 Phyllis Bagley drives towards the Wisconsin woods with her grim cargo. As the car crawled over the dirt roads, I kept staring through the windshield, watching for a lighted check. Here in Indian territory, at five in the morning, I had to locate a guide to lead us into the woods. I see a light, Phyllis. Light where? Through the trees up ahead. Turn off the headlights. Like a lantern or a flashlight coming its way. It's an Indian.