ough about cancer to be sure that Pierre's
condition was hopeless. Dr. Bernard--any of the other white physicians
at New York Hospital--would say that nothing more could be done except
to make the patient comfortable, give him laudanum perhaps, and wait for
the end.

But that was merely what white medicine had taught Auguste. White
doctors had sharp lancets to draw blood, scalpels to cut into sick
people's bodies, saws to cut off infected limbs. They had huge thick
books listing hundreds of diseases and prescribing treatments for them.
But after spending many hours treating the sick in New York, Auguste had
seen that there were many things the white physicians did not know how
to do, had never even thought of doing. Perhaps greater hope for Pierre
lay in the way of the shaman.

At the very least, Auguste, as White Bear, could speak to Pierre's
soul, could summon the aid of the spirits, especially his own spirit
helper and that of the sick man, to cure him if possible; if not, then
to ease his suffering, help him to accept what was to happen to him and
prepare him to walk in the other world.

With a jolt, the thought hit him anew: _If I stay here with Father, what
of Saukenuk?_

Pierre said, "God has kept me alive because I must talk to you about our
land, Auguste."

Auguste did not like the sound of that. The thousands of acres the de
Marions owned had nothing to do with him, and he wanted to keep it that
way.

Marchette stood up, pushing her chair back. "Perhaps the rest of us
should leave you and Monsieur Auguste alone."

Auguste saw in her face the anguish of a woman who was losing a man she
loved. Auguste had long suspected, seeing the looks that passed between
Pierre and Marchette, and the way her husband, the brown-bearded Armand,
glared at both of them, that there was--or at least had once
been--something between the master of Victoire and the cook.

Pierre raised a tremulous hand. "Au contraire. I want the three of
you--Papa, Nicole, Marchette--to hear what I say. Besides, you are the
three I trust most. I want you to know my wishes, my true wishes,
because after I am gone there are those who will lie about me."

Auguste took Pierre's hand, so big and yet so weak, in his own strong,
brown one.

"Father, you must believe that you will live."

Auguste heard the others move closer to the bed. Nicole went to stand at
the foot. Elysee seated himself in an old spindly-legged armchair
brought over from F