ng."

Sun Woman stood up. "And I speak as a medicine woman. I have seen many
kinds of death, and I would rather drown or be shot than die little by
little of hunger and weariness."

White Bear hugged his mother again. "I know we will meet again in the
West," he said. That, as they both knew, could mean across the river or
at the other end of the Trail of Souls.

Sun Woman said, "My son, you have made my heart glad. Every day of your
life you have walked your path with courage and honor. May you walk the
same way always."

Redbird held Sun Woman and Iron Knife, each in turn, for a long time.
And after they had gone, White Bear and Redbird went together into the
thick woods along the edge of the Great River.

Away from the others, White Bear became aware of the shrill chirping of
choirs of crickets filling the night air. Mosquitoes shrilled around his
ears and stung his hands and face. He and Redbird had long since used up
the oil that kept them off. But the scratches and bruises of the trail
of hardship they had walked these past moons had toughened their skins
and their spirits so that mosquito stings meant little.

White Bear found a clear spot in the midst of a stand of young maples,
and they lay down side by side. He put his hand on her breast, fuller
than he had ever felt it, swollen with milk for Floating Lily. She
slipped her dress down off her shoulders and let him touch her bare
flesh. Very gently, knowing it was tender from nursing, he caressed her
nipple with his fingertips.

"Before I leave tonight I will give you the deerhorn-handled dagger my
father gave me," he said softly. "I must go unarmed, so that the long
knives will not kill me if they catch me. Keep it for me till I come
back."

"I am afraid," she whispered. "When you and Yellow Hair and Woodrow are
gone, Black Hawk will know you helped them escape. What will he do to
you when you come back?"

"By the time I return to you, he will not be angry. He will realize he
did not really need them."

And then, too, White Bear might be captured or killed. The last time he
had gone to the long knives they had nearly killed him. The sight of
Little Crow's head bursting, blood flying everywhere as Armand
Perrault's bullet smashed it, would never leave his memory.

If that happened to him, Black Hawk's anger would not matter.

Redbird wriggled closer to him, her hand stroking his chest as his
stroked hers. "I do not think any Sauk warrior would be w