said, "Whatever we must face, you have more courage than any of us. I
have not forgotten many winters ago when the spirit Bear came to our
camp. I turned and ran while you stood fast."

She waved a hand. "It was only White Bear."

"We did not know that then. From that day when I ran and you stood, I
have always wished that a child of mine might possess your courage and
wisdom."

She remembered how he had pushed her aside the night she stood beside
White Bear and warned the tribe against going to war. She remembered the
woman's dress he had forced on White Bear. But the man she saw before
her was lost and grieving. He had lost his war. He had let his wives and
children be killed. He had failed himself. He had nothing left to
believe in.

So she only said, "Be as a father to the children I do have. Help me
protect them."

* * * * *

The sun beat down on her bare head, and the dust of the trail choked
her. This was the Moon of Dry Rivers, the hottest time of summer. Every
step hurt her heart, because every step took her farther away from that
fort where the long knives might be holding White Bear. Might be. She
had never been able to find out.

By the third day of their trek southward along the Great River, the
soles of Redbird's moccasins had worn through. She stumbled over ruts
dug in the wide trail by pale eyes' wagon wheels. The sun had baked the
packed dirt of the trail till it was hard as stone.

When the long knives let them stop to rest at midday, she took from her
blanket roll White Bear's knife. With the knife she cut strips away from
her doeskin dress and bound them around her feet. She cut up Eagle
Feather's shirt and wrapped his moccasins so they would last longer.

A long knife with a thick blond mustache was standing over her with his
hand out.

"Give me that. No knives."

He spoke the pale eyes' tongue, but she knew enough of it to understand.
But she couldn't give up the knife. It was all she had left of White
Bear. Her grip tightened on the deerhorn handle, and she thought she
would stab the long knife--or herself--before she would let go of it.

She tried to tell him that this was precious, that it belonged to her
husband who was a shaman. But she did not have the American words to say
that.

He just kept saying "No knives," and his face turned a deep red. His
hand rested on the butt of his pistol.

Wolf Paw came over. He took her wrist in a strong grip a