"I'd like to think you're wrong, Mr. de Marion."
"Why the hell did you volunteer for the militia, if you don't like killing Indians?"
Lincoln smiled faintly. "Well, a war record won't hurt when I make a run for the legislature."
Just another slimy politician. Same as Bennett.
A bluebelly, a blue-uniformed officer of the Federal army, pushed through the tent flap. He doffed his tall, cylindrical shako.
"General Atkinson's compliments, Colonel de Marion. We're breaking camp and moving on up the Rock River in pursuit of Black Hawk and his band. And he asks you to once again take up the lead position."
"How does the general know where the Sauk are?" he asked irritably.
"A couple of Winnebago known to the general came into camp and offered to guide us, sir. They say Black Hawk and the Winnebago Prophet are leading their people upriver to try to persuade the Potawatomi to join them. Black Hawk's whole band, except for the warriors, are on foot. The general thinks that if we ride hard we can catch them."
Lincoln held out his hand and shook again with Raoul.
"Thank you for the whiskey, sir."