"Thank you for turning that pistol aside."
Lincoln grinned. "Colonel, thank you for sparing that red man. I'll be going now, or by the time we finish thanking each other, Black Hawk will be in Checagou."
When Raoul emerged from his tent he saw that the Potawatomi prisoners were gone. He felt a surge of fury that someone had turned them loose without his permission. He still longed to put a ball into the skull of that sneaking Little Foot.
The next Indian who falls into my hands won't be so lucky.
By the time the men of his spy battalion had struck their tents and mounted up, he had decided on half a loaf of revenge. Seated on Banner, he held up a burning stick.
"All right, men, the Winnebago who lived here have joined up with Black Hawk. They're running ahead of us. Let's not leave them anything to come back to."
He drew his arm back and snapped it forward. The torch flew end over end and landed on the bark roof of the nearest Winnebago lodge. A circle of orange flame spread out quickly. It was still raining, but not enough to slow the fire down much.
Raoul's men whooped. Eli and Armand led the way in hurling flaming sticks into the dark brown Indian huts.
Armand, grinning, handed Raoul a long pole he'd pulled loose from the wall of a lodge, afire at one end. Waving his broad-brimmed hat, Raoul rode through the town touching the burning pole to the flimsy wall of each lodge he passed. The men of the battalion scattered, setting fires everywhere. Beyond the town the remaining militiamen stopped breaking camp to watch.
Soon, the roar of the burning lodges thundered in Raoul's ears like a big waterfall.