ere when Iron Knife rode in after sunset to say that you
three had been killed, and also two of the braves who had gone with him.
He told us that a whole army of long knives was riding toward us."

Black Hawk said, "I was angry. They had killed my messengers of peace. I
did not care that there were hundreds of them and only forty of us. I
wanted vengeance for the blood they had shed."

White Bear laughed. "I heard them crying out as they fled your attack.
They thought there were hundreds of _you_."

"The Hawk spirit flew with us, blinding them and striking fear into
their hearts," said Black Hawk.

Owl Carver said, "And the spirits in their whiskey befuddled them too."

Black Hawk said, "I was surprised to see them turn tail and run. I
thought Americans were better shooters and fiercer fighters than that.
They outnumbered us many times over, but they showed no fight at all."

The Winnebago Prophet lumbered out of the darkness and sat down at the
fireside opposite Black Hawk. The silver nose-ring lying against his
mustache glittered red.

"It is well that you are here, Flying Cloud," said Black Hawk. "We must
look along the trails that lie ahead of us."

White Bear turned away in disgust. After the Winnebago Prophet had
misled Black Hawk so badly, how could he still rely on him?

A gruff voice said, "See, Father, I have lifted more hair from our
enemies." White Bear looked up. Wolf Paw was standing over them, holding
up two hanks of hair, each with a bloody, circular patch of flesh
attached to it. White Bear hoped that one of those scalps did not belong
to Otto Wegner.

Black Hawk stood up and seized Wolf Paw's shoulders. "My heart is big
when I see my son is so mighty a warrior."

Sitting down beside his father, Wolf Paw stared at White Bear, and White
Bear had to explain all over again how he came to be still alive.

After a moment of silence Black Hawk spoke. "Until tonight, there was no
blood spilled between the long knives and us. But when we tried to
surrender, they shot our messengers." He gestured to the bodies near the
fire and to White Bear. "And now we have killed many of them."

White Bear felt himself trembling with rage. He remembered Raoul coming
toward him, grinning, pistol raised--right on this spot--and he prayed
that now his uncle might be lying dead somewhere on the prairie. An
arrow in his back, killing him as he fled Black Hawk's warriors. A hole
in his scalp, and his hair dangling fro