"See to him, Armand," Raoul said. Armand, crouching, ran over to the wounded man. But first he attended to the fallen Indian next to him. He grabbed the brave's head and twisted it around. Raoul heard the crack of bones. "To make bien sure," Armand said, teeth flashing in his brown beard. Three men dead, two wounded. Eight men left. Maybe a hundred Sauk warriors out there, maybe more. _What a stupid time to die, right when the war's almost over._ Raoul gnawed on the ends of his mustache and peered into the impenetrable forest. He and his men were all going to die. He was sure of it. He felt fear, but more painful than the fear was an ache in his heart for all that he was going to lose--all that was due him that life hadn't paid out to him like he deserved. He wanted so much to live. A line of Indians came out of the trees, some with rifles, some with bows and arrows. There must be twenty or thirty of them. They weren't whooping, as they usually did. They were silent, their eyes big, their mouths set in lipless lines. They were like walking dead men, coming at him. That was what they were. They knew they were going to die, but they were going to take this little band of white men with them. Raoul had all he could do to keep from curling up behind his tree barricade, head in his arms, whimpering with grief and fear. He made himself aim and fire. The Indian he'd picked out as a target kept on coming. _We're done for_, he thought, over and over again. _We're done for._ Slowly--he did not seem able to move quickly--he inserted another cartridge into the breech of his rifle. All around him rifles were going off with deafening booms. And from behind him there was more booming. He looked up. Indians were falling. One here, one there, then three, then two more. Their line was breaking up. _God, the men are shooting good!_ He heard voices behind him and looked around. At the same moment Levi Pope said, "Well, here be a sight to welcome." Ten feet or so behind him a line of men in coonskin caps and gray shirts were methodically firing over his head. He'd been so lost in panic and despair he hadn't heard them coming. He looked back at the Indians. Brown bodies lay tumbled on the ground, some only a few feet from his barricade. Those on their feet were backing up. They melted into the tattered forest. For a moment Raoul could not move. He lay clutching his rifle with a grip so hard it hurt his hands, panting heavily. "It's safe now," Levi Pope said quietly, standing up. Raoul pushed himself to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. He looked around and saw militiamen wading across to the island from the east bank of the Mississippi. The men who had been skirmishing in the forest north of the Bad Axe must have seen the fighting on the island. Too dazed even to feel happy, Raoul stood taking long breaths and watched the militiamen come.