After Ford had given the jurors the two papers to look at and had

returned them to Cooper's table, he turned to Bennett.

"Your witness."

Bennett slouched into the open area before the judge's table. "No

questions. Mrs. Russell, widowed by those savages, has surely suffered

enough."

Pamela Russell stayed sitting in the chair beside the judge's table,

clutching her leather bag. Her bosom, Auguste saw, was rising and

falling with some powerful emotion.

"That's all, Pamela," David Cooper said softly. "You can go now."

She stood up, looking like a woman in a trance, and moved slowly toward

the door in the rear of the courtroom. Auguste turned in his seat to

watch her. She stopped before Raoul, who was sitting near the back. He

stared up at her as she pointed at him.

"How dare you call me a liar, Raoul de Marion! When it's you that lied

about what you told my husband. My husband never fired a gun before in

his life, and he had to stand up and be killed, because you took all the

men who could shoot away with you. I hope those papers ruin you."

Spots of red stood out on her cheeks. She covered her face with her hand

and rushed out of the courtroom.

"How come you didn't shut her up, Judge?" Raoul shouted after she was

gone.

"I figured she deserved to have her say," said Cooper calmly.

Ford said, "The defense calls Miss Nancy Hale."

Auguste's heart started to beat harder as he watched Nancy, tall and

straight in a pale violet dress, walk to the witness's chair. Just what

he had feared a year ago, when Nancy first asked him to make love to

her, had happened. He felt a love for her--an impossible love, now--that

was as strong in its way as the love he felt for Redbird.

In answer to Ford's soft-spoken questions, Nancy told how she had been

captured and how Auguste had intervened to protect her, and later to

protect Woodrow. She told how he had risked his life to escort her and

Woodrow to safety, and had ended up being captured.

Bennett got up to cross-question.

"Miss Hale, this may be a hard question for you to answer in open court.

But it is important to this trial. It's well-known that Indians are no

respecters of the virtue of white women. So, what I'm asking you is ..."

He paused and leaned over her. "Were you subjected to anything of a

shameful nature while you were a prisoner of the Sauk?"

"Objection," called Ford. "The question itself is shameful. It has no

possible bearing on this case."

Judge Cooper glared at Bennett. "What call do you have to ask her that?"

"Defense counsel has taken us down a lot of winding roads, Your Honor.

I'm attempting to determine facts about the defendant's character."

"I'll allow it," said Cooper, his voice low and reluctant, and Bennett

turned with a look of satisfaction to Nancy and repeated his question.

Nancy looked him coldly in the eye. "I've already said. Auguste de

Marion protected me. I was never harmed."

Bennett narrowed his eyes. Raoul had chosen the man well for his

purposes, Auguste thought, hating Bennett for tormenting Nancy.

"Well, but what about Auguste de Marion himself? Didn't you live in one

of their huts with him? Did he ever approach you with lewd intent?"

"Certainly not!" said Nancy. "Yes, I did live in his--the word is

wickiup, Mr. Bennett. But the situation was perfectly proper. His wife

and child were with us all the time."

From the back of the hall Raoul brayed, "She probably enjoyed it. She

always had an eye for the mongrel."

Auguste felt his neck grow hot. He wanted to kill. But someone would

stop him before he reached Raoul; and even to try to attack him would

only confirm the picture Bennett was trying to paint, of a murderous

savage. He forced himself to sit still.

And yet, he thought, as he breathed deeply to calm himself, it was Nancy

who was concealing the truth and Bennett and Raoul who sensed what had

really happened. But their very words for it--"shameful," "lewd

intent"--turned the truth into a lie.

He and Nancy had proclaimed their love in honor before the British Band.

Now he felt as if he were tied down on a forest floor and weasels and

crows were biting and pecking at him. Why must he and Nancy hide their

love from these hate-filled people?

He heard indignant murmurs provoked by Raoul's outburst.

"Shocking!" someone said.

"No gentleman would talk that way."

Auguste heard Lieutenant Davis sitting behind him, say to one of his

men, "If I weren't on duty, I'd teach that scoundrel a lesson."

Someone with the accent of Victoire called out, "Raoul, your father is

right! Tu es un sauvage!"

Cooper pounded on his table with his wooden mallet until there was

silence.

Thomas Ford called, "Master Woodrow Prewitt, will you take the stand,

please?"

Woodrow walked past Auguste, who felt a warmth for him and, again, a

pang of longing for Eagle Feather.

Under Ford's questions, Woodrow told how White Bear and Redbird had

treated him like a foster son, and how White Bear had helped them

escape.

When it was Bennett's turn, he stood threateningly over Woodrow. "Have

you forgotten, young man, that you had a real, white, Christian father

and mother? Have you forgotten what the Indians did to them?"

"No, sir," said Woodrow in a small voice.

"Well, then, how can you make it out that this half-Indian and his squaw

were such fine people? They held you prisoner!"

"Sir, my pa used to whip me before breakfast and after supper. My ma

laid in bed most days, drunk. White Bear--Mr. Auguste--he was kind to

me. So was his missus. Living with them was shinin'."

"Shining!" Bennett looked disgusted.

Woodrow shrugged. "Well, would'a been, if the soldiers hadn't always

been chasing us."

Auguste heard the thump of boots. He turned to see Raoul storming up

from the back of the room.

"That boy's lying!" Raoul roared. "Indians took me prisoner when I was

his age--I know firsthand how kind they are, I got the scars to prove

it. The half-breed's white squaw has made it worthwhile for the kid to

lie. If I get my hands on him, I'll beat the truth out of him."

"Sit down, sir!" Lieutenant Davis jumped up from his seat behind Auguste

and blocked Raoul's way. Auguste turned to see Raoul's big frame just a

few feet from him, close enough for him to smell whiskey fumes.

"This is none of your business, Davis," Raoul growled.

"General Winfield Scott and Colonel Zachary Taylor commanded me to see

that this man receives a proper trial," said Davis in a calm, steady

voice.

Judge Cooper rapped his mallet. "De Marion, I won't allow you to disrupt

this court."

Raoul shouted at Cooper over Davis's shoulder. "Don't you forget,

Cooper, that when you're not wearing that black robe you're just a small

farmer who bought his land from me and sells his crop to me."

Cooper was standing now, his jaw clenched. "That's enough, de Marion.

Sit down."

Raoul's head turned slowly from side to side. For a moment he stared at

Auguste, his eyes full of hate. Auguste felt an answering hatred boiling

up in his chest.

Raoul and the lieutenant stood facing each other for a long, silent

moment. Then Raoul turned abruptly and strode back to his seat. Auguste,

whose attention had been fixed on Raoul and Davis, became aware of men

sitting down all over the courtroom. He wondered whether they were

Raoul's men.

Auguste felt his guts squirm as he realized what a thin barrier

protected this trial from being abruptly ended. Raoul could call on his

crew of rogues to drag him out and hang him at once. The judge and the

three Federal soldiers might not be able to stop him.

Ford called Auguste to the witness chair. Auguste had sat rigid for so

long that standing up made him stumble, and Ford put a steadying hand on

his arm.

As he sat down he felt himself trembling at the sight of dozens of pale

eyes faces, hard, solemn and expressionless, looking at him. Bearded men

squirting tobacco juice into brass spittoons. Women eyeing him from

under bonnets. He looked for the friendly faces in the room--Nancy,

Woodrow, Elysee, Guichard, Nicole, Frank.

Ford said, "We've heard bits and pieces of your story from many

different people, Auguste. If you were just another Sauk Indian you

wouldn't be on trial here today. You'd be with your people, what's left

of them. But because you've lived with whites and your father was white

and you have a claim to a white man's property, you're accused of being

a traitor and a murderer. I want you to tell us about your life. How

come you're both Indian and white man?"

As Auguste talked he forgot the watching faces and saw again Sun Woman

and Star Arrow, Black Hawk and Owl Carver, Redbird and Nancy, Saukenuk

and Victoire, Old Man's Creek and the Bad Axe.

When he was done, Ford thanked him quietly and sat down. It was

Bennett's turn.

He shuffled toward Auguste, fixing him with small eyes that glinted with

malice.

"We have to take your word for it that you spoke for peace in the

councils of the Sauk and Fox Indians, don't we? And we have to take your

word that you went to the camp of Colonel de Marion's spy battalion on

an errand of peace, don't we?"

"That's right," Auguste said bitterly. "Because all my witnesses are

dead."

"Don't try to get us to feel sorry for you," Bennett rasped. "This

courtroom is full of people who've seen loved ones stabbed, shot,

scalped, cut to pieces, burnt to ashes. At the hands of your Indians."

He raised his voice to a shout. "And while that was happening, you were

behind the red fiends! Urging them on to kill and kill some more!" He

turned away, face twisted in disgust. "I have no more questions for

you."

Cooper said, "Does the defense have any more witnesses?"

"No, Your Honor," said Ford, and Auguste's heart sank as he walked back

to his seat. Bennett, he felt, had finished him with those few sentences

reminding people what the Sauk had done to them.

Auguste turned to Ford, whose round face was blank, unreadable. No hope

there. Ford had done his best, Auguste was sure. But he had no more

chance against the hatred here in Victor than Black Hawk's band had

against the armies of the United States.

_I am going to be hanged._

"Hold it there!" called a voice from the doorway of the courtroom. "He

_has_ got two more witnesses."

Auguste saw a tall, mustached man thumping up from the back of the court

with the aid of a crutch and a peg leg. Beside him a skinny man with a

small head and a gap-toothed grin shuffled over the plank floor. A rifle

hung from one long arm.

It took him a moment to recognize Otto Wegner and Eli Greenglove.

Alert, wary, he watched them come up the aisle between the spectators'

chairs.

Cooper raised a hand in warning, said, "Mr. Greenglove, you'll have to

put that rifle down before you come any farther."

"So be it," said Greenglove, handing the rifle to one of Jefferson

Davis's corporals who had risen to bar his way. "I just needed it to

make sure I got this far alive."

Ford came over to Auguste and said in a low voice, "I take it these men

are offering to testify in your defense. Do you want them?"

"I think Wegner must be here to help me," said Auguste. "But I don't

know why Greenglove is here." He remembered his conviction that

Greenglove had missed him on purpose, and shrugged. "I haven't got much

to lose."

Ford began with Wegner, asking him how he came to be in Victor when word

was he had emigrated to Texas.

"My family and I only got as far as New Orleans, where we are buying

provisions to join the colony at San Felipe de Austin. Then this

gentleman comes to me." Wegner pointed to Greenglove, now sitting in the

front row of spectators. "He tells me Herr Auguste is to be tried at

Victor. At once we take the steamboat. I pay for both his passage and

mine, using money my family needs. I tell you this not to praise myself

but to show how much that man means to me." Now Wegner pointed to

Auguste, who looked down at the floor, his face hot and his throat

choked.

Ford nodded gravely. "I understand you were at Old Man's Creek, Mr.

Wegner. What happened to you?"

Wegner told the story just as Auguste remembered it, ending, "I lost my

leg, but I still have my life, thanks to Auguste de Marion, for whom I

never did a single thing good."

_If I could have taken him back to the Sauk camp, I might even have

saved his leg._

Ford said, "Mr. Wegner, we've heard that Auguste de Marion is a murderer

and a traitor to his country."

"Lies!" said Otto Wegner firmly. "By the rules of war he had every right

to kill me and he did not. He is the most Christian man I have ever

known."

_I wonder if Wegner knows I have never believed in any spirits but

Earthmaker and the Turtle and the Bear._

Returning from the witness chair, Wegner stopped to take Auguste's hand

in both of his. "I am so glad I could come and speak for you. You are a

_great_ man, Herr Auguste."

Auguste, struggling to hold back tears, murmured his thanks. Perhaps

Elysee could replace the money Wegner had spent getting here, if the

Prussian was not too proud to take it.

Ford began questioning Eli Greenglove about Old Man's Creek.

"Hell, there weren't no Injuns in ambush in the woods," Greenglove

drawled. "'Twas plain as day what was going on. They was a few scouts

that come to watch what happened to the peace party. Most of our men

were carrying a right powerful load of whiskey. Some of the men saw the

scouts hiding in the woods and got excited. Colonel Raoul, he used that

as an excuse to order us to finish off the Injuns with the white flag."

"And you shot Auguste?" Ford asked.

"I give him that ear." Greenglove pointed in the general direction of

Auguste's right ear. "Hoped he'd be smart enough to play possum after he

was hit."

"Why did you choose not to kill Auguste? Did you think it would be

murder?"

Greenglove cackled scornfully. "Hell, that never stopped me before. No,

it was real simple." He paused, and the courtroom was still. "I saved

that boy's life because I wanted Colonel Raoul to marry my daughter,

Clarissa."

And suddenly Eli Greenglove started to cry. Tears ran down his bony

cheeks and sobs shook his lean frame.

Ford stood looking wide-eyed, turned to stare at Auguste, who himself

was dumbfounded, having never seen a man like Eli Greenglove cry.

Bennett broke the embarrassed silence. "Your Honor, I don't see what

this man's daughter has to do with the case."

Greenglove's moist eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Just shut up a minute,

lawyer, and I'll tell you. My daughter lived with Raoul de Marion for

seven years and bore him two kids, but he wouldn't marry her because she

weren't good enough for him. No, he had to have the preacher's daughter.

That lady, Miss Hale." He pointed toward the spectators. "But she was

sweet on Mr. Pierre's boy, Auguste, and I could see he had an eye for

her too. As long as Auguste was alive, I figured there'd be a chance

that Miss Hale would run off with him. So I made sure to keep him

alive."

Auguste's heart sank. If the jury believed what Greenglove was saying

now, wouldn't that make them think that there must have been something

between him and Nancy when she was kidnapped by the Sauk?

Greenglove's lips drew back from his stained teeth. "But then that

sonofabitch Raoul had to go and kill Black Hawk's men that brought the

white flag. There weren't no real war before that happened. If he'd sent

them messengers on to General Atkinson, the whole thing would've been

over in May. Every one of them white people, soldiers and farmers, men,

women and children, was killed by that man there." He pointed a skinny

finger in Raoul's direction. "Meanin' my daughter Clarissa and my two

grandkids."

"Your daughter was a slut, Greenglove," Raoul shouted. "I'd've never

married her if she lived to be a hundred." Auguste turned and saw him

standing in the back of the courtroom, Perrault and a few more of his

bully boys flanking him.

"Oh?" said Greenglove in a whisper that somehow was loud enough for the

whole court to hear. "You are very lucky they took my rifle away from

me, Colonel Raoul."

Ford said, "I think that's all. Mr. Bennett, do you wish to

cross-examine?"

Raoul, from the back, cut in, "Judge, this man is a deserter from my

militia battalion. He's been on the run for the past three months. What

he's said here is worth nothing."

Cooper frowned at Greenglove, then at Raoul. "I don't see what

difference that makes. They bring convicted criminals out of prison

cells to testify."

Ford said, "In fact, if this man risked arrest to come here, that makes

his testimony all the more believable. To say nothing of going all the

way to New Orleans to bring Mr. Wegner back."

"No, it doesn't show him any more honest," Bennett spoke up. "It just

means he wants revenge against Raoul de Marion."

Cooper rapped with his mallet. "The testimony can stand. The jury'll

decide what it's worth. Lieutenant Davis, have your corporals see that

Mr. Wegner and Mr. Greenglove reach the town limits safely. And then,

Lieutenant, I'd like a word with you. Meanwhile, the lawyers for each

side can sum up."

Flanked by the two blue-coated corporals, Greenglove and Otto Wegner

started side by side toward the courtroom door, Wegner's peg leg

thumping on the plank floor.

"You go to Hell, Eli!" Raoul snarled as Greenglove passed him.

Greenglove laughed. "I got a better idea from ol' Otto here. I'm a-going

to Texas!"

The two men walked out the door as a silence fell over the courtroom.

Auguste wondered, had their testimony saved him? They had told the truth

about what happened at Old Man's Creek, but since when had truth meant

anything to the pale eyes? If those twelve men sitting in church pews on

the right side of the courtroom decided they wanted to hang him, they

would hang him even if their Jesus spirit himself came into the

courtroom and told the truth about him.

And after seeing the slaughter at the Bad Axe, could Auguste doubt that

killing all red people was what all pale eyes most wanted to do?

Cooper and the lieutenant talked quietly at the judge's table. When

Cooper called on Bennett to sum up, the prosecutor rose and sidled over

to the jury.

"About the supposed adoption papers and Pierre de Marion's alleged will,

Mrs. Russell's claim that Mr. Raoul de Marion ordered these papers

destroyed is hearsay. She has no direct knowledge that Mr. de Marion

gave any such instructions to her husband. More important--if Pierre de

Marion adopted Auguste, that makes Auguste a U.S. citizen, and his

participating in acts of war by the Sauk nation against the United

States is treason. Auguste made war on his own flag.

"Whether Raoul de Marion did right or wrong in running his nephew off

Victoire, gentlemen, one thing is sure. Auguste went back to the British

Band carrying a powerful grudge against this place and these people.

So, I put it to you, he decided that if he could not be a white

landowner, he would destroy the white landowners.

"And he had the power to do it, because the Indians would listen to him.

They knew him as a witch doctor, and they also knew that he had been

educated among whites. And so he used his power to push Black Hawk

toward war. He is an accomplice to the murder of every white man, woman

and child killed by his fellow tribesmen.

"Auguste de Marion or White Bear or whatever he chooses to call

himself"--Bennett pointed an accusing finger at Auguste--"should be

hanged as a traitor and a butcher of his own people."

Auguste heard mutterings of approval from around the courtroom and a

loud "Damned right!" from Raoul. His feeling that this trial was

hopeless grew deeper. Bennett had told the jury what they wanted to

hear--the version of the truth that would let them do what they wanted

to him.

Ford stood up, wiping his brow. The room was hot for late September. He

crossed the front of the courtroom to stand before the two rows of

jurymen in their borrowed church pews.

"Gentlemen of the jury, I took up arms against the Sauk and Fox Indians

under General Edmund Gaines in 1831. I am not prejudiced in favor of

Indians. I only ask that you try to understand _this_ man whose life is

in your hands.

"You have to decide two questions: One, by traveling and living with the

British Band of the Sauk and Fox from September 1831 to August 1832, did

Auguste de Marion commit treason against the United States? Two, is

Auguste de Marion guilty of the murder of any citizens of the United

States or the state of Illinois?

"Is Auguste a traitor to his country? Well, it seems to me that if

anything, Auguste holds dual citizenship in the United States and in the

Sauk and Fox nation. And, far from being a traitor to either, he tried

to make peace between them. The only thing he ever carried against the

United States was a white flag.

"Has Auguste committed murder? All we know for a fact is that no one has

seen him raise a violent hand against another human being. Otto Wegner

told you how Auguste had a chance to kill him, and instead helped him

escape. At great peril to himself.

"You've heard Pierre de Marion's will, which explains why Raoul de

Marion, who illegally seized the great house known as Victoire, has been

so eager to hound this young man to his death.

"This man has lost everything a man holds dear. His father and mother.

His home here in Victor. His home among the Sauk.

"Almost all of his people, his loved ones and the friends of his youth,

have been killed. Everyone who lives in Victor knows to their sorrow

what happened to his infant daughter. His wife and son are captives,

too, and he cannot be with them or provide for them. Which of you,

having had so much taken from him so cruelly, would not go mad with

grief?

"He has lost so much. All he has left is his life. Let us not, I beg of

you, take that from him as well."

Ford sat down in the midst of a heavy silence. Auguste tried to send his

shaman's sense forward into the future to tell him how the jury would

decide, but his spirit met a blank wall.

He glanced out a nearby unshuttered window and saw a blue afternoon sky

with a few white clouds. Within the wooden walls of this courtroom, sky

and sun, prairie and river, seemed very far away.

Judge Cooper said, "Gentlemen of the jury, we have prepared a room

upstairs for you. We'll send food and drink to you as you require. There

are cots in case you can't make up your minds today."

As he watched the twelve men file up the stairs behind the judge's

table, Auguste could not stop his mind from wandering to the worst. He

thought about what it would be like to be hanged, the rough grip of the

rope on his neck, the blood bursting in his head, the world going black,

his body jerking in hopeless struggle, breath cut off, lungs aching, the

final silencing of his heart.

He heard a harsh laugh in the back of the room. He turned and saw Raoul

in the midst of a group of men standing near the doorway of the

courtroom. Beside Raoul was Armand Perrault. Raoul looked at Auguste and

smiled. Auguste knew what that smile meant.

Whatever the jury decided, for him there would be no escape from death.

23

Sharp Knife

Late that afternoon, Lieutenant Davis called Auguste from his cell and

took him down to the courtroom.

"Judge said send for you. I think maybe the jury's reached a verdict."

Entering through the rear door of the courtroom, Auguste met Raoul's

eyes and his longing for vengeance made his blood feel like molten metal

in his veins.

The jurymen came in through a side door. Robert McAllister, foreman of

the jury, glanced at Auguste, then handed David Cooper a folded piece of

paper.

"He looked at you," Ford whispered. "It's an old tale among lawyers that

if members of the jury have found the defendant guilty, they don't look

at him."

Cooper read the note and sighed loudly, as if he found the message

burdensome. Then he took goose quill and ink and wrote a note of his

own. McAllister watched him write, looking over his shoulder, sighed as

heavily as Cooper had, looked at Auguste again. After a moment he nodded

and took the judge's note back upstairs.

"Well," said Judge Cooper to the courtroom at large, "it seems the

jury's a pretty fair distance from a verdict. They can't agree on a lot

of things. So, I've given orders that they stay upstairs and keep at it.

It looks like we won't have a guilty or not guilty until tomorrow. The

prisoner will go back upstairs to his cell. Court will open at nine

o'clock in the morning."

Auguste heard the rear door of the courtroom slam and knew without

looking around that Raoul had left.

That night Auguste lay on his corn-husk mattress wondering whether he

should try to run away when they took him out. To be shot while trying

to escape might be more honorable than hanging. He wished he could see

Redbird and Eagle Feather one last time. He wished Nancy would come to

visit him. Or at least Nicole, Grandpapa or Frank. But Lieutenant Davis

said that for the prisoner's safety no one would be allowed into the

village hall tonight.

He heard a key turning in his door lock. He climbed to his feet.

"Come on," said Davis quickly. "We're taking you out of here."

_They've come to kill me_, Auguste thought. It would not be the first

time an inconvenient Indian was "shot while trying to escape." But his

shaman's insight told him Davis was as trustworthy as any Sauk.

"Why? Before the verdict?"

"They did reach a verdict today. You are found not guilty."

Not guilty! Joy flooded through him as he stood, so amazed that he could

not move, staring at the open cell door.

When he had recovered enough to move, Auguste followed Davis out of the

village hall, to where the two corporals waited with horses in the

silent street. The river rippled black and silver in the light of a

three-quarter moon. The Ioway bluffs opposite were black bison shapes

under a sky spangled with stars.

The moonlight helped Auguste guide his horse up the steep road out of

the village. Davis led, followed by Auguste, the two corporals bringing

up the rear. After weeks of imprisonment, Auguste reveled in the cool

night air blowing in his face.

They passed the trading post. The road was wider here, and the three

soldiers bunched around him. Raoul was surely in there getting drunk,

laughing as he looked forward to seeing Auguste swinging at a rope's

end.

They trotted along the ridge leading to Victoire. Auguste's heart

started to beat harder as he approached the place that had been his

home.

The remains of the mansion sprawled on its hilltop like the skeleton of

some huge animal, blackened timbers rearing up in the moonlight. People

had died bloody, horrible deaths there. Was the place haunted now?

Accursed?

A longing came over him to climb that hill again, to sweep away that

ruin and rebuild. Put up a fine new house like the ones he'd seen in the

East.

_I could do so much with this land, but I'm running away from it again.

Leaving it to Raoul again._

Then they were past Victoire, but the yearning for it clung to him like

a lover's scent.

"By morning you'll be far out of your uncle's reach," said Davis, riding

beside him.

Auguste's heart swelled in his chest with the thought that he was more

nearly a free man than he had been in weeks.

"If I'm not guilty, why must I run away?"

"Surely you realize that your uncle and his cronies were planning to

take you straight from the courtroom to the nearest tall tree if the

court didn't sentence you to death. The foreman brought Judge Cooper a

note stating their verdict. The judge wrote back, telling them he would

say they hadn't reached a verdict, and he wanted them to remain in

seclusion overnight while we spirited you out of town. They were willing

to put up with the inconvenience. After all, who'd want to find a man

not guilty and then see him taken out and hanged?"

Auguste's heart felt like a cup that was overflowing. The jury had

understood him; they had believed him.

"I never even got a chance to thank Mr. Ford."

"Main thanks he'd want is knowing that you got away safely."

As they rode on, Auguste's happiness faded. The town that had been his

home for six years had exonerated him. But he still had to run away from

it at night, for the second time in his life. He hated to do this.

This was something else Raoul had taken from him--his moment of

vindication.

Pain throbbed in Auguste's chest with the jouncing of the horse under

him. He remembered his mother's body, like a castaway doll, her eyes

pathetically wide, the gash in her throat, the splash of blood on her

doeskin dress. She must be avenged. How could he let the man who

murdered her walk free? Silently he called on the Bear spirit to avenge

Sun Woman.

Again he remembered it was wrong to ask a spirit to harm any person.

Even so, if he could not hurt Raoul himself, he wanted him hurt,

whatever price he himself might pay.

And once again he was fleeing from people he loved. Elysee. Nicole and

Frank.

Nancy.

"Soon I must go back," he said.

Davis turned his head to stare at him. "Go back? In the name of the

great Jehovah, what for?"

It was Auguste's turn to be surprised. It seemed so obvious that he had

to return to Victor and face Raoul.

"I belong in Victor as much as I belong with the Sauk."

He could not, he decided, turn his back on Victor a second time.

"Why are we going east?" he asked.

"You've have been found not guilty in Victor, but you're still a

prisoner of war, Auguste. Your future is in the hands of the President

of the United States."

Auguste remembered now. General Winfield Scott at the hearing at Fort

Crawford had said, _If the people of Smith County don't hang you, I

think President Jackson would find a meeting with you most interesting_.

A chill spread across his back at the thought of meeting Andrew Jackson

himself. What would he and Sharp Knife have to say to each other?

* * * * *

Auguste leaned into a small window cut in the thick stone wall of Fort

Monroe. He stared through iron grillwork at a blue-gray expanse of

rippling water. Eastward on the horizon lay low land, the other side of

Chesapeake Bay. Pressing his forehead against the bars he could see the

bay opening to the south into that vast open ocean the pale eyes had

crossed in their relentless search for new land.

A faint breeze cooled Auguste's sweat-beaded brow. This was the Moon of

Falling Leaves, but it was still hot as summer.

Black Hawk had said little since their arrival. No doubt, Auguste

thought, the old war leader was comparing this huge stone fortress with

the log forts of the long knives he had besieged in his own country. He

must be absorbing the lesson it taught of the true magnitude of the long

knives' power. But when he did speak he sounded as defiant as ever.

"Why must I wear the clothing of my enemies?" Black Hawk stood in his

loincloth staring at the uniform that a soldier had laid out on his bed.

Auguste admired Black Hawk's lean, muscular body. It was hard to believe

that he had seen sixty-seven summers and winters. His wide mouth was

drawn down with distaste as he eyed the tall, red-plumed shako, the

dark blue jacket with its gold-trimmed collar, gold lace chevrons on the

upper arms and brass buttons, the lighter blue trousers, the white

leather belt.

"Sharp Knife wishes to show his respect for you by giving you the dress

of one of his war chiefs," said Auguste.

_It is also his way of reminding you that you are subject to him._

Owl Carver said, "It is a mark of hospitality. Just as Chief Falcon gave

us new doeskin garments when we surrendered to the Winnebago."

Auguste felt a thrill of pride as he recalled the amazing tale Owl

Carver had told him about Eagle Feather's part in that surrender. A boy

not yet seven summers old whose vision moved him and showed him how to

bring a war to an end was surely destined for great things.

Owl Carver looked strange, with his long white hair and megis-shell

necklace, in a peacock-blue cutaway coat and tight gray trousers.

Auguste was also wearing a pale eyes' suit with a dark brown jacket. The

Winnebago Prophet was dressed similarly in shades of green and gray.

Auguste had shown Owl Carver and Flying Cloud how to don the pale eyes'

clothing, and now they stood stiff and uncomfortable in the room they

shared, waiting for Black Hawk to put on his military garb.

Owl Carver said, "And the American pale eyes are not your enemies any

more. You have made your mark on the treaty paper."

"This time for all time," said Auguste, putting his heart into his

voice, remembering that Black Hawk had signed and broken treaties

before.

Black Hawk sighed. "The spirits of hundreds dead at the Bad Axe cry out

to me that the Americans are still our enemies."

That was ever Black Hawk's way, Auguste thought, brooding on old wrongs,

regretting agreements made with the pale eyes. Irreconcilable.

_He will never change. But we must change._

One hope had preoccupied Auguste throughout the month-long journey east,

by steamboat to Cincinnati, where he caught up with Black Hawk's party,

by horse-drawn coach and finally by that astonishing new pale eyes'

invention, the railroad. Auguste must find a way for the Sauk to live in

a world where the pale eyes ruled absolutely. He was the only one who

understood both Sauk and pale eyes. It was up to him.

"Do you want to say again the words you will speak to Sharp Knife?"

Auguste asked.

"Yes," said Black Hawk. "Will he be surprised to hear me speak to him in

his own language?"

"Very surprised. He will know you are a very smart man."

Haltingly Black Hawk repeated his speech in English, which Auguste had,

at the chief's request, been teaching him. Black Hawk had told Auguste

what he wanted to say. Auguste had translated it, and the old leader had

learned it word by word.

Smiling, Owl Carver said, "This is just what your vision foretold, White

Bear, that Black Hawk would speak to Sharp Knife in Sharp Knife's own

lodge."

_Yes, and I told you then that it did not mean Black Hawk would conquer

Sharp Knife._

But Auguste did not have the heart to remind Owl Carver of the unhappy

reality. Silently he helped the reluctant Black Hawk dress.

He wished now that he might have another vision of the future beyond

this moment.

* * * * *

It took Black Hawk and his companions two days to travel by steamboat

from Fort Monroe to Washington City. As the meeting with Sharp Knife

drew closer, Auguste grew more and more fearful. If Jackson and Black

Hawk quarreled, the President might decide to throw all of them into

prison for life. He might even have them quietly killed. He was the most

powerful man between the two oceans.

They slept overnight in the ship's cabin. Auguste dreamed that he stood

empty-handed and helpless while Raoul came at him with a huge dagger.

The next day, at about nine in the morning, Black Hawk and his three

advisors were riding in an open carriage down Pennsylvania Avenue, with

columns of long knives four abreast on horseback before and behind.

Auguste felt bewildered listening to the rattle of hooves. Only a few

moons ago the long knives were hunting Black Hawk and his band. Now they

escorted Black Hawk with honor. The change was dizzying.

Auguste looked about him curiously at the capital of the United States.

It was a sprawl of large brick and frame houses, and Pennsylvania Avenue

was a muddy, deeply rutted thoroughfare as wide as a cornfield. Behind

them on its hill was the Capitol Building, an immense square stone

structure topped by three low domes. The air was thick and damp and hot,

and moisture-laden gray clouds lay overhead. Auguste longed for the

drier climate of Illinois.

Pale eyes and many of their black-skinned slaves stood under the poplar

trees lining the sides of the avenue. They waved cheerfully to Black

Hawk and clapped their hands. From time to time Black Hawk raised a hand

in solemn greeting.

Auguste had expected that they would have to endure jeers and cries of

hatred when they were paraded through Washington City. But,

surprisingly, people were welcoming them as if they were heroes. It gave

him a feeling of hope. His people might learn to live with these people.

Auguste was awed by the size of the President's House, three or four

times bigger than Victoire. It stood behind an iron fence at the western

end of Pennsylvania Avenue. All this for the Great Father, thought

Auguste. It seemed all the more impressive because the entire building

was painted white.

Among the Sauk, colors always meant something. Auguste asked Jefferson

Davis, who had ridden with their mounted escort, what the white of the

President's House meant.

Davis smiled wryly. "Why, that's to hide the scorch marks from where the

redcoats burned it in 1814."

But how fitting it seemed that the Great Father of the white people

should live in a white palace. Auguste felt a tingle of excitement as

the blue-coated officers ushered his party up the front steps.

Owl Carver stuck his hand into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out the

gold watch that had once been Pierre de Marion's. He smiled, toothless,

at Auguste.

"You told me I could use this to tell when the pale eyes will do things.

See now. One of the long knife chiefs told me this." He pointed to the

face of the watch. "When the long arrow is here and the short arrow is

here, we will meet with Sharp Knife." He had pointed to the numerals XII

and XI--eleven o'clock in the morning.

They awaited Sharp Knife in the East Room of the President's House. An

officer told the four Sauk to stand abreast, with Black Hawk at the

right end of their line and Auguste on the left. The arrangement told

Auguste that the long knives considered him the least important member

of the Sauk delegation, an estimate with which he agreed. A dozen long

knife colonels, majors, captains, lieutenants, all in blue jackets and

gold braid, stood in two groups flanking the Sauk.

Even though he had never had any reason to doubt his shaman's vision,

Auguste was surprised at how exactly he had seen the room they were

standing in--its rows of windows with blue and yellow drapes, its three

glittering chandeliers and the four huge mirrors in gilded frames facing

each other across an immense blue and yellow carpet with a red border.

Under each mirror was a fireplace. Four fireplaces, to keep one room

warm in winter.

The long arrow on Owl Carver's watch had moved from XII to VI, and the

old man was uttering doubts of its power to tell him anything when a

black servant opened a door at the far end of the room and all the long

knives in the room drew themselves up stiffly, clicking their heels

together. Sharp Knife came slowly into the room.

Andrew Jackson in person looked just as he had in Auguste's vision, only

more terrifying. Whatever unknown red man had first called him Sharp

Knife had chosen aptly. With his long, narrow face and his

extraordinarily tall, thin body, he looked like a blade come to life. A

shock of white hair stood up as stiff as Wolf Paw's crest on top of his

head, and thick white eyebrows shadowed eyes as bright as splinters of

steel.

Raoul's words of over a year ago came back to Auguste: _I'd like to see

what an old Indian killer like Andy Jackson would say to you._

Auguste felt he was face to face with the power that had destroyed the

Sauk. This man, with his own hand, had slain Indians by the hundreds,

had uprooted whole nations and driven them westward. This was the leader

of those endless swarms of murderous, grasping pale eyes who, territory

by territory, were driving the red people from their homes. This was the

man who willed that white people should fill all the land from ocean to

ocean.

But Sharp Knife was also frail as an icicle. He moved one step at a

time, as if in great pain, and Auguste sensed that he was afflicted with

many ailments and troubled by many old wounds. Auguste saw in him an

immeasurably powerful spirit that kept him going in spite of so much

sickness and pain.

"Which of you is the one that can speak English?" Jackson asked. Auguste

had expected his voice to be like thunder, but it shrilled like a knife

on a grindstone.

Feeling a painful hollow in his belly Auguste said, "I am, Mr.

President." Only this morning Davis had told him that was the way

Jackson was to be addressed. "I am White Bear, also called Auguste de

Marion."

When Jackson turned his gaze on him, Auguste felt it with the force of

an icy gale.

"Colonel Taylor wrote me a long letter about you. I want to have a talk

with you later. Now, tell the chief I am happy to greet him as a friend.

Tell him there will be peace between me and my red children as long as

the grass shall grow and the rivers shall run."

A talk later? What did Jackson have in mind for him? Auguste wondered as

he translated for Black Hawk.

"Now shall I speak to him in his tongue?" Black Hawk asked.

"This would be a good time," said Auguste.

Black Hawk took a step forward, leaving Owl Carver, Flying Cloud and

Auguste standing behind him. Auguste saw that Black Hawk was shorter

than Jackson, but broader in chest and shoulders. And, Auguste believed,

stronger and healthier though they were about the same age.

Black Hawk raised his right hand in greeting and said in English, "I am

a man. And you are a man like me."

Jackson looked startled, then stood very straight and stared intently at

Black Hawk's bronze face as the war leader spoke the memorized words

slowly, one at a time.

"We did not expect to conquer your people. I took up the tomahawk to

avenge great wrongs that we could no longer bear. If I had not been

willing to fight, the young men would have said Black Hawk is too old to

be chief. They would have said Black Hawk is a woman. They would have

said he is no Sauk. So I raised the war whoop. You are a war leader, and

you understand me. I need say no more. I ask you to give me your hand in

friendship and to let us return to our people."

"A very fine speech," said Jackson. "I was not told that you spoke

English, Chief."

Auguste repeated the President's comment in Sauk.

Black Hawk said, "Tell him that you taught me how to say what I wanted

to say in the pale eyes' tongue."

Jackson grunted. "I see. Yes, White Bear, you and I will have to talk.

Well, tell him that we will send him back to his people when we are

certain we'll have no more trouble from them."

Auguste wanted to say, _Almost all the people who caused you trouble are

dead_. But he merely translated Jackson's words for Black Hawk.

_Why does Jackson want to talk to me?_ Auguste did not like the sound of

it. Did Sharp Knife have in mind some treachery against Black Hawk?

Black Hawk said, "Tell the Great Father that the Sauk will be quiet as

long as the pale eyes do no more harm to them." Auguste had a sinking

feeling, as he translated this, that he might well be reopening

hostilities right here in the President's House.

Jackson answered, "We never have done any wrong to your tribe. When we

buy land from people we expect them to honor their agreements."

_Two stubborn men_, thought Auguste. Black Hawk was right in saying that

they were alike.

When he told Black Hawk what Jackson had said, the chief answered, "Say

to him that I have thought much about this. I do not think land can be

bought and sold. Earthmaker put it there for our use. If people leave

their land, then someone else can take it and use it. But it is not

something like a blanket or a pot, that can be carried away by its

owner. It belongs to all Earthmaker's children."

Black Hawk's words worried Auguste, giving him the feeling that a storm

was about to break. Jackson, he knew, was a hot-tempered man, a man who

had killed others in duels. Black Hawk might be bringing further trouble

on himself, on all of them, by speaking so candidly to Sharp Knife.

He considered changing Black Hawk's words to a speech more

agreeable-sounding. But that would be a kind of treachery, he decided.

Out of loyalty to Black Hawk, he must convey his meaning exactly to

Sharp Knife. So, watching with inner trembling as Jackson frowned and

shook his head, he faithfully translated.

Jackson looked directly at Auguste, not at Black Hawk, as he answered.

"You Indians just do not understand that land is the source of all the

goods of civilization. That's why the white man is so much richer and

more powerful than the red man. Among us, every piece of land is owned

by a particular man, and that man makes good use of his land to produce

wealth. Never mind, don't translate that," he ordered. "It's just as

well the chief and I have no more words on this point right now."

Auguste felt deep relief that Black Hawk's words had not angered

Jackson. Unsmiling, the President took a stiff step toward Black Hawk

and thrust out his hand. Black Hawk reached out to him, and they clasped

hands solemnly, staring into each other's eyes. Auguste felt a shiver

run through him at the sight of that handclasp. Now Black Hawk's war

with the pale eyes was truly at an end.

The white officers standing on either side of Jackson and Black Hawk

clapped their hands, and after a moment of hesitation Auguste, Owl

Carver and the Winnebago Prophet applauded too.

Jackson said, "Lieutenant Davis, take the chief and these two older

medicine men on a tour of the President's House and the gardens." He

turned his blue eyes on Auguste. "White Bear--Mr. de Marion--I'd like

you to accompany me to my office for a private word."

Now Auguste's heart pounded as he followed Jackson, accompanied by two

soldiers, up a flight of stairs. He sensed that Jackson must have

demands in mind, and knew that because of what he had been--_old Indian

killer_--the Sauk would not be helped by his yielding to those demands.

But what might refusal mean? Imprisonment? Death?

Jackson's office was a large room, well lit by big glass windows, where

the President's polished oak desk was piled high with papers. The two

soldiers stationed themselves on either side of the door, and as Auguste

entered behind Jackson he saw a guard with a bayonet-mounted rifle

standing like a wooden statue in one corner of the room. Auguste

wondered whether there was always a guard there, or only when Jackson

had an Indian visitor. Jackson folded his tall body inch by painful inch

into a large mahogany chair. With a gesture he invited Auguste to sit

opposite him in a comfortable chair with curving wooden arms and legs.

"I want you to consider staying here in Washington City, Mr. de Marion,"

Jackson said abruptly. "I think you can be of great service to your

Indian people and to the United States. I'm impressed by the way you

prepared that speech for Black Hawk. Zack Taylor has written me that

you're a remarkably learned fellow. There are plenty of men and women

who straddle the border between the white and the red races, but most of

them are trash--illiterates and drunks who hang around Army posts. You

seem to be an important man both in the white world and among your

fellow tribesmen."

Auguste's body went cold. Jackson did want him to work for him. He found

himself resenting the President's apparent expectation that he could

easily be won over. But he was afraid that if he refused outright

Jackson might take it out on the Sauk.

He shook his head. "You overestimate me, Mr. President. I have no

importance in the white world. I had a place, but it was taken from me.

Among the Sauk--yes, I am what you would call a medicine man, but I

begged them not to go to war against the whites and they did not listen

to me."

Jackson waved that away with a long, bony hand. "I can see that you are

capable of accomplishing much. I have a situation for you in my Bureau

of Indian Affairs. If you do well in that post you might one day head

the bureau as Commissioner, responsible for the welfare of all the

Indian tribes under the protection of the United States."

Auguste felt overwhelmed. Jackson's proposal went far beyond anything he

had imagined. Was he wrong in thinking that he must refuse?

No, he must reject Jackson's offer. The President meant to use him

against his own people.

Auguste looked straight into Jackson's steel-splinter eyes. "You expect

more trouble with the Indians, don't you, Mr. President?"

Jackson frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"Up to now you've been assuring the red men that they could live in

peace on the west side of the Mississippi. But now you can't promise

them that anymore."

"You _are_ a medicine man, de Marion. How have you divined that?"

Auguste felt as if he were walking on bad ice and might at any moment

break through and drown. He should not be so bold with this all-powerful

man.

"I know that General Scott has signed a treaty with He Who Moves Alertly

whereby the Sauk give up a strip of land fifty miles wide running down

the _west_ side of the Mississippi."

Jackson clenched his fist until the knuckles showed white. "You were

not supposed to learn about that treaty till you returned to Sauk

country."

"We traveled over a thousand miles, Mr. President. We talked to many

people, and they talked to us."

"And with someone who speaks English as well as you do in the party, you

were bound to learn. Does Black Hawk know about this?"

"No, sir."

Jackson's smile was knowing. _He thinks I'm willing to betray Black

Hawk._

Before Jackson could speak, Auguste said, "He would be angry if he knew.

He would protest to you. And it would do no good. It would only mar the

meeting between you and him."

Sharp Knife's smile broadened. "Exactly the sort of tactful decision I'd

expect of you. Just why I want you to help me."

Auguste was frightened, but felt he must make it clear to Jackson where

he stood.

"Mr. President, when you force the red people to give up land west of

the Great River, how will they live? Soon there won't be enough land for

them to hunt on."

Jackson spread his hands. "If their food supply runs short, our Indian

agents can supply them until they find other means of livelihood."

To depend on government agents for the very food they put into their

mouths? That would be a kind of prison.

His heart galloping, Auguste decided to speak even more boldly. "You are

looking for someone to reconcile the red man to having his land stolen

from him, Mr. President."

"Mr. de Marion, the United States is not a thief." A fierce glare lit

Jackson's eyes.

_I must try to be bold without being rude._

"I meant no insult, Mr. President. The red man _thinks_ his land is

being stolen from him."

Jackson frowned at Auguste as if he was not sure whether he was being

sarcastic, and, indeed, hearing his own words, Auguste was not quite

sure how he meant them.

"Exactly," Jackson said. "The red man doesn't understand what is

happening. You can help to see that this _must_ be."

Auguste hesitated. He had not had time to think. He was not ready to

decide his whole future and perhaps bargain away the future of his

people in a moment. Staying here in Washington City just might be the

best thing he could do for the Sauk. Working for and with Jackson, he

could protect his people, warn them of danger, avert attacks on them.

But his choosing to refuse Jackson was not the outcome of a momentary

impulse. His whole life had taken him to this place on his path. The

path might wind; its direction might sometimes be lost in shadows. But

it did not lead to Sharp Knife. Jackson was a far better man than Raoul,

but they were both on the same side, the side of the dispossessors.

"What the red men don't understand, Mr. President, is how much they are

giving up."

"Black Hawk said land can't be bought and sold," Jackson said. "Then it

belongs to whoever can make the best use of it."

Each man owning his own land and defending it against all comers,

thought Auguste, that was the centerpost of the white way of life.

"I understand that you feel a responsibility to your people, to provide

them with land," Auguste said. "But whether it is legal or illegal, just

or unjust, I can't help you to move my people or any other red people

off the land they are living on."

Jackson's face seemed to sharpen. "You could have done much for Indians

by working for me. I'm surprised that a man of your intelligence and

education would prefer running around in the woods wearing a loincloth."

Auguste was reminded of Nancy's words, _hunting and living in wigwams_.

Jackson reached into an inner pocket of his black jacket and took out a

pair of spectacles. To Auguste they looked somewhat like Pierre's.

Auguste thought with sorrow of Sun Woman and wondered what had happened

to the spectacles he had given her. Jackson bent forward and picked up a

sheet of paper from one of the piles on his desk.

"Ask one of the soldiers in the next room to help you find the rest of

your party."

* * * * *

A few days later Jefferson Davis came to see Auguste in his new room, a

small wedge-shaped chamber in one of the towers of Fort Monroe.

"I see they've moved you," said Davis with a smile.

Auguste nodded. "I believe President Jackson prefers that I no longer

associate with Black Hawk and his party."

"Seems so," Davis said. "President Jackson plans to send Chief Black

Hawk and Owl Carver and the Prophet on a tour of our big cities.

Jackson's up for reelection next month. And, of course, he wants Black

Hawk to see at first hand what he's up against. The President has made

it clear that you are not to go along."

Auguste shrugged. "He offered me a position. I refused."

A smile warmed Davis's pale, gaunt face. "People don't ordinarily say no

to the President of the United States. Well, you'll go home all the

sooner. Black Hawk and the others won't get back to the Sauk reservation

in Ioway till sometime next year. But I'm leaving tomorrow to rejoin

Zachary Taylor's command at Fort Crawford, and I'm to take you with me,

to return you to your people."

Auguste did not answer. He sat down heavily on his bed, which he had

pulled next to the one small window in his room, overlooking the strait

called Hampton Roads.

Did he want to go back to his people? He remembered a thought that had

come to him while talking with Andrew Jackson. Each man owning his own

land. That was the key to the white way of life.

But he longed to see Redbird and Eagle Feather again. Were they well or

sick? He wanted to hold Redbird in his arms, mourn Floating Lily with

her. That wonderful story he had heard from Owl Carver about Eagle

Feather and the calumet--he wanted to tell Eagle Feather he had done

well.

But, go back to the Sauk? He knew now, especially after talking to

Jackson, what the future of the Sauk would be. Never to see the Great

River again. To lose their land bit by bit. To be confined to a tract of

land in Ioway far smaller than the territory they'd formerly ranged

over. Not permitted to hunt where they wished. Might have to beg food

from an Indian agent, as Jackson had said. They would not choose their

own chiefs as they always had, but would have chiefs picked for them by

the whites, men like He Who Moves Alertly, who knew how to use both the

pale eyes and their own people to advance themselves. A miserable life,

a prison life, a slave's life.

Memories crowded his mind. The words of the Turtle: _You will be

guardian of that land that has been placed in your keeping._ Sun Woman's

lifeless brown eyes staring up at him at the Bad Axe. The charred ribs

of Victoire under a three-quarter moon.

He thought of the endless acres of farm and grazing land stretching

around Victoire. He remembered the verdict Not Guilty. The eyes of David

Cooper, hard but honest.

If he could take Victoire away from Raoul ...

Then he would have something to offer Redbird and Eagle Feather. If he

won his rightful place in the world the whites were building, he could

bring his wife and son to share it with him.

"What's the matter?" said Davis, breaking in on his thoughts. "Doesn't

the idea of going back to your people make you happy?"

Auguste shook his head. "No."

"What other choice do you have?"

"I could do more for my people by staying in the white world. Not as

Jackson's Judas goat, but as master of Victoire."

Davis took a step backward, astonished. "Master of Victoire! Have you

lost your senses, man? We barely got you out of Smith County alive."

"Will you take me back there instead of to the Sauk in Ioway?"

Davis shook his head. "I'm not authorized to do that."

"Am I still a prisoner?"

"You're a guest of Uncle Sam. But that doesn't mean I can spend Uncle

Sam's money taking you anywhere you want to go." Davis frowned in

thought. "But I could turn you loose in Galena instead of taking you all

the way over to Ioway. That wouldn't make any difference, monetarily.

Not that I'm ready to go along with this, but could you manage to make

it to Victor from there?"

"I'll write to my grandfather and ask him to send a horse to Galena for

me."

"If your grandfather has any sense he'll tell you to get the hell across

the Mississippi to the Sauk reservation."

"My grandfather has a power of sense. But he also loves me and will want

to see me again."

"If you show your face in Victor you'll be swinging from a tree limb

before the sun sets."

"Not if I can take Raoul by surprise."

Davis shook his head. "This is wrong. I'm letting you go to your death."

Frightened, seeing his plan through Davis's eyes, Auguste was tempted

to change his mind. Yes, go back to Ioway, live safely in the warm heart

of the tribe. Why face a mob of rifle-toting bullies led by Raoul? It

was hopeless. He would surely die.

But he saw again those rolling acres, the great house rebuilt, the

wealth and what he could do with it. If he turned his back on that, he

would stunt the rest of his life with regret and longing.

He said, "It's not suicide. I'm risking my life, yes. But if I don't try

to right the wrong that has been done to me, life will not be worth

living."

Davis sighed. "A man has to stand up for what he believes in, even if it

looks like a lost cause. I guess that's what you and Black Hawk and all

your people have been doing all along."

Now that Auguste was committed, fear came back. He'd have to face

Raoul's men, dozens of them, alone. Even the Bear spirit could not give

him the strength and skill to do that.

There must be a way to meet Raoul alone. Ambush him? But that way, even

if he succeeded in killing Raoul, the town and Raoul's friends would

never accept him as master of Victoire.

The man he'd just met, Andrew Jackson, was well known as a duelist. In

his years at Victoire Auguste had heard more than once of Raoul meeting

men in single combat. Pierre and Elysee had spoken with disgust of

Raoul's dozen or more killings.

A duel. That would be the way to do it. If he succeeded in killing Raoul

in a duel, no one would try to stop him from retaking Victoire. With

Raoul gone, his men would be leaderless.

Of course, Raoul had killed many men and Auguste had killed none. But

the Bear spirit would fight on Auguste's side. And if he failed, he

would rather die fighting for what was rightfully his than spend his

life drinking the bitter water of defeat.

A few days before he left Fort Monroe, Auguste persuaded Davis to let

him be allowed to walk on the parade ground at the same time as Owl

Carver. A sadness came over him at the sight of the old shaman, a gray

army blanket thrown over his shoulders despite the warmth of the day,

walking with stiff steps across the grass. The heavy-lidded eyes did not

light up with recognition until Auguste came close to him.

Then Owl Carver took both Auguste's hands in his, and Auguste noticed

something he had never seen before. The sudden realization awed him.

_His eyes look so much like those of the Turtle!_

Wondering how Owl Carver would think of what he was doing, he told him,

"I am going back to the pale eyes' town. Back to Star Arrow's home. I

mean to try to take back the land from my uncle."

Owl Carver closed those ancient eyes. He spoke after a moment's

hesitation, and when he did his voice frightened Auguste. It was the

eerie singsong voice he used when he was prophesying for the tribe.

"When a man or woman suffers an injury too great for them to bear, an

evil spirit is born in them, a spirit of hate. The evil spirit ruins

whoever harbors it. The evil spirit occupies a man and drives him onward

until he does things to others that make them hate in their turn, and

thus the spirit continues. I think your uncle has been carrying such an

evil spirit."

Auguste broke out in a cold sweat hearing the warning in Owl Carver's

words. He remembered the hatred that rose in him whenever he thought of

Raoul. Was the spirit of hatred kindled in Raoul at Fort Dearborn now

passing to him?

"I pledged to my father, smoking the sacred tobacco, that I would hold

the land he gave me," Auguste said, as much to hearten himself as to

persuade Owl Carver. "Tobacco bound you and Black Hawk in honor to

surrender when Eagle Feather smoked it. I must honor my promise."

But he still felt cold within, as Owl Carver, his eyes now clear-sighted

and grave, gripped his wrist tightly. "Do not let your uncle's evil

spirit cross over to you. See that it be your promise, and not greed,

like the greed of the pale eyes, that takes you back to that land. And,

above all, do not use your shaman's power to harm your enemy, or you

will suffer for it."

"I will not," said Auguste, but he felt unsure of himself. After all the

evil he had endured, how could he _know_ that he would not unleash his

greatest powers if that were the only way he could destroy Raoul?

The grip of the bony fingers on his wrist tightened. "Set your heart,

White Bear, not upon getting back this land, but just upon walking your

path."

The deep lines in Owl Carver's face were drawn downward with pain, and

Auguste felt the crushing weight of grief as he realized they were both

thinking the same thought--that they would never see each other again.

24

Challenge

Following the dimly seen figures of Guichard and his horse, Auguste

breathlessly climbed a narrow, steep pathway that switched back and

forth up the steep, wooded hillside. He led his horse by the reins.

Halfway up the hill they came to a flat place, an open clearing. Auguste

smelled wood smoke. The windows of a cottage glowed yellow, promising

safety.

While Auguste waited in the dark, Guichard stabled the horses, then

knocked on the cottage door.

"We have arrived, monsieur," he called, and pushed the door inward.

Auguste blinked in the light of a dozen candles set on a circular

chandelier. Across the room by the fireplace a book fell to the rug, a

Kentucky quilt was swept back and a pair of long, skinny legs draped in

a nightshirt swung over the side of a chaise longue.

"Grandpapa, don't get up." But Elysee was already hobbling across the

room to Auguste's outstretched arms.

Elysee buried his white head in his grandson's chest. Auguste held his

grandfather tightly; the answering embrace was not as strong as it had

been even a few months ago when the old man had visited him in his cell.

The fragility and weakness saddened Auguste.

Bare feet peeping from under another nightshirt pattered down a ladder

from the second-story loft. Before he reached the bottom, Woodrow jumped

and rushed to hug Auguste.

"I been staying here ever since we found out you were coming. So I could

tell Miss Nancy right away when you got here."

Nancy. His heart raced as he remembered her in the witness chair

defending him and standing up to Raoul's abuse. He badly wanted to see

her, to hold her in his arms.

But could he allow himself to feel so much for Nancy, when he hoped to

bring Redbird here?

_That is looking too far down the trail. I may not live to see Redbird

again._

Out there in the dark the enemy might be gathering even now.

"You still live with Miss Nancy, Woodrow?"

"She's adopted me." The boy stared down at Elysee's small Chinese rug.

"I guess that makes me your son too."

Auguste understood what Woodrow meant. Auguste had taken Nancy as his

wife according to Sauk custom, and Woodrow knew it. He saw Elysee's

puzzled look, and knew that he might have difficulty explaining later.

But he must not hesitate now. He squeezed Woodrow's bony shoulder.

"I'm proud."

"I'm proud of you, White Bear. I'm glad you came back. I'm off to Miss

Nancy's soon as I get my britches on." The boy scampered back up the

ladder.

"Guichard, go get Nicole and Frank," said Elysee as he drew Auguste

across the room and gently pushed him into a chair.

"They'll be sleeping, Grandpapa," Auguste protested.

"They would be furious if we did not wake them," said Elysee, his

falcon's face severe. "And it is safest that we meet late at night."

Auguste wondered, was any time safe? Did not the enemy have eyes and

ears for the night?

Auguste threw off the riding coat Guichard had given him in Galena and

sat down in a straight wooden chair by the chaise longue, close to the

welcome warmth of the fire. He noticed a pistol and a rifle mounted on

brackets over the mantel, with two powder horns hanging beside them.

Guichard filled three small glasses with an inch of brandy apiece,

drained one quickly and left the other two and the decanter on a small

table within easy reach.

"I felt ten years younger when I saw Raoul's face turn purple when he

came into court with his rogues and heard that you had been spirited

away." Elysee wiped his wet cheeks with a blue kerchief. "I cry so

easily. I _am_ getting old."

"I am crying, too, Grandpapa."

Elysee turned a stern but still moist eye on him. "Enough crying, then.

Tell me everything you have seen and done since the trial."

Auguste described his journey to Washington City and the meeting with

Andrew Jackson.

Woodrow, dressed now for riding, lingered to listen as Auguste repeated

Black Hawk's speech to Jackson. Then he solemnly shook hands with

Auguste and left.

"Be careful out there," Auguste called after him.

Elysee said, "President Jackson, what sort of man is he?"

"His nickname, Old Hickory, is apt. He's hard, very hard."

Auguste told about his refusal of Jackson's offer of a post and being

cut out of Black Hawk's touring party.

Elysee shook his head doubtfully. "To take a position in the government

might have opened up an excellent career for you."

Auguste shook his head. "I knew what Jackson wanted to use me for. The

Bear spirit would tear my heart out if I ever consented."

Elysee raised an eyebrow. "You still believe in such things--bear

spirits and all that?"

Auguste thought of his resolve to succeed as a white man. Even so, the

Bear spirit was as real as his grandfather.

"I don't just believe, Grandpapa. I know."

Elysee's reply was cut off when a weeping Nicole pushed the door open,

followed by Frank and Guichard. Auguste held his aunt in his arms,

rejoicing in the strength he felt in her ample body. Guichard brought

more chairs from a rear room and set them close to the fire. They sat in

a circle, their backs to the dark outside.

"All this going from house to house isn't safe," said Nicole. "Raoul is

probably having all of us watched. He won't feel he really owns Victoire

as long as Auguste is alive."

Frank said, "He might know that President Jackson sent you back from

Washington City. We've been getting regular reports from back East about

Chief Black Hawk's tour, and your name wasn't mentioned."

"Do you have any news about the rest of my people?" Auguste asked.

Nicole said, "The Sauk prisoners who walked through here are being held

at Rock Island."

Auguste said, "I must go there and find Redbird and Eagle Feather."

Hearing that she was still in Illinois, he wanted more than ever to

rescue her from hunger and fear and captivity, to bring her and Eagle

Feather here to Victoire.

_If I live to do that._

"Will you join the other Sauk in Ioway after you find your family?"

Frank asked.

Auguste shook his head. "No, I must take my rightful place here. I can

no longer live as a Sauk. If we are to live and prosper, we must live as

the whites do, each man holding and tending his own land. I want to show

my people how it can be done. I want to take Victoire back."

A silence filled the room. A log on the fire broke in two with a loud

crack, spattering sparks on the screen.

Auguste looked at each of them in turn. There was worry in Elysee's

eyes. Nicole's full face was pale with fear, and Frank looked

bewildered. Guichard, standing against the wall, sipped brandy.

Frank said, "But Raoul--he'll try to kill you."

"I mean to let him try. I mean to challenge him."

"You can't." Nicole's voice was shrill. "He's got dozens of men behind

him."

"He will have to fight me man to man. Raoul can hold his place only as

long as his followers think he is the strongest and bravest. They don't

respect him the way they used to. He made too many mistakes. And some of

those mistakes have cost lives among his own men. If he tries to kill me

without fighting me, he'll slip further in their eyes. If he loses the

respect of his men, he loses everything."

Nicole said, "But you're going up against someone who has killed many

times."

_True. And he killed Iron Knife, the biggest and strongest brave in the

British Band._

"I must do this," said Auguste. "I have never killed, but I know how to

use weapons. I must do it for my mother. For all the Sauk that he has

killed. And so that my father's will may be done. I believe the Bear

spirit will help me."

He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. If he let these people

persuade him, he might give up and run away.

Elysee groaned. "The Bear spirit again. Auguste, think how many men have

gone into battle believing God and the saints and the angels would help

them. And have died."

Auguste wished he could explain. Maybe for white men the spirits did not

exist. But he knew that his visions were real. The Bear spirit was not

just another part of his mind. It had a life of its own. It had left the

marks of its claws on his body. It had left its paw print in the earth

beside Pierre's body when it took his spirit away.

"If it was wrong for me to try to fight Raoul, Grandpapa, I would

receive a warning."

Elysee shook his head sadly, disbelieving. Auguste was sad, too,

thinking how much more there was to the world than Grandpapa would ever

let himself know.

The Seth Thomas clock on the mantel over the fireplace chimed once,

making them all jump. One o'clock in the morning. Auguste, at the end of

a journey by railroad, steamboat, coach and horseback that had taken

weeks, felt a bone-deep ache of exhaustion. But it was only bodily

fatigue. Now that he was in Victor he was excited, and his mind was wide

awake.

Frank put an ink-stained hand on Auguste's shoulder.

"Listen, Auguste. Even if you were to succeed in killing Raoul, you

wouldn't get Victoire back."

"Why not?"

"Things have changed around here. People don't hold with the idea that

every man should carry a gun and be a law unto himself. They've seen

that only leads to a gang like Raoul and his rogues running things.

They've decided they wanted the county run by those they've picked. And

men like David Cooper and Tom Slattery came forward. Slattery is our new

sheriff."

Elysee said, "The _Victor Visitor_ has had much to do with this change."

Frank shrugged modestly and went on, "Right after your trial a group of

men in Victor and on the farms hereabouts, mostly newcomers, formed an

organization called the Regulators. They said it was a disgrace that the

Army had to guard you during your trial and that you had to flee from

the town when it was over. They're determined to keep order in Smith

County, and Slattery has sworn them all in as deputies to make what they

do legal. Things are tense now between the Regulators and Raoul's men,

but the Regulators have more numbers and more spirit."

"Well then," said Auguste, exasperated, "why wouldn't these Regulators

support me if I kill Raoul?"

"Because dueling is against the law. You'd stand trial again, for

murder. And, by God, much as it might pain him, Cooper will hang you."

"And if you don't kill Raoul," said Nicole, "you'll die and he will

still have Victoire."

Auguste felt as if he were struggling in a net of heavy ropes. His hands

and heart ached for revenge on Raoul. Even if he did not get Victoire

back.

But that was madness, to kill Raoul and be hanged for it.

"What can I do, then?" he asked in a low voice.

Nicole said, "David Cooper still has the papers that prove Pierre

adopted you and left Victoire to you."

For just a moment Auguste felt his burden of fear grow lighter. He would

fight Raoul in a courtroom. No one need die.

But no--he waved the idea away.

"They acquitted me of murder, but a jury of new settlers in Illinois is

not likely to make an Indian the biggest landholder in the county."

Nicole said, "They would, because they would know that if they found for

you and against Raoul, they would be finding for the whole family, not

just you."

Auguste said, "Even if I could get a fair trial, I wouldn't live to hear

the verdict."

"Yes, you would," said Frank. "Fear of the Regulators would stop Raoul

from murdering you."

Auguste felt the ropy net tightening. Three moons ago his life had been

in the hands of twelve white men. Now Frank was asking him to trust

unknown white men again. And again, it seemed, he had no choice.

"Is there nothing else I can do?" The words came out as a cry of pain.

"You said you want to live as whites do," said Frank. "Then you have to

start to think and act like a civilized white man. Seek your remedy in

the law."

More than once, Auguste thought, he'd seen that civilized white men were

as quick to flout the law as to seek a remedy in it. But, resigned, he

slumped in his chair, his hands hanging down between his knees.

"I will follow your advice."

Nicole came over to him and stroked his hair. "We'll be beside you every

moment, Auguste."

The menace of rope or bullet or knife seemed driven off a bit, as

Guichard put another log on the fire and they began to talk about going

to Vandalia, finding a lawyer--perhaps Thomas Ford again--and filing

suit against Raoul. There was still the possibility--the likelihood--of

failure. But at least he might come through alive.

The clock struck two.

A sharp banging on the door startled Auguste. Everyone fell silent,

dreading what might be out there.

Guichard went to the door, opened it a crack, then pulled it wide.

Auguste saw a flash of blond hair under a bonnet and eyes of deepest

blue. The sudden leap of his heart lifted him out of his chair. He

barely heard the little serving table beside him topple over, spilling

his brandy.

He ran to Nancy, holding out his arms.

* * * * *

The lenses on the desk stared accusingly up at Raoul.

_Why do I keep taking them out and looking at them?_

It was like picking at a scab, making it bleed over and over again, so

that the wound never healed.

With a gentle hand he closed the silver case. He had long since cleaned

and polished it, but he still remembered it as he had first seen it,

streaked with the blood of the Indian woman he had just killed. He put

the case in his desk drawer.

Armand Perrault, sitting across the desk from Raoul, grunted with

disgust.

Ignoring him, Raoul picked up his whiskey glass and sipped from it,

running the tip of his tongue over the ends of his mustache.

"Why don't you get rid of those damned spectacles?" Armand said as he

refilled his glass from Raoul's jug.

When Armand picked up his glass it left a wet ring that would stain the

polished maple surface. There were already many rings on the desk, even

though it had been shipped out from Philadelphia only two months ago.

They looked like owl's eyes, staring as the spectacles stared.

But Raoul couldn't bring himself to care about how his desk looked,

just as he couldn't care enough to get started on rebuilding Victoire.

He preferred to live at the trading post. He hadn't felt like doing

anything, ever since Auguste's second escape from Victor. Next spring,

he told himself, he'd get the work going.

And so he sat up late every night in his counting room with Armand and

they drank and told each other the same stories about the war with Black

Hawk's band. There were men to drink with in the trading post taproom,

but he didn't care for most of them. Armand had been with him longer

than anybody. Raoul might not like him much, but he was used to him.

Armand had grudgingly accepted Raoul's explanation that he hadn't read

his copy of the will carefully before sticking it in the fire. He

thanked Raoul for the belated two hundred dollars and dismissed Pierre's

generosity as an attempted bribe from beyond the grave.

Raoul stared at his stained desk. The drawer was still open, the silver

case still visible. "They were my brother's spectacles."

"I know that. Why do you keep them? You hated your brother."

Raoul brought the flat of his hand heavily down on the desk. "Shut up!

You know nothing about it."

_How do I feel about Pierre? Do I still love him in a way? Is that why I

keep his spectacles?_

Unwilling suddenly to consign the silver case to his desk, he dropped it

into his jacket pocket. Armand probably wanted him to throw it away so

he could retrieve the case and sell it for the silver.

Armand said, "Your brother put the horns on me. And his Injun friends

killed my wife. Mon Dieu, how I wanted to see that bastard son of his

hang for that!"

Raoul was tired of hearing Armand go on about dead Marchette, to whom

he'd given nothing but blows and contempt when she was alive. Going to

bed with Pierre was the only good thing that ever happened to that poor

woman. But he said nothing; after all, he himself had cared little

enough for Clarissa when she was alive.

"You'll get a chance to kill him yet," said Raoul. "He'll be back this

way."

It was now nearly a week since the sergeant at Fort Crawford in Raoul's

pay passed the word that Andrew Jackson had sent the mongrel back West.

To think, that vermin meeting the President!

If Auguste traveled as fast as the news, he must be nearly here. Raoul's

informant said that Auguste was supposed to be sent with a military

escort to the new Sauk reservation in Ioway. Raoul was sure Auguste

would come to Victor instead.

When Auguste came back to Victor, he would go at once to Nancy Hale's

cabin, or send for her. Surely she had lied in court about what she and

Auguste were to each other. The boys Raoul had sent to watch her cabin

would let him know of Auguste's arrival.

Armand nodded vigorously. "May le Bon Dieu grant me the chance to kill

him. But what makes you so sure he will come here?"

"Because he knows that he can prove Pierre left Victoire to him. Cooper

has those papers, and Cooper helped him escape, so he has Cooper on his

side."

Armand said, "Two pieces of paper. Easy enough to make them disappear."

"How in hell am I going to get them away from Cooper? Him and his

Regulators."

Glowering at Raoul, Armand leaned back in his chair, making it creak. He

folded his hands across the big belly that stretched his homespun shirt.

"Kill Cooper and there will be no more Regulators."

_How I wish I could._

Pouring himself another drink, Raoul said, "Armand, you're damn near as

stupid as an Indian."

Armand's eyes narrowed and for a moment Raoul saw a flash of hatred that

reminded him of the way the overseer used to look at Pierre.

"Have a care how you talk to me, mon colonel," Armand said in a voice

that sounded like millstones grinding together, "I am your one friend.

Otto Wegner and Eli Greenglove turned on you, Hodge Hode is dead, Levi

Pope has joined the Regulators."

_It's true. I have no other friends but Armand. I have no family. What's

happened to me?_

"Damn it, it _is_ plain stupid to talk about fighting the Regulators,

Armand. Kill Cooper and we'd have a countywide war on our hands."

"I believe we could frighten the Regulators into backing down, mon

colonel--if _we_ showed some courage."

_That's a jab at me._

Whiskey and anger almost made Raoul lash out again at Armand, but he

felt a sudden fear that Armand would turn on him and he would be all

alone.

Raoul brooded for a time, then finally spoke.

"Wait till I get the lead mine opened up next spring. We'll go up to

Galena, you and I, and we'll recruit the roughest, meanest miners we can

find. And we'll make it plain to them that they'll have two jobs--to dig

for lead and to fight Regulators. When we've got enough of them down

here, we'll take on Cooper and his crowd in the next election. I'll

spread whiskey and money around and our boys will beat up anybody who

says he won't vote our way. Smith County will belong to us again,

Armand."

He heard hurried footsteps echoing on the split-log floor of the fort's

main room. Someone rapped on his office door. Like a swimmer coming up

from the bottom of a lake after a dive, Raoul rose up out of his

comfortable whiskey haze.

"Who's there?" he growled.

Josiah Hode, a skinny, red-haired youth in dark calico shirt and

workman's trousers, a big hunting knife at his waist, pushed the door

open. Hodge's orphaned son.

_This is what my Andy and Phil would have grown to look like._ The

thought hurt Raoul because Andy and Phil were dead and because he had

never really loved them.

"What is it, Josiah?"

"Someone rode up to Miz Hale's door and banged on it. I snuck right up

to the fence. When they came out I saw it was that Woodrow kid that

lives with her. And she got out her own horse and rode toward town with

him."

"Did you follow them?"

"Long enough to see that they went up to old Mr. de Marion's place."

"_He's_ there!" Raoul said. He felt as if he were out hunting on a

frosty morning and had just sighted a buck with spreading antlers. He

clenched his fist and brought it down on his desk, hard. He opened the

drawer again, took out a small bag of coins and slammed the drawer shut.

He counted out nine Spanish dollars. "Josiah, you divide these between

the three of you for keeping good watch." He dropped a tenth piece of

eight into the boy's cupped hands. "That's for you, for bringing me the

good news."

Josiah grinned, all teeth. "Thanks a heap, Mr. de Marion."

"Armand, I want about twenty men. Go round them up. Have them meet me at

the trading post gate."

"Tres bon, mon colonel."

Raoul thought a moment. He had planned to hang Auguste, but they

couldn't leave a body around for the Regulators to find.

"We'll take him out to the lead mine and finish him there. I know parts

of that mine where nobody'll ever find anything."

"Can I come, Mr. de Marion?" Josiah asked. The glow of admiration in his

eyes warmed Raoul.

Raoul gave the boy a grin. "Sure, Josiah. Bring your dad's rifle. I'll

show you how Smith County takes care of its Indian problem."

* * * * *

"Do Nicole and Grandpapa know about us?" Auguste asked Nancy as they sat

side by side on the split-rail fence Guichard had built around Elysee's

garden.

"I told Nicole," she said. "I was afraid she'd condemn me, but I had to

confide in someone. She was very sweet to me about it, not a hint of

reproach."

"Nicole understands." His voice sounded choked. He didn't know how he

knew Nicole that well--from glances, from hints in her voice

perhaps--but he was sure that her own desires were as large as she was.

And her generosity larger still. She would feel nothing but goodwill

toward another woman's longing for a man.

Nancy put her hand on Auguste's, and his breath quickened. Her face

seemed to pull his eyes, and he saw, in the light of the waxing moon,

that she was more beautiful tonight than he had ever seen her. Her

cheeks were rounder now: he hadn't fully realized how haggard she had

been as a captive of the Sauk.

_We all looked like buzzards' meals. But even then I loved to look at

her._

Right now he felt the blood throbbing in his body. He wanted to pick her

up and carry her into the woods beyond the house and be upon her. As any

healthy Sauk husband and wife would greet each other after a long time

apart. He was so aware of his hunger for Nancy and hers for him that he

could hardly think of anything else. Their need lit up the little

garden with a glow brighter than the moon's.

But what of Redbird? Even though she accepted Nancy as truly his wife,

as much as herself, somehow it did not seem right for him to love Nancy

now. It had been right when they were living with the British Band; here

in Victor it was not right.

"I knew you would come back," Nancy said, sensing his desire but not his

hesitancy, bringing her lips so close to his he could almost taste them.

He inched away from her, so as not to be utterly overcome by her

nearness.

He decided to talk of other things. He told her of the plan he had come

here with, to challenge Raoul. He told her how Frank had persuaded him

to try to retake Victoire with the law's help.

"The Turtle has said that I must be guardian of the land and see to it

that no pale eyes prospers by stealing from the Sauk," he said. "If I

can take Victoire back from Raoul, my people will have a place to come

to in the land that was once theirs."

"You mean for the tribe to come back and live on the estate?"

"No, they could never come back to Illinois as a tribe. But families

could come and live here for a while--they could send their children

here--they could learn our ways. And the wealth of the estate could help

them, wherever they might be."

"Will you bring Redbird and Eagle Feather here?" she asked, squeezing

his hand.

_Does she want me to say I won't? No, she cares for them too. We were a

family._

He said, "Yes, if I can get Victoire away from Raoul, I will bring them

here."

He saw her eyes close and knew that he was hurting her, and that

deepened his own pain still more.

She let go his hand and twisted her fingers together in her lap. "Of

course Redbird is first in your heart. But how can she live here with

you? Where her baby was torn out of her arms and killed by a mob of

white people."

"I've asked myself that many times. I will have to hear what Redbird

says."

He remembered what Sun Woman had said when Pierre asked her to come with

him to Victoire. _I could not look into pale eyes faces all day long.

My heart would dry up._ And surely Redbird had more reason to hate the

sight of white faces than Sun Woman had seven years ago.

Could he himself live here? He talked about retaking Victoire, about

living as a white man, but he recalled the heaps of dead he had seen on

that blood-soaked island off the Bad Axe River. Could he live among the

people who had done that?

Nancy said, "Would you still want to live at Victoire if Redbird said

she would not come with you?"

He saw Redbird's small face, her slanting eyes, the fringe of black hair

that fell over her forehead. He felt her slender arms around him as they

had held him so many nights in their wickiup. He saw the love and fear

in Eagle Feather's eyes when they parted so that he could take Nancy and

Woodrow to safety. The pain of being away from them almost made him want

to weep.

"I don't know the answer to that. The trail I follow is dark. I must go

one step at a time."

The chill night air carried a sound to his ears. Off in the distance, on

the bluff south of this hill, a man's low voice spoke a few words, then

another voice answered. He heard a boot crunch on gravel. A door slam.

The hair on the back of his neck lifted.

He raised his head, and his ears felt as if they were opening wider, to

take in everything that came to him. The noises were all faint; no pale

eyes would even have noticed them.

"What is it?" said Nancy.

The sounds seemed to come from the town. Who would be up so long after

midnight?

"Some men talking, a long way off." He listened for the space of a few

breaths. "I don't hear anything now."

Victor, he decided, was making him overly fearful.

Nancy said, "If Redbird does come to live with you, what will become of

you and me?" She took his hand in both of hers, stroking his fingers. "I

love you, Auguste. Now more than ever. Before, my life depended on you.

Now I know that I love you of my own free will."

"And I love you, Nancy."

"But you love Redbird too. More than me."

"Not more than you. In another way. Sometimes I seem to be two people."

"Among the Sauk you could have both me and Redbird as wives. And when I

was a captive, and I thought I might die at any time without ever having

loved you, then I accepted your way. But if Redbird lived here, you and

I would have to be together in secret. And I couldn't live my whole life

that way."

He had known it would hurt like this. This was the very reason he had

tried again and again to renounce Nancy's love.

"I understand," he said, and the words seared his throat.

_But now I would never give up a moment I spent with her, even to escape

this pain._

He ached to put his arms around Nancy and to feel her holding him. But

he made himself sit rigid, fingers digging into his thighs.

Nancy spoke, and he could hear the iron of grief in her voice. "If

Redbird comes here as your wife--I'll leave here. Maybe we'll go back

East. Woodrow and I."

She stopped abruptly, too choked by tears to speak. The fence rail they

were sitting on shook with her sobs.

Something broke inside Auguste, and he felt his eyes burn as the wetness

trickled down his cheeks. He slid from the fence and held out his arms

to her.

"To see you again and hear you say you'll leave me forever," he said.

"It hurts too much."

She came into his arms, pressing her wet face against his. Her lips

twisted against his, burning, devouring. Her arms slid around him, her

hands stroking his neck. He could feel her pulling at him as he held her

and her legs gave way.

He knew they were going to have each other and could not help

themselves.

He pressed his hand on her breast, loving its softness, feeling her

risen nipple push against his palm through silk and calico.

Footsteps crackled in the shrubbery at the bottom of the hill.

He froze, all his senses straining.

The hot blood in his veins turned in an instant to icy water.

"Auguste, for God's sake," she whispered.

"Someone's coming," he said. He felt her shiver against him.

He heard many men. They were trying to move quietly, filtering up the

hill through the woods. But few pale eyes could walk unheard among

shrubs and trees and piles of fallen leaves, especially at night.

Along with fear, he felt a sudden anger at himself that made him want

to pound his fist on his head. He'd heard the voices before, farther

off, in the village. He should have listened. He'd have known who and

what they were.

His ears told him the approaching men had formed a semicircle, slowly

closing as they climbed toward Elysee's cottage. His heart fluttered in

his rib cage, skipping beats, then pounding hard.

Nancy seized his hand.

"God protect us, Auguste!" she whispered. "I hear them too. Your uncle

must have found out that you're here. You've got to get away."

"Into the house. Hurry."

In the front room of Elysee's cottage Frank and Nicole were sitting by

the embers of the fire. The others had gone to sleep. Nancy flew into

Nicole's arms.

"We've got to get word to the Regulators," said Frank when Auguste told

him about the men coming up the hill. He shook Woodrow, who had been

napping on the chaise longue.

"Go by way of the ravine on the other side of this hill," Frank told the

boy. "Tell Judge Cooper Raoul and his men are coming to kill Auguste."

He turned worried eyes on Auguste. "Perhaps you'd better go with

Woodrow. You'd be safe at Cooper's."

"No," said Auguste. "If I run for it and they catch me, they'll surely

kill me. I'm going to do what I came to do. When Raoul gets here, I will

challenge him." His heart pounded so hard that his voice shook.

"Oh, no, Auguste!" Nancy cried.

Woodrow stood hesitating by the door, listening.

"They're almost here."

"Go!" Frank snapped at him. Woodrow ran out.

"Go carefully, Woodrow," Nancy called after him.

"Challenging Raoul is just--just madness," said Frank. He went to the

mantel and reached for Elysee's pistol.

"Frank, you can't!" Nicole cried.

"What choice do we have?" he said. He took one of the powder horns down

and sat to load and prime the pistol.

Auguste said, "Frank, there are too many of them. If you try to fight

them you'll only fire that pistol once, and then you'll be dead."

Frank said, "In a few minutes Cooper and the Regulators will be here.

All we have to do is hold Raoul and his men off a bit."

"Please," Auguste said. "Let me go out and meet Raoul alone."

Elysee said, "Absolutely not." He stood in his long nightshirt in the

doorway of his bedroom. He gestured to Guichard, who had followed him

out.

"Load my rifle, Guichard."

"Grandpapa, no!" Auguste cried. He wanted to throw his arms around the

old man and protect him.

Elysee shrugged. "Perhaps as Frank says, we can face them down without

shooting. You stay out of sight, Auguste. They cannot know for certain

that you are here."

"I will not let this happen," Auguste said. "I'll leave now. I'll follow

Woodrow." He strode to the door.

_They could be out there._

_If they are, then I can face Raoul as I first planned._

He yanked the door open and saw Raoul grinning at him, his face yellow

in the candlelight from the cottage.

And beyond Raoul, filling the clearing, a crowd of men with rifles.

* * * * *

Raoul couldn't see the mongrel's face. The light spilling out of

Elysee's house left Auguste in shadow. But he did see the split right

ear, partly hidden by Auguste's long black hair. He hefted the

cap-and-ball pistol held loosely in his right hand. This time there

would be no missing.

_Now. Point the pistol and pull the trigger. He isn't even armed._

But behind Auguste, Raoul saw Frank Hopkins with a pistol and Papa with

a rifle. If he shot Auguste, he'd have no time to reload. They'd have

the drop on him. And even if they didn't shoot back, they'd be witnesses

against him.

Looking past Frank he saw Nicole and Nancy Hale glaring at him,

wide-eyed. At the sight of Nancy his jaw muscles clenched and his hand

tightened on the pistol grip.

_How could she turn away from me and take up again with that redskin

bastard?_

"Come on out, mongrel," he said to Auguste. "Maybe a jury found you not

guilty, but we know you're guilty as hell. You sent that Sauk war party

here." He raised his voice. "And you, Papa, Frank--you're fools to

defend him. His Indians were trying to kill you too."

Auguste said, "Raoul, you were the cause of the Sauk coming to Victor.

You are a liar and a fool and a coward. And a thief and a murderer."

Auguste stepped forward and slapped Raoul's face.

The blow came too suddenly for Raoul to react. It wasn't even hard

enough to hurt much. It was purely a gesture of contempt.

Then Raoul's rage came. It flared up like a forest fire. He brought up

the pistol. Auguste's unprotected chest was less than a foot away.