f my life."

Pierre said, "You are not the same person you were when I took you out
of the forest. You have been educated. You may yet become a doctor."

"Yes, and I want to be a doctor for my people."

"You can do more for them if you stay here, my son. The Sauk will need
friends among the whites who have knowledge and wealth and power."

Auguste shook his head violently, as if to drive out Pierre's words. "I
will never be happy, living as a white man. I must go back to my people.
I beg you to let me go."

But even as he spoke he realized with a sudden pang that these loved
ones, Pierre, Grandpapa, Nicole, were his people too.

Pierre's sunken eyes blazed at Auguste. "I have already written my new
will, Auguste. There is one copy with the town clerk, Burke Russell, and
one copy in your grandfather's keeping. It names you my sole heir. To
all that I possess, the entire de Marion estate. If you accept what I am
offering you, you will have to fight Raoul. It will all be upon your
shoulders. I can only beg you with these last breaths to take what I
would give you. You must decide."

A voice inside Auguste screamed, _You must not do this to me, Father.
You will destroy me._

He stood looking down at his father with his arms hanging at his sides,
his shoulders straight, his head bowed. He could not say no so finally,
so bluntly, to his dying father. He needed time to work his way free of
this trap.

"Father, you know we Sauk never decide quickly. When it is a very
important decision, we think, we go on with our work, we walk the
sunwise circle, we wait in silence for the answer to come. You must give
me time."

Pierre closed his eyes and his head fell back to the white pillows. "You
have as much time as I do," he whispered. "But only that much."

Auguste turned away from the bed. His eyes met Nicole's. He saw sympathy
for him in her face, but only another shaman could know the pain he was
feeling inside.

9

Bequest

White Bear crouched over the brown blanket he had brought down from his
room and unrolled it. Bare-chested and barefoot in white sailcloth
workman's trousers he had bought in New York, he took from the blanket
roll his powerful necklace of megis shells and hung it around his neck.
Next he opened his soft leather medicine bag.

Propped up against the big old maple tree on the south side of Victoire,
Pierre lay on his mattress with his head and shoulders resting on
pillows. His cotton b