The long knives cried out to one another and cursed as they found the mutilated bodies of their comrades.
Now they hate us more.
The long knives had rolled-up blankets tied across their horses' backs. They opened the blankets and used them to pick up the dead. One pair of men on foot was already carrying a blanket-wrapped body across the creek to the wagon.
One long knife rode slowly toward them. He was so tall that his legs dangled down from his horse almost to the ground. He came to the body Wolf Paw had just been stripping, and climbed down. He took off his broad-brimmed gray hat and stood holding it in both hands as he looked down at the body.
White Bear heard the click of a flintlock hammer being drawn back to full-cock. Wolf Paw sighted along the barrel.
The militiaman raised his head, and White Bear saw tears glistening in the morning sun as they ran down his cheeks.
A gaunt brown face with strong bones, deep-set gray eyes, a young face aged by grief. In White Bear's vision of last winter this man had a black beard; now he was clean-shaven. But this was the man the Turtle had shown him.
A sudden shout from the woods made both White Bear and Wolf Paw jump with surprise.
"Help! Help me, please!"