ckly stand up with him, her hand firmly on his arm,
steadying him.

He shut his eyes and held his hand tightly over his mouth, wanting to
die of shame and embarrassment. His belly bucked like a wild pony. Hot
liquid spurted through his fingers.

"Here, son, here," a voice said. He opened his eyes to look into the
face of his father, full of pain for him. Pierre held a large wooden
bucket under his chin. On the other side of him Nicole had a strong grip
on his shoulder.

Auguste took his hand away from his mouth and let his belly give up what
it had held. Stained red by the wine, the food he had just eaten poured
into the bucket. The smell of vomit filled his nostrils, making him feel
even sicker.

He fell to his knees, coughing, choking, tears streaming from his eyes.
Pierre knelt beside him, still holding the bucket for him. Auguste's
stomach heaved again and again, forcing the remnants of his meal through
his throat and past his slack lips.

As he recovered a bit, he heard someone laugh softly in a distant part
of the room, and someone else speak in the pale eyes' language. The tone
of contempt was unmistakable.

He was overwhelmed with shame. He had made a fool of himself before his
entire de Marion family and their whole tribe. He had disgraced the
Sauk. He had embarrassed his father.

It was as he had feared. He could not stay here. It was too painful.

_Tonight_, he promised himself, holding his aching belly. _Tonight I
leave the land of the pale eyes forever._

* * * * *

Reproaching himself, Pierre knelt beside Auguste, trying through the
pressure of his hand on the boy's back to tell Auguste that he loved
him.

_He said he had tasted wine, but I should have known he could not drink
so much. The poor boy must be dying of shame, and it is all the fault of
stupid Pierre._

Auguste coughed and wiped the back of his hand over his face. Pierre
patted him gently on the back.

Nicole, kneeling on Auguste's other side, suddenly turned her head
toward the door and drew in a frightened breath. Pierre looked up to see
what it was.

A figure filled the doorway, silhouetted in the yellow rectangle of
afternoon sunlight.

Pierre at once recognized the truculent set of Raoul's broad shoulders,
the forward thrust of his head under the wide-brimmed hat.

Pierre had time for one more anguished thought of self-reproach as his
younger brother strode toward them.

_For this, too