Arthur was all right. Just tired. At least as worn out as Alvin. The difference being that nobody was pestering Arthur Stuart with questions.

"Let this man be," said La Tia. "You see he bone tired, him?"

Alvin felt hands on his arm-small hands, thick arm- trying to raise him up. His first impulse was to shrug them off. But then a soft voice said, "You hungry? You thirsty?" It was Dead Mary, and Alvin turned to her and let her help him rise to his feet.

"I got to pee," he said softly.

"We set folks to digging latrines," she said. "We got one not far off, you just lean on me."

"Thank you," he said.

She led him along a short path through the underbrush till he came to a reeking pit with a plank across it. "I think this wouldn't be hard to find in the dark," he said.

"Bodies got to do what bodies got to do," she said. "I leave you alone now."

She did, and he did all his business. A lot of leaves had been piled up for wiping, and a couple of buckets of water for washing, and he had to admit he felt better. A little more awake. A little more vigorous. And hungry.

When he came back to the shore, he saw that La Tia was doing a good job of keeping folks calm. She had a line of people waiting to talk to her, but she answered them all with patience. But it's not like she had a plan, nor was she organizing things for the journey ahead. Nor did it seem that anybody was working on the problem of food.

Alvin looked along the shore, which was teeming with people for half a mile in either direction. He also scanned for gators, which would have no qualms about snatching any child who strayed too close to shore. None here so far; and now he felt strong enough that scanning for heartfires took no noticeable effort.

Mama Squirrel and Papa Moose were not too far off. Alvin started to make his way over to them. At once he found Dead Mary at his side, offering her arm.

"I'm too big to be leaning on you," said Alvin.

"You already did, and I was strong enough," she said.

"I'm feeling better." But then he did lean on her, because his balance wasn't all that good yet, and the sand on the shore was irregular and treacherous, the damp grass just inland of it slippery and creased with ditches and rivulets. "Thank you," he told her again. Though he still tried not to put any weight on her.

Papa Moose strode up to him-strode, his legs showing no sign of his old limp. "I'm sorry I plagued you the moment you woke up," said Papa Moose.

"I'm glad to see you're doing better your own self," said Alvin. "And walking well."

Papa Moose embraced him. "It's a blessing from God, but I still thank the hands that did God's work on me."

Alvin hugged him back, but only briefly, because he had work to do. "Mama Squirrel," he said, "you packed up a lot of bags of food."

"For the children," she said defensively.

"I know it's for the children," said Alvin. "But I want you to consider-if folks get desperate enough, how long do you think you can keep those bags from getting hauled away? There's farms with plenty of food not too far inland, but we need to travel together. Share this food now, at least with all the children who aren't from your house, and I can promise you more food by nightfall-for everybody."

Mama Squirrel weighed this. He could see that it plain hurt her even to think of sharing away what her children would need. But she also knew that it would hurt to see other children starve, when hers had plenty. "All right, we'll share it out with children. Bread and cheese, anyway. Nothing we can do with raw potatoes and uncooked grain right now."

"Good thinking," said Alvin. He turned to Dead Mary. "Do you think you can get La Tia to spread the word among the blacks, and you and your mother among the French, that children should be brought here to line up quietly for food?"

"You dreaming, you think they all line up quietly," said Dead Mary.

"But if we ask, some will," said Alvin.

"Asking is easy," said Dead Mary. She took off at a trot, holding up her skirt to hop over obstructions on the way.

People were pretty orderly in line, after all-but those adults that had no children were getting loud and angry. As Alvin walked against the flow of children and their parents queuing up for the food, one of the men with no children called out to him from the trees. "You think we don't got hungry, mon?"

"Thank you for your patience," Alvin answered.

A stout black woman called out, "Starving to death don't look like freedom to me!"

"You got a few good hours of life left in you," called Alvin. That won him some laughter from others, and a huffy retreat from her.

Soon he was with La Tia again, and Dead Mary and her mother. "We need to organize," he said. "Divide people up into groups and pick leaders."

"Good idea," said La Tia. Then she waited for more.

"But I don't know any of these folks," said Alvin. "You got to do the dividing of the folks as speak English." He turned to Dead Mary and her mother. "And you have to divide up the French. And each group of ten households, tell them to choose a leader, and if they can't choose one without bickering, I'll pick one for them."

"They don't like me," said Dead Mary.

"But they know you," said Alvin. "And they fear you. And for right now, that's good enough. Tell them I asked you to do it. And tell them that the sooner we get organized, the sooner we'll all get away from Pontchartrain and get fresh water and good food. Tell them I won't eat till they all eat."

"You get mighty hungry, maybe, you," said La Tia.

It took longer than Alvin expected. It seemed such a simple task, but the sun was well past noon when La Tia and Dead Mary reported that everyone was organized. They had their groups of ten, and then out of each five leaders, one was chosen to head a group of fifty, and out of every two leaders of fifty, one was designated the leader of a hundred.

The way things worked out, that gave them ten leaders of a hundred households that sat down on the shore of Pontchartrain as the Council, to plan the trek with Alvin, La Tia, Dead Mary, and Arthur Stuart, who was finally awake. Rien, Mary's mother, was one of the leaders of a hundred-chosen by the people, to her surprise-and Papa Moose and Mama Squirrel weren't counted in anybody's group, since their household was so extravagantly large.

People fancied titles, Alvin knew, so he designated the leaders of hundred as "colonels," the leaders of fifty as "majors," and the leaders of ten as "captains."

"Reckon that makes you 'general,' " said Arthur Stuart.

"It makes me 'Alvin,' " said Alvin. "You can be general."

"I be general," said La Tia. "Not this boy. Who gonna follow this boy, him?"

"You will," said Alvin, "when I leave."

La Tia wanted to answer him sharply, but she held her tongue and listened while Alvin explained to the Council.

"We got no place to go," said Alvin. "I can get us north into farm country, and we'll work out a way to get food without leaving any farmers' families to starve. But the longer we keep marching around the countryside, the bigger the armies they can raise up to destroy us. We've got to get out of slave-owning country, and there's only one way to do that."

"By sea," said Dead Mary. "We need boats."

"Boats do us no good without willing crews," said Alvin. "Anybody here know how to navigate?" No one did. "But that was a good idea, all the same," said Alvin. "And I appreciate you making suggestions. That goes for everybody. No such thing as an idea that shouldn't be suggested, at the right time and place."

"Where we go, then?" asked La Tia.

"Well, General La Tia," said Alvin-not smiling at the title, which made her preen just a little, "only one place we can go, where white men won't follow."

"Don't take us to red land!" said Rien.