ill, he found that the
song made his heart feel strong and his terror give way to a stern
anger. Murdered because of the simple, stupid bad luck that Raoul's band
of militiamen happened to be the advance guard of the long knives.
Surrounded by drunken savages--yes, they were the savages, not himself
and Three Horses and Little Crow.

Infuriating to think of the love and education his father had lavished
on him, all wasted now. All the years of following the shaman's path,
ended by a lead ball. Before he had accomplished anything.

And Redbird and Eagle Feather and the baby to come-- If not for them he
might accept the inevitable. Step onto the Trail of Souls with grace and
dignity. But, even more for their sake than for his own, he did not want
to die.

Frantic with fear and anger, he looked for a way of escape. The camp was
in the midst of prairie grass almost as high as a man's head. The sun
had gone down, and twilight was deepening. But Raoul was walking toward
him, holding his pistol high. And beyond him, between White Bear and the
grass, was a ring of men with rifles.

All that was left for him was to die with honor.

He raised his voice to sing louder.

_I must put all my strength into this. It is the last song I will sing
on earth._

"Stop that goddamned caterwauling!" Raoul shouted.

White Bear watched numbly as Armand Perrault brought his rifle to his
shoulder, stepped up to Little Crow, put the muzzle of the rifle to the
brave's head and pulled the trigger. The flint clicked down and
sparked, and powder sizzled in the pan. The rifle went off with a roar,
enveloping the brave's head in a pink cloud of smoke, blood, bits of
flesh and bone.

White Bear staggered backward, dizzy with shock and terror.

Three Horses shouted, "I will not die so!" He jerked free from the men
who were holding him and plunged into the grass, hands still bound
behind him. He ran toward the Rock River.

Rifles boomed.

In his panic, White Bear felt as if all the breath had been knocked out
of him. Three Horses might have a chance. He was a short man, and the
grass was tall. And light was fading moment by moment.

If White Bear stood where he was an instant longer he would be dead.
This was his only chance. No one was holding him. No one was even
pointing a gun at him. All of them, even Raoul, were staring after Three
Horses. Many of the men had fired and would need time to reload.

Every muscle in his body quivered. He