To White Bear's disappointment, the Winnebago Prophet sat next to Black Hawk. At the sight of Flying Cloud, with his long, greasy hair and the mustache that looked something like Raoul's, White Bear's shoulders slumped. He felt an impulse to turn away, and seek Black Hawk out another time.
The Prophet's Winnebago followers were long since gone, but the Prophet himself was still predicting mighty victories over the long knives. White Bear remembered a scripture reading he'd heard at St. George's, that false prophets would arise at the end of the world. This might well be the end of the world for the Sauk; they certainly had their false prophet.
But a talk with Black Hawk about Nancy was too important to put off. White Bear sat down, silently facing Black Hawk. He waited for the war leader to speak to him.
He felt ravenously hungry watching the two men chew their beef. He himself had not had time to eat.
Black Hawk's strong hand stroked the leather cover of one of the law books he had captured at Old Man's Creek.
"You healed my son and drew spirit silver from his body," Black Hawk said. "Accept my thanks."
"I am happy to have made Black Hawk happy."
Black Hawk gestured toward the beef. "Share my food."
White Bear picked up a strip of meat, still hot. Saliva seemed to flood his mouth. He chewed ferociously, closing his eyes for an instant in pleasure. Black Hawk smiled slightly, while Flying Cloud, paying no attention to White Bear, gnawed on a rib.
After a time during which White Bear could think of nothing but the hot, juicy meat, Black Hawk called him back to his reason for coming here.