First Edition: March 1991

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Transcriber's Note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Variant
spellings remain as printed, whilst inconsistent hyphenation has
been standardised.

Thanks to Michael Shea for giving Project Gutenberg permission to
distribute _Shaman_.

FOR AL ZUCKERMAN

_Friend, Mentor, Agent, Shaman of Letters_

Acknowledgments

I'm most grateful for the help given me by Paul Brickman, Julie
Garriott, David Hickey, the Illinois Historical Society, Jim and Paula
Pettorini, George Weinard, Timothy J. Wheeler, and the Wisconsin
Historical Society. And a special word of thanks to my bonnie wife,
Yvonne Shea, who, having a sharp eye for a fine old book, brought Thomas
Ford's _History of Illinois_ into our home.

"Rock River was beautiful country. I loved my towns, my cornfields
and the home of my people. I fought for them."

--BLACK HAWK

BOOK 1

1825

Moon of Ice

_January_

1

The Lodge of the Turtle

The black bearskin, softened by countless wearings, clasped Gray Cloud's
arms and shoulders, protecting his body from the cold that cut like
knives into his cheeks and forehead. The upper half of the bear's skull
covered his head and weighed heavily on it, as heavily as the awful fear
of the vision quest weighed on his spirit.

His moccasins whispered over the fallen brown grass that covered the
trail. He had walked a long way, and his toes were numb in spite of the
leaves stuffed into the moccasins.

Abruptly the path stopped, and he was facing sky. He stood at the edge
of the bluff looking eastward over the frozen Great River. He gripped
the deerhorn handle of his hunting knife.

For the feeling of strength it gave him, he slid the knife out of the
sheath of hardened leather tied to his waist. The steel blade glistened,
colorless as the sky above him, in the fading light.

_The knife my father left for me_, he thought. _Where are you tonight,
my father?_

The clouds seemed close enough to touch. They rippled like snowdrifts
painted with light and shadow. Upriver the sky was darkened almost to
black, and Gray Cloud smelled snow in the air.

He saw the silhouette of a hawk, wing-tip feathers spread, circling over
the Illinois country across the river, hu