"Well, why didn't you tell us they were out there?" Raoul said, smiling. "We'd have invited them in for a whiskey."
The coonskin-capped men standing near him guffawed.
Raoul's lips stretched in a grimace. "Eli, Armand, let's shoot these three redskins."
Greenglove said, "Raoul—Colonel—I still say you ought to think this over."
"Shut up and do what I say!" Raoul growled. "I want to get this done and ride after those other Indians."
Men were running for their horses and leaping into the saddle brandishing rifles. Without leaders or orders, they rode off across the creek with drunken whoops in the direction Armand had pointed out.
White Bear felt sick as he saw that many of the men who remained were grinning avidly. How, he wondered, could their deaths give such pleasure to these men?
Desperate to find help, he searched the ring of men surrounding him for a face to appeal to. It was already too dark to see expressions clearly. Hopelessness turned his heart to lead as he saw Otto Wegner turn and walk away from the crowd. Even though Wegner had always been Raoul's man and never a friend of his, he felt betrayed.
"All right," said Raoul, staring into White Bear's eyes. "I'll shoot the mongrel. Eli, you shoot the short one with the flat nose. Armand, you take the other one."
"'Vec plaisir," said Armand, his teeth showing white in his brown beard as he brought his rifle up to his shoulder.