To pieces.
He saw that, for a moment, too vividly, and almost screamed. He grabbed the jug and burned the bloody picture out of his mind with a swallow.
Auguste's band, skulking around up the river somewhere.
Why, Auguste might have given them the idea. Told them all about Victoire and Victor. Lots of helpless women and children there. A rich trading post. A big white man's house to burn down.
My uncle kicked me off the land, Auguste might have said. Avenge me. Go kill his woman and his children and burn his house down. And while you're at it, kill every one of those white dogs in Smith County.
Sure, he probably put the idea in those devils' heads before he got shot.
It hadn't been enough to kill Auguste. Wasn't enough.
He had to kill off every last one of Black Hawk's Indians. Exterminate the whole band—bucks, squaws and papooses.
And he would shoot any shirker who refused to go with him.
Greenglove shrugged. "Go chase Injuns, then, if that's your heart's desire." Then he smiled in a knowing way Raoul found strangely disturbing. "But you'll maybe find a surprise waiting for you up there in Michigan Territory. Almost makes me want to stay with you, just so's I could see the look on your face."