k and read on the spine, _Chitty's Pleadings,
Vol. I_. He opened and saw close-packed type, his eyes skimming over
many legal terms in Latin. White Bear wondered whether the lawyer who
owned these books was still alive. At the sight of books his heart gave
an unexpected lurch. He felt a longing to be not in a plundered enemy
camp on the prairie, but in a library, with books, pen and paper. The
feeling took him by surprise. It had been many months since he had
missed the pale eyes' world. A few pages of _Paradise Lost_ now and then
had satisfied any hankering for what they called "civilization."

"These papers tell about the pale eyes' laws," he said. "It is sometimes
said that they have no magic. But there is powerful magic in their books
and in their laws. It is the magic that binds them together."

The Prophet said, "The pale eyes' paper is bad medicine."

Black Hawk held out his hand, and White Bear gave him the book. It
pained White Bear to think Black Hawk might throw it into the fire.

White Bear had seen many white leaders--mayors, congressmen, military
officers, once even Sharp Knife himself, Andrew Jackson, the President
of the United States. He had learned about them in school and read about
them in newspapers. He felt Black Hawk was a match for any of them. More
than a match in some ways; he was stronger and healthier than any white
man his age that White Bear had known. What pale eyes of nearly seventy
years could personally lead a cavalry charge against an enemy
outnumbering him by ten to one and rout them? Black Hawk's great
weakness was one that he shared with most people, whatever their race or
their position in life: if he wanted a thing to be true, he believed it.
That was why last winter he had listened to the Winnebago Prophet and
not to White Bear.

Now White Bear hoped Black Hawk would show his intelligence by
respecting the value of the book. Black Hawk frowned at the
leather-bound volume, weighing it in his hand. He picked the other book
up with his other hand.

"They are heavy. But since there is magic in them, I will keep these
talking-paper bundles by me. And I will bring them with me when I speak
in council."

White Bear breathed a small sigh of satisfaction.

Black Hawk laid the books down, one on each side of him, and put one
hand on each book. He sat like that for a time, staring into the fire.

"I have done with trying to surrender to the long knives," he said, and
it seemed to