_Probably thought we'd welcome them with kind words and gifts._ The muscles in his neck and shoulders were so rigid they ached, and his stomach was boiling. In his mind he saw again the scarred face of Black Salmon, the brown fist raised, holding a horsewhip to beat him. The sounds of Potawatomi speech brought it all back. He handed his horse's reins to Armand, who tied Banner to an upright post in front of a nearby lodge. "Who are you?" Raoul demanded. "I am Little Foot," said the Indian wearing the red turban. "I am head of the Deer Clan. We live here in the town of the Winnebago Prophet." Little Foot's skin was dark, and he had a wide, flat nose. He wore no feathers on his head, probably not wanting to look warlike. Black hair streaked here and there with white hung down from under his turban in two braids to his shoulders. Raoul judged him to be in his fifties. _He could have been at Fort Dearborn twenty years ago._ One thing was certain. Little Foot was Potawatomi. Raoul felt his fingers tightening on his pistol as he held it at waist level. Raoul turned to Levi Pope and some of his other Smith County boys who were seated on horses nearby. "Tie them up." Levi, who wore six pistols at his belt, all primed and loaded, got down from his horse and unhooked a coiled rope from his saddle. "The squaws and little ones too?" "Put their families in one of the lodges and keep a guard on them." Another thought occurred to him. "Eli, take some men and search these huts. Make sure there aren't any more Indians hiding out somewhere in this town." Levi went to the red-turbaned Indian and pulled his arms down roughly to his sides. In a moment he had Little Foot's hands securely tied behind his back, while other grinning Smith County boys had done the same to the other three Indian men. "Ankles too," said Raoul, and Levi and his men cut lengths of rope and knelt to hobble the Indians. With his free hand Raoul took another long drink from the whiskey canteen hanging from his saddle. He walked close to Little Foot and looked him in the eye. He did not like the way the Indian looked back at him. He saw no fear. With a sudden movement he hooked his boot behind the Indian's hobbled ankles and pushed him hard. Little Foot fell heavily to the ground on his back, wincing with the unexpected pain. As he pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position, there was no mistaking the hatred in the way he looked up at Raoul. "Why did you stay here?" Raoul asked. "We do not think Black Hawk can win. We hope the long knives will treat kindly those who do not make war on them." Raoul said, "Where has Black Hawk gone? What is he planning? Where are the people who were living in this town?" "I promised the Winnebago Prophet I would say nothing about where they went. I will be accursed if I break my promise." "The Winnebago Prophet's curse is nothing. You should be more afraid of me." Little Foot remained stone-faced and silent.