not already holding his tall beaver hat in his hand, so
that he could tip it to her with the graceful motion he'd learned
watching the dandies on Broad Way.

Grandpapa leaned out of the carriage and hugged Auguste. His embrace
felt strong, and his eyes were bright. Auguste was happy to see him in
good health.

_But where is Father?_

Auguste shook hands with Guichard, who had climbed down stiffly from the
driver's seat.

"Your trunk, Monsieur Auguste?"

Auguste pointed out the big wooden chest with brass fittings that had
been unloaded at the Victor pier along with bales and barrels from the
hold of the _Virginia_.

Guichard approached two buckskin-clad men lounging by a piling. He
pointed out the trunk as Auguste had done.

"For _him_?" said one of the men, glowering at Auguste from under his
coonskin cap. "White men don't wait on goddamn Injuns." He spat tobacco
juice at Guichard's feet and turned away, as did the other man.

Auguste wanted to throw the man who had spat at Guichard into the
river. He had no doubt that he could do it, though like most men who
lived in Victor, the man was armed with knife and pistol. Auguste had
been taught to fight as a Sauk, and he had been a champion boxer,
wrestler and fencer at St. George's School. But he was not going to get
into a brawl in his first minutes ashore. Time enough for that if he met
Raoul.

"Come on, Guichard. The trunk's light enough. We don't need any help."
The old servant taking one end and Auguste the other, they loaded it
into the back of the carriage.

"Good to see you again, Grandpapa," Auguste said as he dropped into the
seat facing Elysee and Nicole, his back to the driver. "Aunt Nicole,
it's you who are beautiful. But where's Father?"

Grandpapa patted him on the knee. "Not feeling well, I'm afraid. He
sends his apologies. We will go to him now, at once."

Grandpapa was trying to make his voice sound unconcerned. But Auguste
heard an undertone of sorrow, the anguish of a father who had lost one
of his children years ago and would soon lose another.

With understanding, grief sank into Auguste's marrow. Father--Star
Arrow--had hung on these past six years, growing sicker and sicker, the
evil in his belly swelling up like a poisonous toad. Now the end was
near.

Auguste found himself looking deep into Aunt Nicole's eyes, full of
shared sorrow.

Guichard flicked the reins, and the carriage started off, turning away
from the dock, passing