When they came out of the south edge of the woods, they found themselves on a grassy rise sloping down to a winding stream called Old Man's Creek. The sun was lower now and directly in White Bear's eyes. Across the creek was a sight that made him want to jerk his pony's head around and ride back into the trees as fast as he could go. On high ground he saw the silhouettes of peaked tents and many men, some on horseback and some on foot, rifles in hand. The smoke of campfires drifted like gray feathers into the pale blue sky. He heard voices calling to one another in English. One man shouted and pointed in their direction. White Bear said, "Don't wait here at the edge of the trees, or they will think we are attackers. Ride forward slowly, waving the flag." The men across the creek were yelling excitedly now. Rifle fire crackled and smoke billowed. A ball whizzed past White Bear and cracked a tree limb behind him. He held himself rigid. Long knives rode toward them, urging their horses down the far side of the creekbank. White Bear and his companions rode into the creek to meet them. In a moment bearded white faces, angry eyes, coonskin caps and straw hats were whirling about the three emissaries in the middle of the creek. Rifles and pistols were pointing at them from every side. Little Crow, his face tight, held the white flag high with both hands. "We surrender!" White Bear shouted. "We are not armed. We have come to talk to General Atkinson." "Listen to that, he's talking English," a blond boy exclaimed. Another man yelled, "Shoot 'em. Then let 'em surrender." White Bear's knees trembled against his horse's flanks. These were not regular U.S. government soldiers, but the volunteers, the armed settlers who had come out in answer to their governor's call. They would not wait for orders from their commanders. They would do whatever they felt like doing. A red-bearded man stuck his face in White Bear's. "Get down off that horse, Injun! Now!" His shout blew a stink of whiskey into White Bear's face. Others joined the outcry. "Get off them horses!" "Ought to put a bullet in them right here in the creek." "Look at them black faces. I thought they was niggers at first." "Not even useful like niggers, damn redskins." The man with the red beard grabbed White Bear's arm and jerked him half out of his saddle. White Bear slid down from his horse. He stood up to his knees in the cold, rushing water of Old Man's Creek. "We want to surrender," he said again. "We want to talk to your officers." "Just shut up!" the red-bearded man roared, eyes rolling drunkenly. White Bear felt a man grab him from behind. A rope scratched his wrists and tightened around them till the bones were crushed together.