ing, if only it would give peace.

Looking into his father's pleading face, he saw that Pierre was using up
his last strength. White Bear could not let the final word Pierre might
hear from him be no.

White Bear could no longer separate his own anguish from Pierre's.

He drew a deep breath in through his nostrils. "Yes, Father. I agree. I
will take what you offer me."

The look on Pierre's face was like a sunrise. White Bear saw a warm,
pink color flowing back into the pallid cheeks.

Pierre took White Bear's hand. His touch felt cool, but his grip was
firm.

"Thank you, my son. I will walk the Trail of Souls with a happy heart."

_Yes, you will go in peace, but I must stay to fight and suffer_, White
Bear thought. But he was glad that he could make his father happy. He
leaned back against the tree and watched huge white clouds drift over
the distant river.

"Let us make this a sacred agreement, son," Pierre said. "Bring the
calumet and let us smoke together."

"Yes, Father." White Bear sighed and stood up. Slowly, as if he were
dragging chains, he walked up the grassy slope to the front door of the
house.

As he passed through the great hall he saw Armand Perrault, seeming
almost as broad as he was tall, staring at him. Armand's eyes were as
small and full of hatred as a cornered boar's. Feeling a chill,
realizing this man was one of those he would have to fight when the time
came, White Bear nodded to him as he went up the stairs to Pierre's
room. Armand stood motionless.

A short time later White Bear was back at Pierre's side with the
feather-bedecked calumet and a lit candle protected by a glass chimney.
From his own room he had brought down the deerskin pouch holding his
small supply of Turkish tobacco, purchased in New York. It would serve.
All tobacco was a sacred gift of Earthmaker.

He dribbled the moist brown grains through his fingertips into the
pipe's narrow bowl and packed the tobacco down gently. Pierre's faded
blue eyes, the whites a sickly yellow color, watched him closely.

He held the candle flame to the tobacco and drew in a series of rapid
puffs, feeling the smoke burning his mouth. When the pipe was well-lit,
he turned it and held the mouthpiece to Pierre's lips.

Pierre took a long puff, held it in his mouth and let it out. White
Bear's heart lurched with fear as Pierre began to cough. Holding his
throat with one hand, Pierre gestured with his other hand for White Bear
to draw