That was the first Al ever heard of there being a split between Ta-Kumsaw's people and the Prophet's people.

“Then how'd you know where we were?” demanded Measure. “How'd you know how to find us?”

“Tenskwa-Tawa saw you,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “Told me to hurry and get you, save you from the Chok-Taw, bring you to Mizogan.”

Measure, who knew more about Armor-of-God's maps than Alvin did, recognized the name. “That's the big lake, where Fort Chicago is.”

“We don't go to Fort Chicago,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “We go to the holy place.”

“A church?” asked Alvin.

Ta-Kumsaw laughed. “You White people, when you make a place holy you build walls so nothing of the land can get in. Your god is nothing and nowhere, so you build a church with nothing alive inside, a church that could be anywhere, it doesn't matter– nothing and nowhere.”

“Well what does make a place holy?” asked Alvin.

“Because that's where the Red man talks to the land, and the land answers.” Ta-Kumsaw grinned. “Sleep now. We will go when it's still dark.”

“It's going to be mighty cool tonight,” said Measure.

“Women will bring you blankets. Warriors don't need them. This is summer.” Ta-Kumsaw walked a few steps away, then turned back to Alvin. “Weaw-Moxiky ran behind you, White boy. He saw what you did. Don't try to keep the secret from Tenskwa-Tawa. He will know when you lie.” Then the chief was gone.

“What's he talking about?” asked Measure.

"I wisht I knew," said Al. "I'm going to have trouble telling the truth when I don't know what the truth is. "

The blankets came soon enough. Al snuggled close to his big brother, for courage more than warmth. He and Measure whispered awhile, trying to puzzle things out. If Ta-Kumsaw wasn't in on this from the start, how come them Chok-Taw cut his and the Prophet's names into the saddle? And even if that was a lie, it was going to look real bad that Ta-Kumsaw finally did end up with the captives, and then up and took them to Lake Mizogan instead of just letting them go home. It was going to take some tall talking to keep this from turning into a war.

Finally, though, they fell silent, weary to the bone from all their running, not to mention their work moving the tree and the plain terror when the Chok-Taw was out to torture them. Measure started snoring lightly. And Alvin, he found himself drifting. In the very last moments before sleep, he heard that green music again, or saw it, or anyhow knew that it was there. But before he could even listen, he dozed off. Dozed off and slept real peaceful, what with the night breeze blowing cool off the river, the blanket and the warmth of Measure's body keeping him warm, the nightsounds of the animals, the cries of a hungry infant from a hut somewhere; all of it was part of the green music flowing through his head.

Chapter 8 – Red-Lover

They gathered in the clearing, some thirty White men, grim-faced and angry and tired from walking through the woods. The trail was easy enough to follow, but it seemed like the branches grabbed at them and the roots tripped them up– the forest was never kind to a White man. Then there was an hour lost when the trail reached a stream, and they had to go up and down the stream to find where the Reds took them boys out of the water and up onto land again. Old Alvin Miller like to went crazy when he saw they dragged the boys through water– it took his son Calm about ten minutes to get him quiet and able to go on. The man was just mad with fear.

“Shbuldn't've sent him away, I never should've let him go,” he kept saying.

And Calm kept saying, “Could've happened anywhere, don't blame yourself, we'll find them all right, they're still walking ain't they?” All kinds of talk, but mostly it was his voice that soothed Al Miller, it was his manner– some folks even said it was his knack, that his ma named him straight for what he could best do.

Now they were in the clearing, and trails led off about five different ways, and all of them plumb disappeared after a few steps. They found the boys' tore-up underwear a few steps into the woods heading northwest. Nobody figured they ought to show that to Al Miller, so by the time he got there– him bringing up the rear at that point, with Calm by his side– the underjohns were tucked away out of sight.

“We'll never track them from here,” said Armor-of-God. “The boys aren't leaving no footprints now– which don't mean nothing, Mr. Miller, so don't you fret.” Armor called his father-in-law Mr. Miller ever since Al throwed him out of the house into the snow that time he came to say Al Junior was dying cause the family committed the sin of using hexes and beseechings. It just don't seem right to call a man Pa after he heaves you off his porch. “They might be toting the boys, or they might be stepping after them, kind of wiping out their prints. We all know if a Red don't want to leave a trail, there ain't no trail.”

“We all know about Reds,” said Al Miller. “And what they do to White boys when they–”

“So far all we know is they're trying to scare us,” said Armor.

“Doing a good job so far,” said one of the Swedes. “Scared mostly to death, my family and me.”

“Besides, everybody knows Armor-of-God here is a Red-lover.”

Armor looked around, trying to see who said that. “If by Red-lover you mean I think Reds are human beings just like Whites, then it's true. But if you mean I like Reds better than Whites, then you best work up some courage to step out here and say it to my face, so I can mash your face into the bark of a tree.”

“No need to quarrel,” said Reverend Thrower, panting. He wasn't much for exercise, was Thrower, so he only just now caught up with the rest of them. “The Lord God loves all his children, even the heathens. Armor-of-God is a good Christian. But we all know that if it ever comes to fighting between Christian and heathen, Armor-of-God will stand on the side of righteousness.”

The crowd murmured their agreement. After all, they all liked Armor; he'd loaned most of them money or given them credit at his store, and never nagged them for payment– a good many of them might not have made it through their first few years in Wobbish country if it wasn't for Armor. Grateful or not, though, they all knew he treated Reds like they was almost White, which was a bit suspicious at a time like this.

“It's coming to fighting right now,” said a man. “We don't have to track down these Reds. We got their names on the saddles, carved right in.”

“Now just wait a minute!” said Armor-of-God. “You just think a minute! In all this time Prophetstown's been a-growing there across the Wobbish from Vigor Church, has any Red so much as stole a thing from you? Slapped one of your children? Snatched a pig? Done any single bad thing to any one of you?”

“I think stealing Al Miller's boys is a pretty bad thing!” said a man.

“I'm talking about the Reds in Prophetstown! You know they never done nothing wrong, you know that! And you know why, too. You know it's cause the Prophet tells them to live in peace, keep to their own land and do no harm to the White man.”

“That ain't what Ta-Kumsaw says!”

“Well even if they did want to do some terrible crime against White folks– which I ain't saying– is there any one of you thinks Ta-Kumsaw or Tenskwa-Tawa is so blamed stupid he's going to sign his name?”

“They're proud of killing White folks!”

“If the Red man was smart, he'd be White!”

“See what I mean about Red-lovers?”

Armor-of-God knew these people, and he knew that most of them were still with him. Even the grumblers weren't about to go off half-cocked; they'd sit tight until the whole group decided on action. So let them call him a Red-lover, that was fine, when men was scared and mad they said things that later they repented of. As long as they waited. As long as they didn't jump into war against the Reds.