one led by Black Hawk
himself, with the Winnebago Prophet riding beside him. And more wounded
men to treat.

In the cool of the evening a delicious scent crept into White Bear's
nostrils, one that neither he nor any of the British Band had smelled
for far too long--roasting beef. Now that it was dark and smoke from
fires could no longer be seen, people were roasting the cattle Wolf Paw
had brought from Victoire. There were so many empty bellies to feed,
they had probably butchered all the steers.

_By rights those are my steers_, White Bear thought wryly. _Raoul stole
them from me, and Wolf Paw stole them from Raoul._

White Bear saw many small fires throughout the camp. In time of peace a
feast like this would call for one big fire, but that would send up a
glow that could be seen from a distance.

He felt a surge of resentment when he saw how calm and contented Black
Hawk looked, sitting at a fire before his wickiup, chewing on strips of
beef his wife had laid before him on a mat.

Until today the people had been on the verge of starvation. And scouts
had reported that an army of over two thousand long knives was working
its way up the Rock River toward them. How could Black Hawk bear the
responsibility for bringing so much anguish down on his people?

To White Bear's disappointment, the Winnebago Prophet sat next to Black
Hawk. At the sight of Flying Cloud, with his long, greasy hair and the
mustache that looked something like Raoul's, White Bear's shoulders
slumped. He felt an impulse to turn away, and seek Black Hawk out
another time.

The Prophet's Winnebago followers were long since gone, but the Prophet
himself was still predicting mighty victories over the long knives.
White Bear remembered a scripture reading he'd heard at St. George's,
that false prophets would arise at the end of the world. This might well
be the end of the world for the Sauk; they certainly had their false
prophet.

But a talk with Black Hawk about Nancy was too important to put off.
White Bear sat down, silently facing Black Hawk. He waited for the war
leader to speak to him.

He felt ravenously hungry watching the two men chew their beef. He
himself had not had time to eat.

Black Hawk's strong hand stroked the leather cover of one of the law
books he had captured at Old Man's Creek.

"You healed my son and drew spirit silver from his body," Black Hawk
said. "Accept my thanks."

"I am happy to have made Black Hawk happy."