“I could kill you now, but I shall not. I want you to remember me instead for the rest of your moons, that you knew and fought against Misquamacus, the greatest of the wonder-workers of ancient times. I want you to know, too, that even on the great outside I shall seek a way to revenge myself for what you have done, and that you will never be safe from my anger.”

The medicine man raised his hand in the Indian sign which means “so be it,” and then turned away. All Harry and Neil could do was watch him disappear into the smoke and the darkness.

But even as they stood there, they heard voices behind them. Small, young hesitant voices. They turned, and there on the bridge where the bodies of the medicine men had been lying were the children of Bodega school. Linus Hopland, with his scruffy red hair, Petra Delgada, Ben Nichelini, Debbie Spurr, and Daniel Soscol. Even old Doughty was there. They turned again, and where the burning body of Broken Fire had been stood Andy Beaver, dazed but alive. And out of the smoke into which Misquamacus had walked, shyly at first, but then with a rush, came Toby.

Neil knelt down and flung his arms around Toby and cried openly. Harry watched him for a while, and then went to the parapet of the bridge, took out a cigarette, and lit it. He didn’t want to go look at the body of Singing Rock. He wanted to remember his Indian friend the way he always had been before—dignified, wise, tolerant, and humorous. What lay on the bridge were only mortal remains, after all. Singing Rock’s real self, his manitou, was now on the great outside, in the magical hunting grounds where the wonder-workers prepared themselves for each fresh incarnation.

He took a long drag at his cigarette and then brushed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He thought he must be getting old. The wind always seemed to make him weep.

*

They sat in the kitchen at Neil’s house, polishing off the remains of one of Susan’s cheese-and-bacon pies, with fresh broccoli and red potatoes. Then Neil brought some more beer out of the fridge, and they drank a quiet toast to survival, and maybe to Dunbar, too.

Harry said, “It was too near this time. I don’t ever want to meet that goddamned Misquamacus again as long as I live.”

Susan gave him a gentle smile. “The best thing you can do now is forget it. It won’t happen again, will it? Not like this.”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry. Then he added, “No, it won’t.”

Neil drank beer and said nothing. Toby, at the other end of the table, was playing lumberjacks with the stalks of his broccoli, cutting them up and floating them downriver on the cheese sauce.