"The others made this trail for them to follow," the Washan whispered.

"We must let them see us," Petawahin returned. "But don't look at them. Let them see us walking slowly so that they will think we are afraid of walking into an ambush from our own people."

They walked across the narrow meadow as if they were out to pick blueberries, but once they fell under the cover of dense brush on the other side, they ran like antelope until Petawahin found a good place to hide. Peeking through the brush atop a small hillock, they watched the Snake warriors crouch down low, easing themselves along the obvious trail that led into the dense marsh at the southern end of the lake. As the last two crept by, considerably behind the rest of the column, Petawahin sought to raise his bow and dispose of them, but the Washan halted his movement.

"Be still. Don't speak or look up," he whispered.

Petawahin froze, scanning the path. An enormous hawk glided silently by, following the same trail. Petawahin looked to the Washan to see if he'd noticed, but the Washan's intense stare warned him to remain still. Moments later, another hawk flew in the wake of the Snake warriors. Neither bird made a sound, nor did they cause even a leaf to flutter.

"The hawks," Petawahin whispered. "Is that what you were waiting for?"

"Be still," the Washan warned him. "They are with the Snake people."

Petawahin turned his head back to the trail. A strange, low screech, almost like a raven, erupted from overhead. He instinctively raised his bow and shot at the third hawk, but hit the branches in the treetops instead. A hastened second shot produced the same results and the look on the Washan's face became grave. The hawk immediately lifted up out of range and circled overhead, screeching in alarm. The other two hawks returned and swooped down onto the tops of two trees just out of bow range. The three mysterious raptors glared at the Minnecou, squawking their whereabouts to the Snake warriors. Petawahin grabbed the Washan by the arm.

He scrambled downhill in the direction of the marshes. They couldn't see the Snake warriors, but they could hear crashing in the bushes as the painted ones took pursuit. The three hawks hovered overhead, constantly screeching as the Snake warriors followed over the difficult terrain. The Minnecou sped quickly through the beech, birch and oaks, into an impossible maze of honeysuckle, blueberry bushes, and scattered clumps of cedar and juniper. When they reached the true wetland, where the water squeezed through the surface, they leaped from sod to sod to avoid falling into the thick and slippery mud.

As Petawahin led the way, he stepped onto a concealed yellow jackets' nest, and though he didn't get stung himself, he left the Washan in an angry haze of venomous bees. The Washan scrambled like a whirlwind through the grassy clumps, and though the bees no longer followed, several had clung to him and continued to pump their venom. The Washan dove headlong into the mud, stumbling out like some kind of strange creature as he tried desperately to clear the caked mud from his eyes, and brush the stingers off.

Petawahin grabbed him and slung him over his shoulders as he tried to pick out a new course through the boggy terrain of the lake's outlet. The Washan was leaving a conspicuous trail. He squirmed in Petawahin's grip as he continued to brush at the detached stingers, still pumping into his scrawny frame. Petawahin grabbed a handful of flesh and squeezed hard.

"Stop jerking," Petawahin whispered loudly.

The Washan emitted a stifled scream as he held his hand over his mouth. "Put me down," he demanded. Petawahin threw him on his feet and they raced through a flat of cattails into a dense stand of towering reeds. They crawled carefully under the tufted canopy so as not to shake the frail stalks and give themselves away, but the hawks could see clearly from above and continued to circle overhead while maintaining their chorus of squawking screeches. Petawahin heard yelling in the distance and smiled at the Washan as he surmised that the Snake warriors had found their trail and stumbled into the yellow jackets' nest.

One by one, the hawks stealthily glided off in a northwesterly direction, abandoning the Snake warriors in the huge stretch of marshy terrain. Immediately after the last hawk disappeared from view, a thin haze enveloped the area and the air became stifled. The mosquitoes stirred up in droves around the two Minnecou and lacy strands of spider webs became thicker and more abundant. Distant thunder rumbled in the darkened southeast sky. Petawahin found a stout stick to test the ground for quicksand. There were certain warning signs such as the color of the water and different types of plants that surround dangerous areas. Petawahin was well acquainted with these, but they weren't always reliable. He and the Wolf brothers had blazed the original trail through this alluvial swamp. Even if the hawks had stayed, he knew he'd led the Snake warriors into a position where he and the Washan would be well ahead of any enemies who could survive crossing through this maze, and manage to find their way back out. It was a large flat area where most of the vegetation extended over the height of a man. Finding a way out was largely a matter of guesswork, unless one knew which directions the various lazy currents led.

The Washan found several birds' nests, but even the eggs from the second nesting were all hatched and the chicks long gone. He picked berries while Petawahin slowly forged a safe route for them. The sounds of Snake warriors crashing through the tall stalks slowly faded away, and soon the two Minnecou began to hear frantic pleas for help. The Snake warriors had found themselves surrounded by pockets of quicksand. The Minnecou smiled as each scream was suddenly stifled. They slowly picked their way through the bogs, remaining quiet and keeping movement to a minimum to prevent being seen. The Washan scooped up several large bullfrogs and batted their heads against his knotty knees to render them unconscious before stuffing them into his pouch.

Without any breeze to fan the unchecked forest fire, it spread much more slowly, but the hazy smoke settled in over the flat marsh, stinging the eyes of Minnecou and Snake warriors alike as they stumbled through the muddy bog. If they stood erect, the smoke became more intense, but if they stooped too low, they were exposed the septic odor of swamp gas stirred up by their feet.

An arrow whirred by, several hands over the Minnecous' heads. Moments later, another whistled through the weeds to their left. Neither Petawahin nor the Washan could see anyone, but judging by the distance the arrows had missed them, the Snake warriors had fallen behind and were shooting blindly. After several of their warriors had succumbed to the quicksand, many of the painted ones were afraid to move. They'd made a fatal error splitting up in the swampy area. They tried to cover more ground, but now, one of them ordered them closer together so they'd be able to pull each other out of the quicksand. Once they reached drier ground, they would catch up with the insolent Minnecou warriors.

Petawahin quickened the pace while the Washan concentrated on concealing their trail. Petawahin stopped short when he spied a couple of water moccasins rippling in the shallow puddles ahead. The Washan looked up, and a sudden fear crept over him. After a few moments, several more snakes had appeared and then vanished in the duckweed and undergrowth.

"They are not the snakes of the painted ones," the Washan whispered. "Their snakes are darker and much thicker."

"You're certain?" Petawahin questioned. "Their snakes are all the same?"

"There were different kinds," the Washan said, somewhat uneasily. "But I think there's a nest over there because they're going back and forth to the same place."

"I pray to the Creator you're right," Petawahin whispered. He could hear the column of Snake warriors as they crashed through the dead brush and wound their way through the thick reeds far in back of them. "Wait here," he whispered.

Petawahin backtracked to about halfway between the Washan and the Snake warriors, then shook the reeds, snapping dead branches so the Snake warriors would hear. Moments later, a slew of arrows hailed down on him as he bolted back to the Washan, leaving deep imprints as he went along. When he reached the Washan, they carefully skirted around the moccasin nest to the other side, where they could see the obvious trail with the deep footprints. They laid down another visible trail, shaking reeds and breaking more dead branches to let the Snake warriors know where they were. Another hail of arrows rained down, but they were short of even the moccasins' nest. Petawahin once again resumed finding a safe route for them, but headed off in a slightly different direction. The Washan continued to cover their tracks, hoping that at least one of the mud-colored vipers would sink its fangs into painted flesh.

Several moments later, they heard a frantic burst of yelling. The crashing of dried reeds and dead brush erupted in hollow echoes through the still haze as the painted warriors once again dispersed in several directions. Petawahin spotted oak and birch through the maze of rushes, alder, and blueberry bushes and headed towards what he knew to be dry land. The edge of the murky swamp was bordered by a steep and slippery bank, laden with a thick, shiny, green mat of poison ivy. Petawahin ran quickly along its length, but could find no break in the poisonous barrier. Looking overhead, he noticed a long and sturdy oak branch and immediately lifted the Washan onto it. When the Washan was about halfway along its length and the branch was still bowed to within Petawahin's reach, he leaped up and grabbed onto it. The trunk of the massive oak, however, was covered with thick, brown-haired vines of the same poison ivy, and the two warriors had to climb up to a higher branch on the other side of the tree from which they would have to hang and then drop into the dead leaves of the dry forest floor. When they reached the higher branch, the Washan pointed out over the marsh with a wide grin on his face; the reeds and brush were trampled in circles and zig-zags as the Snake warriors tried desperately to find a way out.

When they finally reached dry ground, Petawahin pointed to the northern side of the now huge forest fire. "Let's go that way and stay out of the smoke," he suggested.

"We have to find Mokotak," the Washan reminded him. "Whatever the Snake people decide to do with Sequannah has already been done, but Mokotak and the Paccu may not have been discovered. Ketanka will need Mokotak with the clan."

"We may all be killed if we get trapped in the fire as well."

"It is only a short distance from here, and the painted warriors may not choose to follow a trail that leads into fire," the Washan spoke.

Petawahin relented, not wanting it to appear that his son's welfare was the only matter of importance.

They raced towards the southeast over smoking and blackened earth. Their high moccasins protected them from the red cinders, but prolonged exposure to the alkaline ashes would eventually cause the rawhide moccasins to dry out and burn. The Washan led the way he determined Mokotak most probably went. The smoke became thicker and the red cinders threw off considerably more heat. The thick, humid air was transformed into an intense dry heat that stung with each breath; the mosquitoes' and gnats' disappeared, but those that had already pierced the skin of the two Minnecou, remained there, dried to hollow shells in the intense heat. They sweated profusely as they determined to cut straight through the burned out area, then skirted southwest when they reached the point where flames were still flickering.

At the base of a small cliff they found the remains of several of Quiktkoata's snakes, burned to coils of hollow black shells. When the climbed to the top, they saw that they were at the perimeter of the blaze; the stone had acted as a barrier and directed the fire in a southeasterly direction. From the top of the small ridge, they could see little through the smoky haze and rippling waves of intense heat.

"I don't see them," Petawahin looked around anxiously. "We'd better move on or we'll never catch up with the Snake people."

The Washan scanned the area, but could find no sign of the two missing warriors. The brush had burned out to the point where there were no longer any leaves and when the smoke lifted from time to time, they could see for quite a distance. But there were no visible bodies in the burned out ashes, and no way to determine whether Mokotak and Karnack had survived. From Petawahin's vantage, the only ways out were either to skirt around way to the south of the blaze or to go back from where they came. To head back would give them more relief from the suffocating smoke, but it may also lead them into the midst of the war party that had foolishly followed them into the marsh. By now, they could have found their way out.

"Go south," Petawahin decided. The Washan, sensing Petawahin's anxiety over his son, ran ahead of him to avoid any further delay. He stopped suddenly, however, after running only a short distance, and pointed out a Paccu moccasin print.

"The Paccu came this way. Mokotak would not leave any tracks. Maybe they were still together" Petawahin said.

He led at a rapid pace, pointing out the random prints of the young Paccu as he went along. The further they went, however, the closer they came to the flames. Burning embers drifted aimlessly around, falling onto the Minnecou warriors as they increased their pace to catch up with Karnack. The crackling intensified and soon, Petawahin could see that the young Paccu's tracks would lead them directly into the raging inferno.

"They must have gone through before the fire reached here," Petawahin said, hopeful that Mokotak was with the young Paccu. "We'll have to go much further to the south. It will take longer."

The Washan sensed that Petawahin may be hinting that they cut through the fire once again, in order to save time. He dashed off to the south before Petawahin could even think of persuading him into the thick of the blaze once again. Petawahin soon outpaced him. Perhaps, he thought, the Washan was right in going around the blaze. There was no way of telling what they may have run into and at least they were finally able to pursue Sequannah's captors without any further diversions. No sooner did this consoling thought cross his mind, when he looked back to check on the Washan, and found him running with both hands clasped to the sides of his head. A few steps further, he fell onto the forest floor and lay writhing in agony as he pressed in futility against the pain in his head. The prolonged exposure to intense heat, and the vigorous activity, had caused the bee venom to surge through his body. Petawahin once again threw the Washan over his shoulders and moved as quickly as possible in the direction of the Snake procession, searching for cool water along the way.

The smoke soon began to thin and the Washan was cooling down as well, but the need to find cool water was still apparent - the Washan was weak and nearly limp. Petawahin sensed his own need for water. His mouth was dry and his tongue like leather after running through the ash laden sauna and into the stifling humidity outside of the blaze. Nevertheless, Petawahin was not going out of his way. He had lost much valuable time already and would have to stumble onto fresh water before stopping.

In a small ditch, Petawahin noticed some skunk cabbages growing and diverted from his track. The ground was wet. He quickly dug out a small cavity into which murky water strained itself through the surrounding mud. He soaked the Washan down and pasted more mud on him to draw out the remaining poison. Then he cooled himself off with cupped handfuls of the precious liquid that would keep them going, though it wasn't fit for drinking. The Washan finally got back on his feet, much to the relief of Petawahin, but his stunted pace soon drew Petawahin to carrying him again. He couldn't leave the Washan behind as there was no way of knowing if the war party had followed. Though he was nearly incapacitated at this point, he may prove to be invaluable later, providing Petawahin could maneuver them to within striking distance of Quiktkoata.

The crackling and snapping of exploding embers faded into the background. Petawahin located a cool, quickly moving stream of clear water and stopped where they could drink and catch their breath. The Washan needed no prodding. He outpaced even Petawahin once he caught sight of it. The Washan was still streaked with charcoal and mud when he stood back up and Petawahin was inclined to laugh, until he got a good look at his own reflection in the water.

The air was dead and mosquitoes had been relentless since they'd stopped at the skunk cabbage and dug into the mud. The cool water provided their only escape from the voracious pests and every time the men stood, they found it difficult not to return to the sanctuary beneath the stream's surface.

"We should stay here for a while," Petawahin stated, knowing that the Washan would feel guilty in holding him up any longer. "But I would like to scout ahead and find out where they are so that at least we will have a plan before nightfall."

"There's plenty of daylight left and we have no way of knowing how far they plan to travel today," the Washan pointed out. "It's not even midday and I'm sure they're not going to camp this close to the fire. If I remain here, you will waste time by having to return later. And we should stay together in case more snakes are around. We'll take some of this fresh water with us and find their trail. With all the captives they're dragging along and the condition they're in, we should be able to catch them. We'll go now and find out what they've done with Sequannah so that at least you can relieve your anxiety and watch for weaknesses. Then we will wait for the right opportunity."

"What about Mokotak and Karnack?" Petawahin questioned. "They should be back with the clan."

"If we find them, we can send them back. But it would be too risky to look for them, and miss an opportunity to free Sequannah," the Washan concluded. Petawahin was relieved to hear this from the Washan.

They soon located the Snake peoples' trail and paralleled it for a considerable distance before they began to feel the wearying effects of the heat again. At one point, they found a large area of flattened grass and weeds where they determined that the Snake people had stopped to rest. They kept low as they searched for clues and watched for Snake warriors that may have been lurking behind Quiktkoata's procession. They stumbled into a group of dead painted warriors, piled in a heap off to the side of the trampled path.

"Why do their warriors fight for them if this is the respect they earn from their people?" Petawahin questioned the Washan.

"They must be very foolish or maybe they have no respect for their dead," the Washan said disgustedly. "Maybe they don't like themselves," he mused, turning the bodies over to find how they were killed. "They were shot through with arrows, but the arrows have been removed."

The two warriors searched the dead Snake warriors, but found no weapons or magic articles. The strange thing, though, was that they found no accompanying Paccu bodies. They couldn't understand why Quiktkoata wouldn't take immediate and vicious revenge. They found another pile of dead Snake warriors, and when the Washan turned them over, he was surprised to find out that none of these had been shot, but had been beaten and strangled to death. Three of them had large crushed areas on their skulls.

"Mokotak!" Petawahin said quietly. "Mokotak killed these warriors."

"That is why they did not kill the Paccus," the Washan deduced. "They thirst for Minnecou blood." A short distance away, the Washan found a scattering of broken and bloodied sticks. He held them up for Petawahin's inspection.

"Mokotak's arrows," Petawahin stated as the Washan nodded. "Kwoita always made those kind of arrows for him. But three of the Snake warriors were beaten and strangled. Mokotak would not waste that much time. The Paccus must have killed them unless Karnack chose to fight in this manner. If the Paccus killed their warriors, then wouldn't Quiktkoata have killed all of them out of revenge?"

"Maybe the Paccu captives are very important to Quiktkoata," the Washan guessed. "Maybe his warriors are slaves, as well."

"How can you have warriors fighting for you if they would be looking to escape?" Petawahin questioned.

"If their families and tribes were all killed or enslaved, then they would have no one to return to even if they did escape," the Washan stated. "They would find no place to live where they would not be in danger of being attacked by Snake people again."

Petawahin thought this over, and while it did seem possible, he couldn't conceive of anyone following a chief who did not always do what is best for the people before considering his own desires. As far as he knew, the chief was not the one who gave the most orders and made the most demands, but the one that most of the clan thought was wisest to follow. The chief would be most fearsome to enemies, but most friendly to his own. The chief was always the one with the most to give. Ketanka's lodge would often bring in more meat than they needed and hides as well, but his power came about from his willingness to share. If he kept everything to himself, he'd be shamed in the eyes of the clan. Petawahin couldn't understand how Quiktkoata ever found anyone willing to follow him. Everyone, including his own people, would be his enemies; wouldn't they?

The area where they had rested was highly conspicuous and gave testimony to the considerable size of Quiktkoata's war party and captives. At one point, they found a place where it appeared as though Quiktkoata's servants were in the middle of preparing food for the massive procession, but dumped everything on the ground and left it there partially cooked. Something had caused them to flee, but there was no evidence of any threat to them. Certainly they weren't running from Petawahin and the Washan, nor Karnack and Mokotak.

"They must be driving the Paccus back to their village in a hurry; they are not even stopping to eat," Petawahin said. "Mokotak must have attacked them while the were resting. Now they may not stop until they reach their village."

"They think we are many," the Washan said. "But they will stop. Their village must be distant, otherwise we would have seen them long before now. They must stop to feed their own warriors or the Paccus will not be the only ones to rebel."

The two warriors followed Quiktkoata's trail on a parallel course, keeping a careful watch for Snake warriors waiting in ambush. Petawahin heard the slightest crack of a twig. He and the Washan quietly slipped behind the cover of dense ferns where they hid in the underbrush. Thirty to forty Snake warriors came whisking through the area, keeping very low and remaining nearly silent for the quick pace they were maintaining. They were fanned out in a double line, extending well to the sides of the freshly trampled trail, but not quite as far away as the two Minnecou had taken refuge. Once they had passed and Petawahin was certain they were gone, he followed them as they backtracked the highly visible trail. He and the Washan had not gotten very far when they heard them talking in their strange tongue. Petawahin signaled for the Washan to remain while he went ahead.

He maneuvered himself very close, where he could see them looking over the dead Snake warriors that he and the Washan had moved. One of them was pointing to the broken arrows on the ground. There were many more warriors than the thirty of forty that he had originally guessed. One warrior shouted out a barrage of commands and a group of twenty-five painted warriors quickly assembled into a fanned out line and continued their stealthy combing as they went further down the trail towards the direction of the fire. Another Snake warrior was quietly giving directions to a small group of men who were preparing the dead Snake warriors for their journeys into the next world. They had deliberately left the bodies to see if anyone would disturb them.

Another painted warrior stood over a group of about forty warriors giving them orders in near whispers and pointing in sweeping circles to vantage points as he planned to send certain ones out to ambush, and the rest to flush out their Minnecou enemy. Petawahin raced silently back to the Washan.

"Follow me," he whispered frantically. "We have to get out of here quickly or we'll be surrounded. There are very many of them and if we are seen by even one, we will almost certainly be captured. We can go south to those big hills. We will be able to watch them from there."

As they raced southward, they took special care not to leave any moccasin prints or make any sound. They skirted around the small rises and hills and chose instead to maneuver themselves through the dense vegetation in the low lying areas. Rain always became scant towards the end of summer, causing most of the vegetation to brown and whither in some areas and to become considerably thinned in others; only the lower and more protected areas retained enough moisture to sustain a dense growth. It was much more difficult to move, but they had to stay out of sight.

From the first ridge of considerable size, Petawahin and the Washan scanned the area in back of them, and from time to time, they caught fleeting glimpses of the Snake warriors as they fanned out southward, towards the ridge upon which they were now standing. Other Snake warriors had been sent north of the procession's trail as well, but they were not at all visible from the two Minnecous' vantage. The Snake warriors furthest away were already beginning to turn eastward to parallel the slave drive's trail, but there was no way of telling just how far south the closest warriors intended to range before they would turn eastward as well. The two Minnecou rapidly cut across the valley south of them to the next even higher ridge. The ridge that made up the southern border of the valley was not as level as the other side, but was a series of hills, the bases of which never reached below the elevation of the valley.

Petawahin and the Washan scrambled up and down the seemingly endless series of hills as they headed in an easterly direction, and only after the sun drifted far down the western sky did they reach a crest from which they finally caught a glimpse of the procession as the end of it rounded a bend in the valley and once again was out of sight. The Snake warriors combing the area between the two Minnecou and the trail were far behind as they moved slowly along the smaller ridge tops and through the the valleys in a steady, silent line, hoping to catch the Minnecou warriors by surprise.

Petawahin and the Washan were more cautious as they made their way downhill and once again picked their way up the wearying ascent of the next hill from which they were certain to obtain a good view of Quiktkoata's slave procession. Silently, they crept to the edge of a steep cliff and lay low so as not to be conspicuous.

"What were they doing back there?" the Washan finally had an opportunity to question Petawahin.

"They knew we were following them because they saw that we had moved the bodies and Mokotak's broken arrows," Petawahin said. "They sent more warriors back down the trail to see if we turned back, while other painted ones prepared the dead bodies for their journeys into the next world. But most of the warriors were sent out in our direction. I saw one of their war chiefs pointing out where they would look for us, and where they would hide to ambush us while the others tried to flush us out...like we would hunt deer. We have come far enough away to avoid them."

"I should have known it was a trick," the Washan whispered as they continued their nearly inaudible conversation. "No one would fight for people who would discard them like fish guts once they were no longer of any use. They're moving very slowly now," the Washan pointed to the long line in the distance. "I wonder why it took so long to catch them."

"They're looking for a place to camp for the night where they think we won't be able to get at them," Petawahin whispered with contempt. "But they will find no such place."

"If one of them sees you, you are as good as captured," the Washan warned. "And remember that I am a Washan as well as a warrior. You know that I cannot kill another unless he first attempts to kill me."

"They saw Mokotak and he was able to get away," Petawahin said stubbornly.

"I suspect that Ketanka wanted me to go along with you so that we would find a way to get Sequannah back without bloodshed. That way, the Snake people would not find revenge so desirable. I also suspect that is why he wanted Mokotak back with him as well, but that is not the way things have turned out," the Washan admitted. "Ketanka knew that if Mokotak was here, he would kill as many of them as he could. But with a tribe as big as theirs, that would only serve to anger them."

Petawahin suddenly put his fingers to his lips for silence. Something moved below them. The Washan listened intently. Soon he heard an intense scratching coming from the base of the cliff.

"Sounds like a black bear," the Washan whispered.

"As long as he stays down there we'll be safe," Petawahin whispered. "But if he decides to come up here, there'll be a lot of noise." Petawahin crawled closer to the edge of the cliff. The Washan grabbed his foot.

"Where are you going?" he whispered frantically.

"How can we be sure it's a black bear if we don't look?" Petawahin questioned. "What if it's a grizzly?"

Petawahin crawled to the very edge of the cliff and looked down its length. The Washan watched as he picked up a small rock and aimed below. The Washan moved quickly to try and stop him, but it was too late. A moment after the pebble reached its destination, the Washan heard a sharp whirring sound and caught a glimpse of an arrow as it whizzed by Petawahin's face. The arrow went straight up and came straight back down, landing between the fingers of the Washan's left hand. The markings on one of Mokotak's arrows stood out clearly before him. He looked over at Petawahin who was doing all he could to restrain his laughter at the expression on the Washan's face.

Petawahin tossed one of his own marked arrows over the edge of the cliff, not daring to look and see where it landed. They heard the sound of muffled footsteps below them and soon after they faded away, Mokotak came strolling up from behind them.

"Follow me," Mokotak whispered. "We can see better from down there and it's harder for them to see us."

"And if someone comes up here and sees us below like we saw you?" Petawahin said.

"I have been following them since dawn," Mokotak answered. "They are afraid to come this far away from the trail without a whole war party, especially after I killed a few of them. When they walk with more than two of them, they sound like buffalo trying to sneak through the dry leaves of autumn. We will be long gone before they ever get close, unless we find a good place to ambush them."

The Washan shuddered as he imagined the three of them trying to fight off thirty or forty warriors.

"We must find a way to get Sequannah back without having to kill any of them," the Washan insisted. "If we can free some of the Paccus, we will, but we'll do nothing until after we free Sequannah. Killing their warriors will give them good cause to come after the Minnecou once they bring these captives to their village. They will hunt us down and slaughter our clan."

Mokotak looked at the Washan in astonishment. "How many painted warriors do you think the Paccus killed before they were attacked in their village? I'll tell you that it was none. If we don't kill them, then they will kill us. If they have no reason to fear us, they will run us off unless we want to be their slaves."

"I agree with Mokotak," Petawahin said strongly. "There is no better way to change people than to act like them. That is the only way they will understand."

"If they kill one of us for every one of their people that we kill, who is going to run out of warriors first?" the Washan asked them. "They outnumber our own clan by more than ten to one with the warriors they have here. How many more do they have in their village?"

"We could get all of the Minnecou clans together and that would be enough to force them back to wherever they came from...or kill them," Petawahin said. "If we don't fight them now, then we may as well all move back to the Minnecou villages in the south and grow corn all year, because we'll never be able to come here again. We'll never be able to enjoy this place. We'll just watch the plants grow in the red dirt all year and we will become great plant warriors."

Mokotak felt somewhat resentful of Petawahin's description of village life. Those were his roots. But he, himself, had chosen the clan's way of life over the farmer's existence, where the scenery changed, and there was always something new to discover. Many of the Minnecou in the villages spent a summer or two out with a traveling clan, but if these Snake warriors were around, they may not be able to do this. There will be less brought in from the north to trade and share with the farmers in the villages.

"We must get word to the other clans and get everyone together to fight these Snake warriors," Mokotak demanded. "We could not survive in the villages with all of the clans living there as well. There would never be enough food. The game would be gone in one season."

"We have not seen any of the other clans since we left the village," the Washan stated. "Summer has nearly passed, and I don't ever remember when we didn't see anyone else. At first I thought that maybe they had gone further east than usual, but we went to the same areas as last year so they should at least have known where we were. Every time we sent out hunting and scouting parties, there was no sign of the other clans. I think the reason for this lies in the valley before us. They must have attacked the other clans and killed them, or took them for slaves like they did to the Paccus. We may have no one else to help us fight them."

"The Paccus would fight with us," Mokotak said.

"The Paccus would get us killed," Petawahin sneered.

"Karnack fought well," Mokotak admitted. "but he also got captured."

"They didn't kill him?" Petawahin questioned.

"The warriors guarding that group of Paccus were killed. There was no one to point him out. Many more warriors came and I shot the first few with my bow so I could escape, but I had no time to warn Karnack or I would have taken him with me."

"If we bring them with us they will learn how to fight like Minnecou. Then we could force the Snake people out of here," Petawahin said.

"If we want to get Sequannah out of here alive, we should kill no more," the Washan countered.

"Did you see the lodge that they are carrying with their chief in it?" Mokotak questioned. They both nodded. "They have Sequannah tied to the back of it. How many of their warriors do you think are going to stand back while we try to free Sequannah there?" Another low boom of thunder echoed throughout the valley from the dark sky to the south. "That thunderstorm has been sitting to the south all day."

"The storm cannot move if the air does not move," Petawahin stated as the men sat in the stifling heat.

"A storm does not sit that long," the Washan warned. "Many great Washans can make storms and I'm sure that this one is not natural. I think this Snake chief is a powerful Washan."

"Maybe he is Sikun," Petawahin offered, though he wasn't exactly sure what a Sikun actually was. He'd only heard stories of their powers.

"Not Sikun," the Washan stated with certainty. "A Sikun would be friend to Paccu and Minnecou...and would take no slaves."

Petawahin and Mokotak looked at him questioningly, but he pointed down into the valley. "They have stopped to camp for the night."

The litter had been placed carefully on the ground, but the curtains remained drawn. The attendants rushed about, building cooking fires and pulling out huge clay pots from a large compartment under the litter. Four men came up from the rear of the column carrying a large square box attached to poles that they placed on their shoulders in much the same manner that the litter was carried. They pulled many baskets of food from the box and dumped them in the various clay pots that servants were filling with water from a nearby stream.

The sun hovered on the horizon as the food simmered over hot fires fanned by the attendants. Many of the Paccu captives were moaning in pain, while others sat listlessly, shooing mosquitoes and deerflies. Soon the smell of food drifted up the wall of the cliff. The Washan reached into his pouch and pulled out five large bullfrogs, semi-dried and somewhat misshapen, but they could not make a fire to cook them. The Washan handed one to Mokotak. He sniffed it and promptly threw it over the side of the cliff. "I thought you smelled funny today." Petawahin laughed quietly; the Washan dropped the other frogs over the side of the cliff as he whispered his sorrow to the Creator for having wasted what was once good meat. Petawahin pulled out a packet of dried venison and the Washan made use of the berries he'd picked.

The Snake warriors were the first to eat when the simmering stews were finally ladled out of the huge clay pots. The Paccus had to huddle together when they got their share; their ropes left little room to maneuver the wooden bowls to their mouths. For the time being, the moaning had stopped and only an occasional child's crying broke the silence from the valley below. After the clay pots were emptied, the attendants once again filled them with water and heaped in many more baskets of meat and vegetables to simmer on the dying embers of the cooking fires. Next morning, they would only have to light a small fire to warm the broth.

"Wait here," the Washan said. "I have a plan if I can find what I need." The Washan wanted desperately to find a way to free Sequannah before Mokotak and Petawahin thought up some dangerous and daring maneuver to overpower the Snake warriors in the vicinity of Sequannah.

Mokotak and Petawahin waited quietly, occasionally whispering weaknesses they detected. The sun was nearly set when the Washan finally returned, displaying a large handful of red-capped mushrooms. Mokotak looked uneasily at Petawahin.

"I'm not hungry any more," he said to the Washan.

"Do you see the clay pots of food they have prepared for tomorrow?" the Washan asked. The two men nodded. "One of us must go down there and put these mushrooms into the pots and make sure they sink to the bottom so they won't be able to see them while they're eating. It's nearly dark now. Whoever is going should get as close as possible without being seen while it is still light."

"Are those poisonous?" Petawahin questioned. "How can you tell which ones are going to end up eating them?"

"It doesn't matter, these will not kill anyone. But they will make it very difficult for their warriors to fight," the Washan said.

"Umm," Petawahin nodded approvingly. "They won't be able to travel and they'll be too weak to fight if they're all sick."

"It won't make them sick either," the Washan stated.

"Then what are they supposed to do?" Mokotak asked impatiently.

"They affect everyone differently but they will find it very difficult to fight. Some will not be able to stop laughing, while others will be huddled in fear. Either way, they will not want to fight," the Washan stated with certainty. "Whoever decides to stay with me while the other goes down there will have the more dangerous task. Who wishes to stay?"

"What do you plan to do?" Petawahin asked.

"If I tell you, no one will go, and I'm not going alone."

Both men testified to their fearlessness and Petawahin decided that he should be the one to go with the Washan since it was his son they were trying to free. The Washan looked over the Snake camp below and pointed to a large scattering of boulders just south of the cooking kettles. He tied the mushrooms together along with rings made of stone to make them sink to the bottoms of the three large cooking pots. He then found a bright, round pebble of white quartz in his pouch and handed it to Mokotak.

"After you put the mushrooms in the pots, place this stone on top of that large boulder so we'll be certain that the mushrooms are in the food. Then find a place to hide for the night because it will be very dark by then and you'll never make it back without making noise."

Mokotak took all of the mushrooms as well as his weapons and slipped silently down the side of the hill and under the cliff. The Washan watched as Mokotak slowly maneuvered himself into a position from where he could quickly toss the mushrooms into the clay pots at the first opportunity and then place the white stone on top of the boulder.

The air was very still, and without the clamor of the procession, the slightest noise could bring catastrophic results. The Washan tapped Petawahin and signaled for him to follow. He led him down the backside of the hill towards the south, and soon they were out of hearing range of the Snake warriors. He stopped when he reached a small burrow in the ground and then signaled for Petawahin to lay down on the top side of the hole.

"They'll be coming out shortly," he whispered. "Throw this piece of hide over them as soon as they come out and tie them up in it right away."

Petawahin sniffed the hole. His eyes rolled back in his head.

"Don't miss," the Washan warned him. "I found many more holes for us to visit after this one." The Washan pulled out a pouch full of spearheads and began cutting shafts for them to which he had tied rawhide riggings. They were fitted tightly over the sharp edge of the stone so that the lines would be cut on impact.

Thunder had boomed throughout the night from some distance to the south, but still, the storm made no advance. The sky, though hazy, still allowed the first burst of sunshine to peak over the horizon as the procession ate heartily of freshly ladled stew. Attendants had been running about long before dawn, starting the cooking fires and washing out the hundreds of wooden bowls in the stream. The air was saturated and it seemed almost like breathing under the skins of a sweatlodge. Petawahin and the Washan watched as the Snake warriors strutted about and the Paccus were marched down to the side of the stream to clean out all of the wooden bowls after they had finished eating. Apparently the Paccus were only allowed to rest before they ate. The Snake warriors were sharing long pipes filled with tobacco as they waited for the Paccus and the attendants to finish with their chores.

The Washan could see the small white stone perched conspicuously on a large boulder below, and knew that they wouldn't have to wait very long before he and Petawahin would be able to slip down into the valley. Though he couldn't see Mokotak, he knew he would be at their side as soon as they came within range. The Snake warriors seemed to be in a cheerful mood and their joking became quite boisterous as they milled about. The mood seemed to spread to the Paccus as they washed the wooden bowls, and they began to work slower and slower, as no one seemed to be concerned with them. The moaning had ceased and small bursts of laughter were beginning to erupt among the Paccus as well.

Quiktkoata became irritated and flung open the curtains surrounding his litter for the first time since early the previous day. A loud clap of thunder accompanied the sudden anger of Quiktkoata and the Paccus fell clinging to the earth, trembling in fear. Quiktkoata boomed out orders. Snake warriors scrambled towards the Paccus and attempted to raise them to their feet. But the Paccus were consumed in such fear, they could do nothing but tremble and cling helplessly to the ground. The Snake warriors found this hilarious and poked the Paccus with their spears, falling into hopeless fits of laughter at the Paccus' reactions. Quiktkoata smiled and nearly laughed himself, but as he boomed out his orders once again to get the Paccus on their feet, his own warriors began to laugh at him.

The Washan signaled Petawahin and they crept towards the Snake camp. Petawahin was amazed at the effectiveness of the Washan's mushrooms, but he didn't have much faith in the next part of the plan.

Mokotak watched from behind a large clump of brush as the Paccus crumbled in fear at the sight of Quiktkoata. The sudden clap of thunder had made his own heart skip, but he didn't hold onto that fear. After he witnessed the Snake warriors' laughter at Quiktkoata, he knew the Washan had given them powerful medicine. He could see the Snake warriors' eyes take on a certain glint as they fell into fits of uproarious laughter and poked at the Paccus for more reasons to laugh. A group of them would surround one Paccu and just slightly poke him. The poor Paccu would shudder and scream and nearly elapse into convulsions as the painted ones howled, then searched for another.

Suddenly, many spears descended upon the crowd. Yelling and screaming filled the Snake camp. A dozen spears had dropped into their midst, each equipped with a small black and white rodent that was instantly freed when the spear head touched the ground. Immediately, their tails stood erect and released powerful sprays that had been building for most of the night. Shortly afterwards, the yelling died down to a whisper and the Snake warriors and Paccus alike had scattered and lay clinging the earth. Many of the Snake warriors lay in quiet agony as they rubbed desperately to remove the stinging in their eyes while trying to keep from vomiting at the same time. A dead silence was interrupted only by Quiktkoata's booming voice and echoes of thunder as he tried repeatedly to regroup his stricken warriors. Then, from somewhere in the brush, one of his warriors burst out in a fit of laughter. Quiktkoata roared in his direction, but could not see him. The laughter stopped abruptly and was followed by dead silence. A few moments later, the same warrior burst out in another fit of laughter and he went on for quite some time before another painted one joined in. Quiktkoata tried to get off of his litter but fell to the ground with his paralyzed legs. The two warriors laughed even louder and soon all of the Snake warriors had joined in from their scattered positions amongst the underbrush.

The Washan and Petawahin took this as their cue and ran off in the direction of the litter. Petawahin saw Sequannah hanging limply from the back of the litter, a broad smirk on his face as he gazed blankly towards the ground. A sudden screeching overhead stopped all movement as three fierce looking hawks glided up to the litter. Petawahin glanced at them, then went to dash off to the litter, but the Washan grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground. A war party of seventy Snake warriors descended upon the crowd immediately behind the hawks; they had been scouting well behind the procession and had not eaten any of the mushrooms. Hearing the commotion while at the same time catching sight of Quiktkoata's hawks, they stealthily invaded the area. The Washan led a reluctant Petawahin quickly away from the scene and when they looked back, they caught a glimpse of Mokotak pinned against a tree with several copper spear points held to his throat. He stood surrounded by a half dozen Snake warriors, cursing and screaming as they kicked and spat at him.