ll as Eli.
But now, to make sure his own word remained the closest thing to law in
these parts, Raoul felt he had to equal Eli's accomplishment.

He checked the load in his pistol. He gripped the hilt of the
thirteen-inch knife at his belt and loosened it in its sheath. A
blacksmith in St. Louis had made it for him, assuring him it was an
exact replica of the knife designed a couple of years ago by the famed
Arkansas frontiersman Jim Bowie.

Raoul's mouth was dry. His heart was beating so hard he thought his men
must be able to see his woollen coat quivering. His hands were cold and
sweaty.

"Ain't but one way out of that mine, is there?" said Eli. "If we go in
four abreast he can't get past us, and it's a hell of a sight safer."

"I'll take care of him," Raoul repeated. Every word Eli said against his
going into the mine alone made him even more determined to do it. He
needed to keep Eli in line, especially if it should turn out that Eli
knew about him and Clarissa.

"He might have a rifle," said Eli. "Might shoot you when you walk in
there."

"If we all go in, one of you might get shot," said Raoul. "This is my
property."

_And fighting for it will make it more truly my property than any
government grant could._

But that Indian in there--what was he armed with? Rifle, knife, bow,
tomahawk? How strong was he, how fast, how skilled in fighting hand to
hand?

_I'm a fool to put myself through this._

"Could be more'n one in there," said Eli.

Raoul felt the blood run hot through his veins as he thought of Pierre's
bastard son, of Black Salmon, of the Potawatomi who raped and murdered
Helene. His men had killed two Indians today, but there was a third
waiting in that mine, and Raoul de Marion meant to be the death of him.

Ignoring Eli's warnings, he moved toward the black square of the mine
entrance.

He walked slowly, pistol at waist level. He needed his knife out, too,
he decided. Even though he was right-handed, it would be better to have
a second weapon ready than have his left hand empty. He drew his knife,
taking heart from its well-balanced feel.

He stepped under the logs he'd set last fall to brace the entrance.
Should he light a candle? No, that would make him an even better target.
He tried to pierce the blackness with his eyes; it was thick as a wool
curtain.

This was foolish, he thought. If they all went in together, the way Eli
said, a couple of men could carry candles, and they could