Chapter 3

last time he had seen Pierre. In early spring after the last of the snow melted on the ground, out riding Banner on the prairie, alone, he'd come upon Pierre, also riding alone. They had stared at each other and passed without a word.

_I didn't know then that was my last chance to speak to him._

Raoul's eyes traveled over the people standing by the grave. Auguste stood between Elysée and Nicole, looking down into the pit. It pleased Raoul to see that apparently Auguste had no idea what was about to happen to him.

But how could he be _sure_ Auguste was unprepared?

Raoul looked over the heads of the mourners, and his heart beat faster with anticipation. There, across the flat prairie land, he saw tiny figures surrounding the château.

Raoul's fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists to hold himself together. What if the secret had gotten out? If Auguste knew what was about to happen, he would surely have prepared some kind of counterattack. Indians were damned sly.

Père Isaac closed his prayerbook and put it into his coat pocket.

"This man whom we consign to American soil was, like so many of us, born on the other side of the ocean," he said. "He came of one of the oldest and noblest families of France, fleeing the Godless revolution that tormented their homeland, which was also my homeland. The de Marions gave themselves soul and body to this new land where they had to make their own way. Here titles and ancient lineage meant nothing."

_Get on with it, dammit!_

"God saw fit to try them sorely after they came here to Illinois. The mother of the family died in childbirth. A daughter died a horrid death at the hands of Indians, and a son"--he gestured at Raoul, who stared back at him, keeping his face expressionless--"held captive, a slave, by Indians for two years."

It was good that Père Isaac mentioned that. It would prepare people to accept what was about to happen.

"Pierre de Marion was a good man, but he was also a sinner, like all of us. He fell into the sin of lust, and that sin bore fruit. But Pierre did not hide his sin as so many men have. He reached out to his son through me and helped him. Eventually he acknowledged his son and brought him out of the wilderness to be educated for civilization."

Raoul looked across the open pit at Auguste. The half-breed's red-brown face was flushed an even darker color, but still he stared fixedly down into the grave.

_Time to start._

It was an immense relief to begin to move. First, he had to get back to the château ahead of the funeral procession and join his men there. Slowly, so as not to attract attention, Raoul drew back from the graveside.

* * * * *

Auguste's feet felt heavy and confined in his cowhide boots as they crunched over the short stubble. He walked alone on the newly cut track back toward the great stone and log house. He could hear the sound of spades biting into the mound of dirt beside Pierre's grave and clods of earth thudding onto his coffin.

Auguste led the procession of mourners. The others let him walk apart, to be alone with his grief. Behind Auguste, he was aware, were Nicole and Frank and Nancy Hale and Père Isaac, and then a long line of servants and farm hands and village people. Near the end of the procession Registre Bosquet played a sprightly tune, as was the custom among the Illinois French, a way of saying that life goes on. In the rear was the cart that had carried Pierre's coffin, with Elysée and Guichard.

As Auguste walked, he brooded about Père Isaac calling him the fruit of sin. Why did the priest have to dishonor his mother and father so? In the eyes of the Sauk people he was no "bastard," as he knew some pale eyes called him. Still, he was glad that the priest said Pierre had done the right thing in bringing him here. Perhaps people would remember that, when Raoul tried to take the estate away from him.

As he surely would.

Auguste knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that it was only a matter of time before Raoul would strike at him.

He felt himself wishing for Black Hawk and Iron Knife and the other Sauk warriors, even Wolf Paw, to be here to stand by him. And Owl Carver and Sun Woman to advise him. Now he wished he had not agreed, at his father's insistence, to have no contact with the band. While he was being educated, being cut off from them had helped him become more quickly a part of the white world. But now that Pierre was gone he felt so terribly alone.

A chill fell over him like a cold downpour. Looking up, he saw men standing just outside the fence that surrounded the château, strung out in a line along the west side, where the gateway was. He had noticed them as he was leaving the graveyard, but had thought they must be hands, with field work of some sort important enough to keep them from the funeral. Now he was close enough to see that they were carrying rifles. Auguste recognized Raoul himself standing squarely in the gateway. How had he gotten over there? Auguste had thought he was with the funeral procession.

A cold hollow opened in his stomach as he grasped what was happening.

_The moment my father is buried. What a fool I was to think Raoul would wait awhile._

He heard people murmuring behind him.

"Oh my God," Nicole said. "Not now."

"Auguste!" It was Nancy's voice, shrill with fear. He shook his head, trying to tell her that he would not turn back, and kept on walking.

In a moment, thought Auguste, he might be joining his father on the Trail of Souls. He heard footsteps behind him crunching on the dry grass. It was a comfort to know that there were others near him, although he knew no one could really help him.

He had no idea what he would do. He asked Earthmaker to show him how to walk this path with courage and honor.

Keeping his stride firm and steady, Auguste went around the fence to approach the gate, glancing up at the maple tree under which Pierre had died.

As Auguste got closer, Raoul threw open his jacket, showing his gilt-handled pistol holstered on one hip, his huge knife, the one that had scarred Auguste, sheathed on the other. His eyes were shadowed by his broad-brimmed black hat, and the black mustache hid his mouth. His face was a mask.

When they were about ten feet apart, Raoul spoke. "Now that my brother is in the ground I can speak plain to you. It's over for you here. You're Pierre's natural son, and this is his burying day, so I won't kill you unless you force me to it. I want you off de Marion land right now. I want you out of Smith County by sundown. Get back to the woods where you came from."

_You cannot know how happy it would make me to do just that, Raoul._ Auguste stood with his feet planted firmly on the stubble. He did not try to think. He would rely on the spirits for help. He waited for the knowledge of what to do to come to him.

He felt people coming to stand beside him. He heard the creaking of wagon wheels and the soft clip-clop of horses' hooves as the cart carrying Guichard and Elysée rolled past the funeral procession and drew up alongside him. He glanced at the people standing beside him, to his right Frank and Nicole, their children behind them, to his left Nancy Hale and Père Isaac.

Auguste went colder still as he saw Eli Greenglove, who had been standing by the gate in the fence around the château, walk across the open space, the tail of his coonskin cap bobbing. Greenglove carried a long Kentucky rifle. Auguste had heard many a tale about Greenglove's deadly accuracy. The Missourian took a position to one side, between Raoul and Auguste.

_He won't even need to be a good shot to kill me from that distance._

Words came suddenly to Auguste's mind. He spoke loudly, so everyone could hear, and he felt good that his voice was strong. He looked Raoul in the eye as he spoke.

"I am proud to be a son of the Sauk people. But my father told me I was his heir. It is in his will. He gave me this house and all this land. You have no right to force me to leave."

Raoul laughed and slapped the pistol and the knife. "These give me the right." He waved a hand at the men standing in a line along the fence. "And them."

Frank Hopkins cleared his throat and spoke. "Raoul, maybe there's no law around right here and now to make you honor Pierre's will, but there are courts in Illinois, there's a legislature, there's a governor."

Raoul made a sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "Take your half-breed friend to the governor. John Reynolds wants the Indians out of Illinois as bad as anybody does. He was there with the militia on Rock River last June. Hell, go to the President. I'd like to see what an old Indian killer like Andy Jackson would say to you."

All too true, Auguste thought sadly. He had learned in New York of Jackson's "removal" policy, aiming to drive all the red people to the west side of the Mississippi. The work of the white chiefs was to take land from Indians, not help them keep it.

Père Isaac said, "To rob the orphan is a sin that cries out to Heaven for vengeance. If you came to me in confession I could not give you absolution."

"My conscience is clear," Raoul said. "Victoire is my rightful heritage. Do you know that this Indian boy you feel so sorry for isn't even a Christian? I am, Father. A Catholic."

"A very bad one," said Père Isaac. "I have known Auguste since he was a small boy. He behaves more like a Christian than you do."

A woman's voice, Nancy Hale's, rang out over the field. "Raoul de Marion, if you won't listen to your own priest, you'll still have to face my father. When he hears what you've done he'll preach against you and he'll stir people to make you do the right thing."

Raoul's face changed. He looked pained.

"Now, Miss Nancy. It isn't proper for a lady like you to concern herself with what happens to trash like this. You know well and good that your father may have a low opinion of me, but he has an even lower opinion of Indians. He won't side with this Indian bastard."

Suddenly Nicole rushed past Auguste.

"You're the one who's trash, Raoul!" she cried, and ran across the intervening space and swung her hand to slap her brother. Raoul grabbed her arm and pushed her away roughly. Frank rushed to her side to hold her, his ink-stained fingers digging into her sleeves.

"I wouldn't want to fight with you, Nicole," said Raoul with a cruel grin. "I believe you've got the weight advantage on me."

"You're a murderer and a thief, Raoul," she shot back. "And the day will come when people will have enough of you and drive you out of this county."

Waves of heat and cold ran through Auguste's body, and when he clenched his fists he felt the sweat on his palms. He had to speak out. He owed it to his father to fight, somehow, for this land. But how could he drive away some twenty armed men?

A sudden thought came to him. "Raoul, I challenge you to fight me for the land. With pistols or knives or barehanded. Any way you want it."

Raoul grinned, white teeth appearing suddenly under the black mustache. "You've gotten big in the last six years, but I'm a better shot than you are, and I'd slice you to bits with my knife. In a barehanded fight I'd bite your ears off and ram 'em down your throat. We don't need a fight to prove what anybody can plainly see."

"If you won't fight me you're a coward as well as a thief."

Raoul's eyes narrowed, and his shoulders hunched forward, as if he was about to attack.

"Dueling is also a grave sin," said Père Isaac. "And it is against the law of this state. I forbid you to fight."

Raoul laughed and lifted his empty hands. "Too bad, mongrel. The father won't let us fight."

Auguste turned to Père Isaac. "How can you take from me the only way I have of fighting for this land?"

"If God wants you to have it, He will see that you get it without doing wrong," said Père Isaac calmly.

The face of Black Hawk appeared in Auguste's mind, and suddenly he understood the wrath that had always seemed to smoulder just below the war chief's skin. This must be how Black Hawk felt when the pale eyes told him he could no longer come to Saukenuk. That was why Black Hawk had been leading his people back to Saukenuk year after year. He would not give up.

And neither would Auguste.

_I must fight. I promised my father I would fight for this land. I smoked the calumet with him._

He remembered Pierre's words: _Now you have a chance to own land, to be rich and to have power. You can learn how to use your wealth to protect your people._

And he was losing that chance. As he saw these rich acres being torn away from him, more and more he felt himself wanting them.

But how to fight for the land? To charge Raoul's pistol and the rifles of his men would simply mean death. Surely that was not what Pierre wanted for him.

An unfamiliar voice said, "Is this really how you settle land disputes in Smith County?"

Auguste turned to see David Cooper, a lean, hard-eyed man he had met several weeks earlier when Cooper had visited Pierre to pay his respects.

Raoul said, "Don't you like the way we do things here, Cooper?"

Cooper's cold expression did not change. "Just requesting information, Mr. de Marion. That's all."

Cooper had brought his family to Victor from some place in Indiana three years ago, buying a choice piece of bottomland from Pierre. Auguste had learned that he was a veteran of the War of 1812.

Justus Bennett, the county land commissioner, who Auguste knew to be one of Raoul's creatures, said, "Mr. Cooper, I've been reading law most of my adult life, and I can assure you Mr. Raoul de Marion has as sound a case under common law and English precedent as I've ever seen."

Auguste doubted that anyone here knew what that meant, impressive as it might sound.

_The whites know how to twist any law to their advantage._

Cooper said nothing further.

These people might feel sorry for him, Auguste thought, and resent what Raoul was doing. But he'd get no help from any of the men who were standing around behind him. Raoul and his men were armed and determined, and the rest of the people here were not ready to give up their lives to help a half-breed.

But Auguste had taken advantage of Raoul's distraction with Cooper and Bennett to cut the distance between himself and his uncle in half. If he could get close enough to Raoul he might have a chance to get at him with his knife. He'd worn the deerhorn-handled knife today only because his father had given it to him.

As he hesitated, he heard footsteps in the grass and turned to see his grandfather walking toward Raoul with slow but firm steps, thumping his walking stick on the ground.

"No, Grandpapa!" Auguste called out to him.

"This is my son, I very much regret to say," said Elysée. "And I must administer correction."

Auguste started to follow Elysée, but Raoul dropped his hand warningly to his pistol.

"Don't come any closer, half-breed."

"I was with Pierre when he wrote his final will," said Elysée. "And I have a copy of it. I know his mind was sound. He gave the whole estate--except for the fur company, which we have always agreed would be yours--to Auguste."

"You gave the fur company to me when you divided the estate between me and Pierre years ago," Raoul said. "So my own good brother left me nothing. Thirty thousand acres of the best land in western Illinois go to a mongrel Indian, and you say his mind was sound? The more fool you."

"You are un bète!" Elysée shouted. "You are proof that there is no just God. If there were He would have taken you and let Pierre live."

"Monsieur de Marion!" the priest cried. "Think what you are saying. On this day of all days."

Raoul said, "I've always known that you loved Pierre and not me, Papa."

"You make it impossible to love you!" Elysée answered. "Now listen to me. Victoire is my home. I built this place. Those I love are buried here. I command you, leave at once. Get off this land."

Raoul, a head taller than the old man, took a step toward his father. "If you wanted it to be yours, you shouldn't have given it to Pierre. You have nothing now, you old fool."

Elysée swung the stick at Raoul's head. The thump resounded over the field, and Raoul staggered back, his broad-brimmed hat falling to the ground.

Raoul bared his teeth, drew back his fist and smashed it into his father's face. The blow knocked Elysée hard against one of the upright logs of the gateway. He cried out and fell heavily to the ground. He lay moaning and jerking his head from side to side in agony. The priest rushed to him, dropping to his knees.

With a scream Nicole threw herself down beside her father.

A red curtain swept over Auguste's eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could see again he saw only the face of one man, Raoul, looking down at Elysée with triumph and contempt.

Knife in hand, Auguste threw himself at Raoul.

Raoul's pistol was out. His dark eyes gleamed with triumph as he pointed the muzzle at Auguste's chest.

_He was hoping I would attack him_, Auguste realized, knowing he would never reach Raoul before the pistol went off.

A sudden movement to his side caught his eye. In a glance he saw Eli Greenglove swinging a rifle butt at his head.

10

Dispossessed

Auguste woke.

He was in a room he had never seen before. A plain black cross hung high on one white plaster wall. He lay on a bed with a straw-filled mattress, on top of the quilt. He wasn't wearing his coat. Or his pale eyes' boots.

Pain throbbed in his head, and with each pulse his vision momentarily blurred.

He rolled his pounding head on the pillow and saw Nancy Hale sitting beside him. Her long blond braids glistened in the pale light that came through the oiled paper window.

The way she was looking down at him startled him. The blue of her eyes burned like the blue center of a flame. Her lips seemed fuller and redder than he'd ever seen them, and they were slightly parted. This was the way she had been looking at him while he lay unconscious, he realized, and he had seen it only because he had awakened suddenly and taken her by surprise.

"What happened?" he asked.

"That man of your uncle's, Eli Greenglove, hit you with his rifle. Your uncle said he'd kill you next time he sees you awake. So we took you out here to my father's parsonage."

"How long have I been asleep?" he said.

"A long time. Hours. I'm awfully glad to see you wake up, Auguste. I didn't know if you ever would. Greenglove hit you hard enough to kill you."

He remembered Elysée lying on the ground, writhing. Rage boiled up inside him again as he thought of Raoul striking Grandpapa down.

"How is my grandfather?" He tried to sit up, and the room started to rock and pitch. The pain pounded on his head like a spiked war club. Nancy put a hand on his shoulder, and he lay back against the pillow. He shut his eyes momentarily to get his equilibrium back.

"We don't know--he may have broken his hip. But try not to worry, Auguste. Nicole and Frank took him back to their house."

That searing gaze of a moment ago was gone, but there was still a warm light in her eyes.

He heard a footstep on the other side of the bed. He turned, bringing back the ache in his head full force, to see the tall figure of Reverend Philip Hale standing in the doorway of the small room. Hale, dressed in a black clawhammer coat and black trousers with a white silk stock wrapped around his throat, stood with his arms folded, gazing at Auguste with pursed lips and a deep crease between his bushy eyebrows.

"You can thank the Lord's mercy you're not hurt worse, young man. I suppose you'll want to be on your way soon."

"Father!" Nancy exclaimed. "He just came awake. He might have a fractured skull."

"I think I'm all right," Auguste said. He tried to sit up again. He managed it, but he felt suddenly dizzy and sick to his stomach. He put his hand over his mouth. Nancy picked up a china chamber pot from the bedside and held it for him, but after a moment the spasm of nausea passed and, gingerly, he shook his head at her. His first afternoon at Victoire, when he had thrown up his dinner before everyone in the great hall, flickered through his memory.

He looked up and saw Hale staring at him with even deeper distaste. Clear enough that the reverend didn't like to see Nancy's care for him.

_Grandpapa's hurt, and I'm the only one around here with medical training._

Auguste lifted his head again, determined to get up in spite of the pain. "I must go to my grandfather. He may die if he isn't cared for properly."

A spear of horror shot through him. His medicine bundle, containing his precious stones and the bear's claw, was still at the château. All his spiritual power was collected in that bag. Whatever the risk, he must go back and get it. And he wanted the bag of surgical instruments he'd brought back from New York.

"I'll be out of here as soon as I can stand, sir," he said. "I have much to do."

"No!" Nancy cried. "Auguste, you're not well enough to go anywhere. And, Father, I told you what happened at the funeral. We've got to help Auguste. If you speak, people will listen."

"I don't know the rights and wrongs of it," said Hale, looking irritated, presented with a problem he did not want to try to solve.

Auguste said, "My father wanted me to inherit Victoire. There are witnesses. There are two copies of his will, if Raoul hasn't already destroyed them."

Reverend Hale glowered at Auguste. "What if Raoul de Marion's men come looking for you?"

Suddenly, as when facing Raoul at the gateway to Victoire, Auguste felt terribly alone. Nancy would do anything she could for him; after seeing her loving look when he awoke he was sure of that. But there was little enough she could do. Especially because of the way her father so obviously felt about him.

"I'll be gone as quick as I can, Reverend Hale."

"If they come here while Auguste is here you'll have to tell them he's not here and refuse to let them in," said Nancy firmly.

"Lie to them? I'm not a Jesuit."

"Father! Would you let Auguste be killed?"

The word "killed" set a storm of frightful thoughts whirling through Auguste's head. Raoul's pistol had been pointed right at his chest. And Greenglove had tried to brain him. They wouldn't stop until they had killed him. Only then would Raoul be secure in his possession of Victoire. Dazed and hurting though he was, Auguste had to get out of Smith County if he was to live another day.

Hale turned and went back to his own room, shaking his head.

"Your father is no friend to me," said Auguste.

Nancy's face was like a lake whose surface was troubled by a wind. "He's very strict. He didn't go to your father's funeral because it was a Catholic service. But if anything happens he'll do the right thing. You can count on him for that."

Auguste said nothing. But he didn't share her confidence.

Early that evening, Auguste, Nancy and Reverend Hale were sitting in the front room of the Hales' one-story house. They had eaten a rabbit stew with potatoes, onions and beans from the Hales' garden and hominy grits on the side that Nancy had pounded from corn. They washed it down with fresh-squeezed apple cider.

"I allow no spiritous liquors in my home," said Reverend Hale.

Now that it was dark Auguste wanted desperately to be off to see Grandpapa at Nicole and Frank's house. The old man had been badly hurt. He might be dying.

By candlelight Hale read the Bible aloud to Nancy and Auguste. It was his nightly custom, Nancy explained.

Auguste heard the soft clip-clop of a horse's hooves and the creak of carriage wheels and raised a hand to alert the others.

Putting a finger to her lips, Nancy went to the door. She opened it a crack, then pulled it wider and went out.

"Who is it?" Hale called anxiously.

His heart pounding, Auguste was on his feet, looking for a weapon or for a place to hide.

No answer came from Nancy, but a moment later she came back, one arm around another woman's shoulders, supporting her. A blue kerchief covered the woman's head.

"Who is this?" Hale said again.

"Bon soir, Reverend Hale. Forgive me for disturbing you."

It was a moment before Auguste recognized the battered, swollen face of Marchette. One of her eyes had been blackened this morning, but now there were ugly bruises around both eyes, her whole face was swollen and her lips were cut and puffed.

Heartbroken at the sight of her, Auguste rushed to the cook and took her hands in his.

"Marchette! What happened to you?"

"I cried very much when you and Monsieur Elysée were hurt today, Monsieur Auguste. Armand did not like this, and he beat me. It _looks_ very bad, but he did not beat me hard, Monsieur. Whoever Armand beats hard, dies. But I resolved to do something for you. Monsieur Raoul, he had barrels of Kaintuck whiskey carted up to the château. Many guests and servants got very drunk. After a while Armand was lying on the floor beside the table, so then I went to fetch your things. Your trunk was unlocked, and I gathered up your clothes and books and put them in it and locked it. I had Bernadette Bosquet, the fiddler's wife, she is my friend, help carry your trunk down to the carriage."

Auguste felt as if a sudden bright light had flooded his room. His medicine bundle had been in the trunk. And his surgical instruments. They were safe.

He jumped up from the table. A throb of pain went through his head, and he felt dizzy and had to cling to the table for support. Marchette's eyes widened in alarm, and she put her hands out to him.

Recovered after a moment--and feeling much better now than he had a few hours ago--he took Marchette's hands in his.

"I can't tell you how much this means to me, Marchette. There were things in my trunk--sacred things--very important to me. Very precious. I thank you a thousand times."

Her swollen lips parted in a half smile. She reached into a pocket in her apron and brought out a large pocket watch gleaming a dull gold. Then she took out a familiar oval silver case with a velvet ribbon.

"These were your father's, monsieur. I believe he would wish that you have them."

Auguste opened the case and saw the round lenses for only a moment as his eyes blurred. He put his hand over his face and held it there until he no longer felt like weeping. Then he looked at the engraving on the watch--"Pierre Louis Auguste de Marion, A.D. 1800"--and his eyes filled up with tears. This, he thought, should go into his medicine bundle with the other sacred objects.

"Where were Raoul and Greenglove when you took my trunk and things in the carriage?"

"Before Armand got drunk, Monsieur Raoul made him look through Monsieur Elysée's room for the paper that says you are to inherit the estate. Armand found it and gave it to your uncle, and he threw it into the fire while Armand and Eli Greenglove watched and laughed. Then Monsieur Raoul, he got into a most furious argument with Eli Greenglove about Greenglove's daughter. They nearly fight, but I think they are afraid of each other. They are both great killers. So finally they went down to town. Monsieur Raoul agreed to bring his woman, Greenglove's daughter, and the two boys to the château."

"Disgraceful!" snorted Reverend Hale. "Publicly living in sin."

"I wonder why he didn't bring them to the funeral?" Nancy said.

Auguste thought he knew why. Clarissa Greenglove had been a pretty, full-bosomed girl when he first arrived at Victoire. But in the years during which she had borne two boys to Raoul, she had turned into a lank-haired, snuff-sniffing slattern. Years ago Raoul had said he was going to marry Clarissa, but he never had. And Auguste had seen Raoul bending a hungry look on Nancy throughout the funeral mass this morning. The thought of Raoul laying even a hand on Nancy angered him. It would anger Eli Greenglove, too, for a different reason.

Eli Greenglove, it was said, could shoot the wings off a fly one at a time at fifty yards and was wanted in Missouri for over a dozen murders. He might take orders from Raoul, but it would not do for Raoul to offend such a man. So if Eli persisted, Raoul probably would take Clarissa into the château.

Auguste felt a sinking in his stomach as he touched his fingers lightly to his throbbing head. He was alive now only because Greenglove had chosen to hit him instead of shooting him down--or instead of letting Raoul have that pleasure.

"Will you stay the night, Marchette?" Nancy asked.

"No, I must go back to the château before Armand wakes up. Otherwise he will beat me worse."

"I'm going with you," said Auguste.

"No," said Nancy. "They'll kill you."

Auguste looked across the table at Nancy, staring at him with round blue eyes full of the yearning, now mixed with fear, that he'd seen in them earlier. "Pale eyes," the Sauk term for her people, did no justice to her eyes, the color of the turquoise stone he kept in his medicine bag. Her blond hair made his blood race. His fingertips tingled with the desire to touch the white skin of her cheek.

Though Nancy's very differentness made him desire her, he knew that he and she could never belong to each other as completely as he and Redbird