Why, Auguste might have given them the idea. Told them all about Victoire and Victor. Lots of helpless women and children there. A rich trading post. A big white man's house to burn down. _My uncle kicked me off the land_, Auguste might have said. _Avenge me. Go kill his woman and his children and burn his house down. And while you're at it, kill every one of those white dogs in Smith County._ Sure, he probably put the idea in those devils' heads before he got shot. It hadn't been enough to kill Auguste. Wasn't enough. He had to kill off every last one of Black Hawk's Indians. Exterminate the whole band--bucks, squaws and papooses. And he would shoot any shirker who refused to go with him. Greenglove shrugged. "Go chase Injuns, then, if that's your heart's desire." Then he smiled in a knowing way Raoul found strangely disturbing. "But you'll maybe find a surprise waiting for you up there in Michigan Territory. Almost makes me want to stay with you, just so's I could see the look on your face." Raoul felt a chill. Why the hell was Greenglove grinning like that? "Damn you, you can't just walk off, Eli! You took an oath. You signed up for another thirty days when your enlistment was up in May. I can have you shot for desertion." "Go ahead. Shoot me yourself." Eli slowly raised the tent flap and stood there a moment, turning to give Raoul one last, strange, unmirthful smile. Raoul eyed the pistol at Eli's belt. Most likely all primed and loaded. His own pistol, unloaded, was hanging from a tent pole behind him. _If I went for my pistol, that'd give him an excuse to put a ball in me. And he'd do it before I could even get a damned cap in place._ Eli gave Raoul one final nod, as if he knew what Raoul had been thinking, and let the tent flap fall behind him. Raoul reached for the jug. It felt light in his hand, and he shook it. Empty. Everything. Empty, empty, empty! He got up, weaving slightly, and walked to the opening of the tent. "Armand!" he shouted. _Oh my God, now I'll have to give Armand the news about Marchette._ * * * * * Raoul awakened, sweating. One side of his tent was glowing white, the sun beating down on it; he had been sleeping in an oven. He sat up, and his vision went black and his head spun. He swung his feet, still in dirty gray stockings, over the side of his cot. He nearly stepped on Armand, who was lying flat on his back on the straw-covered floor, his beard fluttering as he snored through his open mouth. Standing, Raoul saw Nicole's letter and the _Victor Visitor_ lying on his camp table beside a burned-down candle and four empty jugs. He remembered what had happened at Victor. He fell back onto his cot and pounded his fist on his chest, trying to numb the pain in his heart. _God damn the Sauk! Damn them! Damn them!_