“Almost the same as it happened before,” said Mr. Erskine soberly. “Listen—will you hold on to the phone while I fix myself a seltzer?”

“Sure,” said Neil, and waited. After a few moments, the phone was picked up again, and Mr. Erskine said, “Do you know what he’s trying to do? Has he given you any kind of idea?”

Neil answered, “Not very clearly. It’s something to do with the day of the dark stars, which is a day when twenty-two of the most powerful medicine men from all ages in history and all different tribes are supposed to get themselves reborn and call down some of the Indian gods. It’s the day when they’re supposed to kill one white man for every Indian who ever died at white hands.”

“That sounds about Misquamacus’s style,” put in Mr. Erskine. “Did you say two of the most powerful medicine men?”

“No, no—twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“That’s the legend. And that’s what Misquamacus told me.”

There was more silence. Then Mr. Erskine said, “Listen, fellow, I’ve got to talk to someone about this. Why don’t you leave me your number, and your name, and I’ll call you back.”

“Sure,” said Neil. “My name’s Neil Fenner, and I live in Bodega out in northern California. Not far from Sonoma, you know? My number’s 3467.”

“I got that,” Mr. Erskine told him. “Give me a couple of hours, and I promise I’ll come back to you.”

“Mr. Erskine—”

“Call me Harry, will you? We haven’t met yet, and we don’t know who the hell each other is, but if you’re talking seriously about Misquamacus, then I think we’d better get ourselves on first-name terms.”

“Okay, Harry, that’s fine. But what I wanted to say was that Misquamacus told me he had some kind of personal score to settle.”

“A personal score?”

“That’s right. With you, and with some Indian called Singing Rock. He said that you’d destroyed him when he tried to get himself reborn some time before, and that he was going to fix you for it.”

Harry Erskine sounded uncomfortable. “I see,” he said quietly. “Well, I guess that figures. Misquamacus is the revenge of a whole nation, all wrapped up into one. If he says he’s going to kill us all, then by God, Neil, he means it.”

5

At school that day, Mrs. Novato noticed that her class was curiously quiet and diffident. They went through their morning’s lessons without any fidgeting or misbehaving, and filed out for their lunch break in an orderly way. She sat at her desk, watching them through the window, wondering what it was about them that disturbed her so much.