk.

Then a voice spoke deep and clear in his mind, and it was not his

voice.

_Go and meet your grandfather._

A warmth spread from the center of his body to hands and feet that a

moment ago had been icy with fear. Knowing that he had not left his

spirit helper behind when he left Saukenuk gave him new confidence.

He held out his hands, palms up. "Let us go to meet my grandfather."

The smile on Pierre's long face mirrored the glow Auguste felt inside

himself.

They remounted and rode around to a gateway in the west side of the

fence surrounding the house. Auguste, with his newfound strength,

endured the curious stares of the men and women gathered at the gate to

greet Pierre.

"Look, your grandfather is waiting for you," said Pierre, his voice

ringing with joy.

Before a doorway sheltered by its own wooden roof, an old man, a very

stout young woman and a plump young man awaited them.

The old man's eyes were blue like Pierre's but they seemed to glitter

and to see deeply into Auguste. He was tall and thin and slightly

stooped with age. His clothes were simple--a black jacket over a white

shirt, and black trousers that tightened below his knees and ended in

straps that ran under shiny black shoes. He leaned on a black stick with

a silver head.

His heart fluttering with excitement, Auguste got down from his horse

and took a tentative step forward. The old man approached him, his

expression as fierce as a hawk's. He looked hard into Auguste's face.

The old man spoke to him in a language of the pale eyes, so rapidly that

Auguste could not hope to understand him.

Pierre said, "Your grandfather says he sees at once that you are a

member of our family. He sees it in the shape of your eyes. He sees it

in your nose, in your chin. He sees that like all de Marion men you are

very tall."

"What is my grandfather's name?" Auguste asked.

"He is the Chevalier Elysee de Marion."

"El-izay," Auguste said, and his grandfather clapped his hands and

grinned.

"But you should call him Grandpapa," Pierre concluded.

"Grandpapa." That was another word Pere Isaac had taught him.

Grandpapa gave a cackling old man's laugh, threw his arms wide and

hugged Auguste. Auguste hugged him back, rather gingerly, fearing his

bones might crack. A thought came to Auguste, and he let go of his

grandfather. He hurried back to his horse and took out of the saddlebag

the tobacco pouch he had packed along with his small medicine bundle.

He went back to Elysee and held the pouch out with both hands.

In his best English he said, "Please, I give Grandpapa tobacco."

Elysee took the pouch and opened it, sniffed and grinned appreciatively.

He and Pierre exchanged words.

Pierre said, "I have told him that among the Sauk, tobacco is offered to

honored friends, to men of high rank and to great spirits. This pleases

him."

"Thank you, Auguste," Grandpapa said. "I will smoke it in my pipe after

we eat together." This time he spoke slowly enough for Auguste to

understand him.

Grandpapa now took the stout woman by the arm and pulled her forward.

"This is your aunt, my sister, Nicole Hopkins," said Pierre.

Never among the Sauk had he seen a woman with such broad hips and such a

vast bosom. She stepped forward and placed her lips, to Auguste's

surprise, on his cheek, making a little smacking sound. Not sure what to

do, Auguste put his arms around the woman as he had around his

grandfather. She felt soft and comfortable and not at all fragile, and

he hugged her hard. He felt powerful muscles under her ample flesh. His

aunt returned the embrace with strong arms. She smelled of flowers.

All at once, Auguste sensed that there was a baby growing inside the

woman holding him. Not because she was so big; it had nothing to do with

the way she looked. It was a sensing, and he was pleased to know that,

along with the White Bear, he had not left his powers behind at

Saukenuk.

Pierre said, "Now meet Frank Hopkins, your uncle by marriage."

At Pierre's gesture the sandy-haired man approached Auguste. Auguste

opened his arms to hug him, but the man stuck his right hand out. The

man's fingers were black. That was odd; he had never seen painted

fingers before. Was this another pale eyes custom? Auguste decided he

was expected to hold out his own right hand. Frank seized his hand in a

strong grip and shook it up and down.

"Frank makes the talking papers from which people may read and learn

things," said Pierre. "He also builds things of wood. He built some of

the newer buildings here on our land. Frank and Nicole and their

children live over by the river in a town called Victor. He built many

of the houses there, too."

The people had been so friendly that Auguste had gotten over much of his

fear, but when he saw Pierre wave him toward the door, which yawned

above him like an enormous cave mouth, he felt cold once again.

But he followed Pierre through the door, and his breath left his body in

amazement.

It was like being in a forest clearing where the trees towered over you

and their branches met high up, blocking out the sky. In a Sauk lodge he

could reach up and touch the roof without straightening his arm. Here

the ceiling was hidden in shadows, and huge square-cut timbers crossed

the open space above his head.

Hung by ropes from those timbers were big circles of wood that Pere

Isaac had said were called wheels. These wheels were turned on their

sides, and set on them were dozens of the little white sticks of wax

that pale eyes used to make light. A few of the more prosperous Sauk

families sometimes used such wax sticks to light their lodges.

Auguste looked around in wonder. The huge room was full of objects whose

purpose he could not guess. Doorways led to other parts of this house or

to attached houses. Cooking smells of many kinds of good food filled the

air.

Pale eyes men and women stood about in the hall and watched Auguste and

his father and grandfather enter.

Two small boys and a girl running through the hall stopped to stare at

him. Frank Hopkins called to them and they approached slowly.

"These are Thomas, Benjamin and Abigail, Nicole and Frank's children,"

said Pierre.

_Their other children_, thought Auguste, wondering whether Nicole

herself knew what he knew about her.

Abigail stood close to her father, her mouth and eyes wide open.

Thomas, the biggest of the three, said, "Gosh almighty, I got a real

Injun for a cousin!"

Benjamin walked slowly over to Auguste, suddenly reached out and gripped

the deerhorn handle of the knife at his belt. Auguste tensed.

But Benjamin grinned up at Auguste and let go of the knife without

trying to pull it out of its scabbard. Then he ran back to his father.

Grandpapa Elysee beckoned, and as Auguste walked toward him he noticed

that the soles of his moccasins were striking a hard surface. He looked

down to see that the floor of the lodge was covered with flat stones.

Auguste and the others followed Grandpapa across the length of the floor

to a stone hearth so big a man could stand inside it.

They passed three long, cloth-covered platforms raised as high above the

floor as the sleeping platforms in Sauk and Fox summer lodges.

"Those are tables," Pierre said. Auguste remembered the word from a book

of words and pictures Pere Isaac had shown him. On the tables lay a

confusion of shiny objects.

A man standing by the hearth, who appeared as old as Elysee, stepped

forward and bowed. He had a round, bright red nose and white whiskers

that stood out on either side of his face.

"This is Guichard, our majordomo," said Pierre.

"Ma-ja domo," repeated Auguste.

"Guichard came over from France with us thirty years ago."

Guichard said, "I greet you, Auguste." Auguste was amazed to hear him

speak in the Sauk language. He spoke with a lisp, though, and Auguste

noticed when he opened his mouth that he had no front teeth.

Pierre clapped Guichard on the shoulder. "I do not know how he does

these things, but he always surprises us with what he has learned. And

by his care for us in so many ways."

Guichard stepped back with another bow, and Pierre turned to a short man

and a plump woman also standing before the hearth. The woman's full lips

curved in a smile of greeting for Pierre; then she plucked at her

skirts, lifting them a bit, and bent her knees and ducked her head.

"This is Marchette Perrault," Pierre said, and Auguste noticed that his

normally pale face was flushed. "She reigns over our kitchen." Auguste

did not need to rely on his special sense to see that there was a loving

secret between Marchette and his father.

The man standing beside Marchette, short and powerful-looking, with a

bristling brown beard, was staring at Pierre with hatred in his face,

his eyes narrowed. His mouth was invisible in his beard, but Auguste

knew that his lips were pressed together, his teeth clenched. He also

knew that this short man was as strong as a bull buffalo.

The look the brown-bearded man gave Pierre frightened Auguste, and he

wondered if he was the only one who could see it.

"Armand Perrault, here, is the overseer of our estate," Pierre said,

apparently oblivious of the man's expression. "He makes the crops

flourish, the trees bear fruit and the cattle grow fat. He and Marchette

come from French families who settled here many generations ago."

Armand bowed, a quick jerk of his head and shoulders, to Pierre.

Somewhat to Auguste's relief, the angry man did not even look at him.

Abruptly he turned his back and strode across the hall to a side door.

Pierre said, "Most of those who live and work here at Victoire are

Illinois people of French descent. The town, Victor, grew up after we

built our home here. Most of the people there are Americans from

Missouri, Kentucky or back East. Everyone you meet in America is from

somewhere else."

_Not my people_, Auguste thought.

Marchette made another bow to Pierre and left, too, to go into another

connected house in which Auguste saw a fire burning under a huge metal

pot in another hearth. There was much smoke and steam in that lodge, and

he could not see everything, but the good smells were coming from there,

and he remembered that he had eaten nothing today but a little dried

venison.

Pierre took Auguste by the arm and led him to a place at the table near

Grandpapa. Guichard pushed a wooden seat made of sticks toward him. A

"chair," Auguste remembered, from Pere Isaac's picture book.

_Why do they sit up high and raise their food up so high?_ Auguste

wondered. Perhaps pale eyes did not keep their floors clean enough to

sit on and eat from. But these appeared very clean.

"This is a special meal in your honor," said Pierre. "Most of the people

who work on our land will be eating here with us." Men and women were

seating themselves at the other tables.

_A feast!_ thought Auguste. Perhaps there would be dancing afterward.

"How many people live on your land, Father?" he asked in Sauk.

"About a hundred men, women and children live and work here," Pierre

answered. "Beyond the hills to the west, by the river, is the settlement

called Victor, where another hundred people live. Many of them work for

us too. Nicole and Frank live in Victor."

Two hundred, thought Auguste. That was not so many, after all. There

were nearly two thousand people in the British Band.

Nicole sat beside him, Pierre across the table from him. Nicole went

through the names of the objects on the table--"plate," "glass,"

"knife," "fork," "spoon." Guichard was going around the table behind the

people sitting there, filling each glass with a red liquid from a

pitcher.

Auguste had seen beads and other small objects made of glass at

Saukenuk, but here glass was everywhere. What was glass, and how did the

pale eyes make things from it?

Even as he was wondering about glass he saw his father take out of his

coat pocket an oval silver case hanging from a purple cord around his

neck. Pierre opened the case and took out yet two more small, round

pieces of glass in a metal frame. To Auguste's bewilderment, he put

these over his eyes, like a transparent mask. He smiled when he saw

Auguste staring.

"Spectacles. I have trouble seeing things that are near to me, and these

help. I like to see what I'm eating."

Last night, as Auguste lay beside the sleeping Star Arrow in the tall

prairie grass, he had thought of quietly climbing on his pony and

fleeing back to Saukenuk, in spite of the tobacco-sealed promise. Now

he was glad he had not run away. The people all looked kindly at him,

except for that man Armand, and there were so many wonders to see. He

could feel his heart beating hard and his hands trembling with

excitement.

When Guichard filled his glass with the red liquid, Auguste drank from

it. The liquid was cool and burned at the same time. It was bitter and

puckered his lips, but was sweet in his throat. He was thirsty, so he

drank more of it.

"Wine," said Pierre. "You've had it before?"

_This must be like that burning water the pale eyes call whiskey that I

tasted at the council last Moon of Falling Leaves on the other side of

the Great River._ The chiefs and braves and warriors had drunk much of

the burning water from a barrel, he remembered, and they had grown

merrier and merrier. The women and boys were each allowed one small sip

and the young girls none at all.

"I have tasted it," he said. Pierre frowned and seemed about to speak,

but he said nothing when Auguste held his empty glass out for more wine

to Guichard, who was going around again with the pitcher.

Men and women brought food to the table on big plates and in bowls.

There was turkey, duck, fresh venison, flat bread and round bread, dark

bread, white bread and yellow corn bread, cooked fruit and raw fruit,

loaves of maple sugar, fruit baked inside crusts, heaps of mashed-up

vegetables. There were slices of fish burned almost black and piles of

boiled crawfish. The food, Auguste saw, was coming from the connected

lodge Marchette had gone into, where the big pot was with all the smoke

and steam.

Auguste watched the way the people at the table with him were eating. He

tried to use his knife and fork as they did and saw Pierre smile

approvingly. The sight and smell of the food made water fill his mouth

and his stomach growl. But when he put a slice of meat in his mouth it

was unexpectedly very hot to the taste. Not just hot from being cooked,

but hot because of something cooked into it.

_Peppers_, he thought. His mother kept some, traded up from the south,

in her collection of medicine plants, and he had tasted their fire.

Pierre himself, Auguste noticed, put very small portions of food on his

plate and ate little of what was there. Auguste was saddened. If only

there was something he could do for his father. He had consulted Owl

Carver before leaving Saukenuk, but the old shaman had only said

gloomily that in his experience such an evil spirit in the belly was

usually fatal.

The hot food made Auguste thirsty, and he drank more wine. Each time he

held his glass out, Guichard, smiling toothlessly, seemed to be there

with the pitcher.

Still hungry, he grew impatient with knife and fork and began picking

the food up with his hands. He tried to take small pieces with his

fingers and eat quickly so that people would not notice, but then he

caught the two boys and the girl, at the other end of the table,

watching him and giggling and whispering to each other. His face went

hot.

Nicole, sitting on his right, asked him short, simple questions about

how the Sauk and Fox lived, and he answered with the little English he

had. She smiled and nodded at him many times as he told her the Sauk

names for things, and she repeated them after him. She seemed to find

pronouncing them easy.

The other people mostly talked among themselves in their own language.

The pale eyes never stopped talking, it seemed. Would there never be a

moment of thoughtful silence? The voices, all speaking so fast, gabbling

like a flock of turkeys, made him dizzy.

A strange feeling was coming over him. He heard a buzzing in his ears,

like locusts on the prairie. His face felt numb. He reached up and

touched his cheeks with his fingertips, and it was as if he felt his

face through a thin, invisible cloth.

His stomach started to churn. He felt with a sudden panic that he could

not hold all the food he had eaten. The peppers and the wine were

burning together in his stomach. He lurched to his feet, swaying from

side to side. The vast room seemed to be spinning like a canoe in a

whirlpool, and the voices around him faded away.

He felt Nicole quickly stand up with him, her hand firmly on his arm,

steadying him.

He shut his eyes and held his hand tightly over his mouth, wanting to

die of shame and embarrassment. His belly bucked like a wild pony. Hot

liquid spurted through his fingers.

"Here, son, here," a voice said. He opened his eyes to look into the

face of his father, full of pain for him. Pierre held a large wooden

bucket under his chin. On the other side of him Nicole had a strong grip

on his shoulder.

Auguste took his hand away from his mouth and let his belly give up what

it had held. Stained red by the wine, the food he had just eaten poured

into the bucket. The smell of vomit filled his nostrils, making him feel

even sicker.

He fell to his knees, coughing, choking, tears streaming from his eyes.

Pierre knelt beside him, still holding the bucket for him. Auguste's

stomach heaved again and again, forcing the remnants of his meal through

his throat and past his slack lips.

As he recovered a bit, he heard someone laugh softly in a distant part

of the room, and someone else speak in the pale eyes' language. The tone

of contempt was unmistakable.

He was overwhelmed with shame. He had made a fool of himself before his

entire de Marion family and their whole tribe. He had disgraced the

Sauk. He had embarrassed his father.

It was as he had feared. He could not stay here. It was too painful.

_Tonight_, he promised himself, holding his aching belly. _Tonight I

leave the land of the pale eyes forever._

* * * * *

Reproaching himself, Pierre knelt beside Auguste, trying through the

pressure of his hand on the boy's back to tell Auguste that he loved

him.

_He said he had tasted wine, but I should have known he could not drink

so much. The poor boy must be dying of shame, and it is all the fault of

stupid Pierre._

Auguste coughed and wiped the back of his hand over his face. Pierre

patted him gently on the back.

Nicole, kneeling on Auguste's other side, suddenly turned her head

toward the door and drew in a frightened breath. Pierre looked up to see

what it was.

A figure filled the doorway, silhouetted in the yellow rectangle of

afternoon sunlight.

Pierre at once recognized the truculent set of Raoul's broad shoulders,

the forward thrust of his head under the wide-brimmed hat.

Pierre had time for one more anguished thought of self-reproach as his

younger brother strode toward them.

_For this, too, I should have better prepared Auguste._

Raoul's boots sounded on the flagstone floor.

Pierre tugged on Auguste's arm, helping him to his feet. He heard Nicole

whisk away the bucket.

"So, this is the little mongrel?" Raoul's deep voice boomed in the

cavernous log hall.

"Raoul," Pierre said, "this is your nephew, Auguste."

Pierre turned to Auguste and in Sauk said, "This is your uncle, Raoul.

He lives here with me and your grandfather. He speaks with a rough

tongue, but do not fear him."

How could the boy not fear a man like Raoul?

"Auguste, is it? A fine French name for a redskin." Raoul set his fists

on his hips, throwing back his blue jacket to show his gilt-handled

pistol and a huge knife in its scabbard. At the sight of the weapons

Pierre's heart pounded.

Raoul went up to Auguste and stared into his face as Pierre stood

tensely.

Raoul said, "Well, brother, you actually did it. You made yourself a

son."

"I'm glad you admit that," said Pierre.

"Oh, I admit that. He's got de Marion written all over his dirty face.

But don't call him my 'nephew.' I reserve that title for legitimate

kin."

Pierre hoped Auguste's knowledge of English was not enough to let him

understand how he was being insulted. The boy looked from Pierre to

Raoul as they spoke, his large, dark eyes watchful, his face

expressionless.

"Raoul, stop this." It was Nicole, back from getting rid of the bucket.

"I'm Auguste's aunt and you're his uncle, and you might as well get used

to it."

"And you are spoiling our dinner, Raoul," Elysee said. "Either sit and

eat with us like a civilized man or leave us alone."

"Spoiling your dinner?" Raoul gave a bellow of laughter. "Mean to tell

me it doesn't spoil your dinner to see that savage puking in our great

hall? Mean to tell me _he's_ civilized?"

Pierre glanced across the table at his father and Frank Hopkins, who had

both risen to their feet. Elysee's eyes burned with anger. Frank held

his little girl's hand and looked sombrely at Raoul. The two Hopkins

boys stared at their uncle.

_I pray God they don't admire him. Boys have a way of looking up to men

who behave like brutes._

Raoul turned to Nicole, his teeth flashing white under his thick black

mustache. "You really want an Indian nephew? Have you forgot what

Indians did to your sister?"

"No, I'll never forget what happened to Helene," Nicole said. "None of

us will. But Auguste had nothing to do with that."

"You didn't watch your sister die," Raoul said. "So that just the sight

of an Indian makes you want to kill."

Pierre saw that Raoul was working himself up into a rage. He would talk

and talk, and every word he said would make him angrier, until at last,

the explosion. A spasm of pain shot across Pierre's stomach.

_Not now_, he prayed. _God, let the illness leave me alone until I can

be alone with it._

Nicole's cheeks were an even brighter red than was usual for her, but

she spoke gently. "Raoul, you do have a living sister. If it had been me

at Fort Dearborn instead of Helene--if I had been raped and murdered--I

would be looking down from Heaven, and I would be hoping your wound

would heal. I would pray that you would welcome Pierre's son, your

nephew, into your home."

"Stop saying that this filthy savage is my nephew," said Raoul. "Look at

him standing there, staring at me. You know what the word mongrel means,

redskin?"

Pierre felt a surge of pride as he saw Auguste standing straight and

slender, gazing levelly at Raoul. Savage? Even though he had been sick

only a moment ago, Auguste held himself as regally as a young prince.

"As for you, Nicole," Raoul went on, "don't ever think you can speak for

Helene. She may be in Heaven now, but she got there by way of Hell. No

decent woman could imagine what she suffered."

Pierre almost screamed aloud as the pain in his belly stabbed him again.

He clutched at his stomach. Just when he needed all his strength!

Auguste looked into his eyes, then down at his hand.

"You hurt, Father," Auguste said in English. "Must sit down."

"Oh? He's already got a few words of English?" said Raoul. "You're

training him to talk, eh? Like a parrot? Going to put him in a medicine

show?"

Elysee suddenly spoke in a loud voice, "My friends--those who were

invited to dine with us here today--will you please excuse us and give

us privacy? We have family matters to discuss."

Silently, eyes cast down, the thirty or so servants and field workers

who had been invited to celebrate the coming of Pierre's son filed out

of the hall.

Pierre thought, _In so many things I have failed today_.

"Raoul," Elysee said, "I have not forgiven Helene's killers. But I am

not stupid enough to hate all Indians, and neither should you be. Do you

think whites have never tortured and killed Indian women?"

Raoul bared his teeth again. "If you can't hate the Indians for what

they did to your daughter and to me, then you never loved either one of

us."

Pierre felt a sudden surge of anger. "Raoul, I forbid you to speak that

way to our father. You are cruel and unjust."

"You owe _me_ justice, Pierre, you and Papa. Where was he when you

abandoned me to the Indians? Where were you?"

Pierre's legs shook. He could feel the rage radiating from Raoul; it was

like standing too close to a red-hot stove.

Auguste said, "Father."

Pierre turned and looked into the dark young eyes.

Auguste spoke in Sauk. "Father, I am the cause of this man's anger."

"There is much to explain, son," said Pierre. "Be patient and quiet, and

all will be well."

Pierre saw fear struggling with resolution in his son's face. A pallor

in the fine olive skin showed that Auguste had not yet gotten over being

sick. Auguste squared his shoulders and took a step toward Raoul. He

raised his right hand in greeting.

"I greet uncle," he said solemnly in English.

"Keep this mongrel away from me, Pierre," Raoul said.

"Frank," said Nicole, "take the children out of here."

Frank picked Abigail up and carried her, with Tom and Benjamin trailing.

He walked off toward the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder at

Nicole.

Elysee said, "Remember, Raoul, this is my grandson."

"Your grandson!" Raoul spat.

Auguste held out his right hand to Raoul. "I sorry you angry. Want be

friend."

In a moment, Pierre thought, he would have to get between them. But his

stomach hurt so badly that he could hardly move.

"If you want to be my friend, you mongrel bastard, get as far away from

this house and from me as you can," Raoul said.

Auguste took another step toward Raoul, still holding out his hand. He'd

learned about shaking hands from Frank Hopkins just a little while ago,

Pierre remembered.

"Auguste, no!" Pierre cried.

"Don't you try to touch me, redskin."

Raoul thrust out his own hand and struck at Auguste's. He grabbed

Auguste's shirt, twisting the buckskin in his big hand.

Raoul had lost all control. The fury was upon him. Pierre forgot about

his own pain and tried to throw himself between Raoul and Auguste. His

chest hit Raoul's arm, hard as an iron bar.

"Let go of him, Raoul," Pierre said.

"Raoul, stop it!" Elysee shouted.

"All right." Raoul punched his fist into Auguste's chest and released

him, sending the boy staggering backward to fall to the floor.

Rage blazed up inside Pierre. The sight of his son knocked to the floor

swept away all constraint. To the Devil with trying to reason with

Raoul. He rushed at Raoul and swung his arm with all his strength,

bringing his palm against Raoul's mouth.

Though open-handed, it was a blow that would have knocked many a man

down. Raoul only staggered back half a step.

But a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"You still fight like a Frenchman, Pierre," said Raoul with a grin,

wiping his mouth. "Slapping a man. Think you're still a count or

something? Fight like an American."

He lunged at Pierre. Pierre barely saw, out of the corner of his eye,

the fist coming at him. A cannon went off at the side of his head.

He was on the floor, flat on his back.

Nicole screamed, "No! No, Auguste!"

Pierre rolled his aching head to one side to see Auguste standing over

him, his hand on the deerhorn hilt of the knife that hung at his belt,

the knife Pierre had left for him when he was a baby. Nicole held his

arm with both hands.

"Want to fight with knives?" Raoul said. He slid his own huge hunting

knife out and held it upright, the point glittering in the candlelight.

"Come on, redskin!" Raoul shouted, but even as he spoke he charged at

Auguste, as Auguste struggled to break free from Nicole. Raoul's knife

flashed and Pierre heard a cry of pain, and Nicole was between Auguste

and Raoul, and Auguste had his hand to his face and blood was running

through his fingers.

Raoul stepped away from Auguste and wiped his knife on a white

tablecloth.

"What have you done?" Pierre shouted.

"I was kind," Raoul said with a white-toothed grin.

Pierre rushed to Auguste. Blood flowed from a long cut that ran straight

down Auguste's cheek from just below his eye to the corner of his mouth.

The front of Auguste's tan buckskin shirt was stained red.

"If he'd pulled that knife, I would have taken his eye," Raoul said

softly. "I just left a mark on him. So he won't forget me."

"Let go of me, Father," Auguste said in Sauk, in a level, terrible

voice. "I have to kill him."

"No!" said Pierre, holding Auguste tighter.

_You're a brave boy, but I'm afraid it's you that would be killed, my

son._

Blood pounded in Pierre's head. He wanted to take Auguste's knife--the

knife he'd given Auguste long ago--and drive it into Raoul's chest.

_If I were like Raoul, I would do just that. Or try to._

"Raoul, for this I will never forgive you."

"Forgive me?" Raoul shouted. "Can I forgive you for bringing this savage

here to cheat me?"

Nicole took Auguste from Pierre's arms. She pressed a white napkin to

his bleeding face and took him to a chair to sit down. As he sat,

Auguste turned to shoot Raoul a look of pure hate.

"Cheat you? What are you talking about?"

"Just remember, when you die--and I hope God makes it soon--I _will_

have this estate."

Pierre felt Raoul's words as if that blade had plunged into his heart.

That his own brother should wish him dead ...

Pierre went to stand by Auguste, seated in a chair with Nicole wiping

his slashed face.

Pierre said, "In the will I wrote years ago I named you as my heir. I

never thought to change that will. Until today."

Raoul, still wiping his knife, snorted. "No court in Illinois would let

a man disinherit a legitimate white brother in favor of a half-Indian

bastard."

Pierre let his hand rest on Auguste's shoulder. The boy's eyes burned up

at him. Pierre looked down at the blood-soaked napkin that Nicole

pressed to Auguste's cheek.

Auguste, speaking in the Sauk tongue, broke the silence that had

followed Raoul's words. "Even if he is your brother and my uncle, this

man is our enemy, Father. I will stand side by side with you against

him." Auguste put his hand over the hand that lay on his shoulder.

Raoul slammed his knife into its sheath. "You've driven me out of my

home, Pierre. I'm not living under the same roof with an Indian. I won't

be back till I can come back as master of this house."

He strode to the door and turned again. "And then I'll bring my own

family with me."

"What do you mean--your own family?" Elysee called across the long hall.

"I'm marrying Eli Greenglove's daughter," Raoul said with a grin. "And

that mongrel had better not try to touch my children's birth-right."

He was gone, leaving the door hanging open behind him, sunlight pouring

in.

Pierre looked miserably down at Auguste and thought, _I hope your

shaman's skills make you better at predicting the future than I have

been, my son_.