They appeared at the base of the same hill, now wooded. They were within the staked walls of a nice town. It was nearly sundown, the falling sun sinking behind the forest. To his right [He now thought in the Sunset way concerning his strong side and weak side.] he could smell and hear the great Wild-Goose-River. The leaves of the trees had long since fallen. Some men were about, scrambling from their shelters. However, most of the people were women and children. A medicine-man could be heard chanting and shaking gourd and wampum-shell rattles above. The people gathered around astonished and uncertain. An elder showed his courage and advanced to speak with them.

Three-Rivers took off his hat and held it out to the side so that they could see that he was no White boy. Gerald jumped into the hat and regarded the approaching people as if from a shelter, “Dey don’ eat squirrel do dey boy?”

“Not this tuxedoed squirrel Mister Hicks.”

He then raised his pimp-cane—a simple magic-stick really, though very cool—and addressed the elder in the tongue of the Wild-Goose-Men, “Devout elder, I am Thunder-Boy of Sunset, also known as Three-Rivers, son of WhiteSkyCanoe of the Longhouses, called the Magic Boy of Winter; tamer of flesh-demon, wolf and fury hound. I am a Servant of Burnt Man come with greetings from the Sunset World.”

The elder bowed and tucked his calumet under his arm. “Above chants Medicine-Cloud, our holy man. It is fortunate that he was able to summon you, although he was simply asking for advice concerning the Wearers-of-leg-coverings. He has been addressing the Great Hare for days now, and we had begun to lose hope. I am Ernest Smoke, Speaker for the Elders.”

The holy man could now be heard coming down the hillside. Three-Rivers, never missing an opportunity to enhance the impact of his public speaking with an appeal to coincidence, raised his squirrel-filled magic hat and pimp-cane and declared, “I have returned from the Sunset World of White Men, having freed these slaves of theirs’, and having stolen their thunder-medicine! I have come to drive the land-eating invaders from the world of my birth. How may I help you brothers and sisters?”

Eddie spoke up in a whisper as the naked red-painted middle-aged holy man circled around them with his rattles and settled on crossed legs before Three-Rivers, “Yo son we good? Dese yo peeps yo?”

“We are good Eddie. All Mother Earth People are my ‘peeps’. Take my pack, and cane, and hat, and squirrel please. I must parley.”

Gerald would have none of this separation, and, to the astonishment of the gathered town’s people, leaped onto Three-Rivers’ head, and sat fierce-faced and dignified; seeming almost like the carvings of White elders known as statues, “I takin’ ma chances wit you boy. Tell’ ‘em I a badass squirrel.”

One indication of Three-Rivers’ powerful medicine had always been such lucky coincidences, such as his chance meeting with DeathSong in the forest—brought about by a chief of squirrels in fact! Father had always pointed out that good luck was a sign from The Beginner. So, when Mister Gerald Hicks the squirrel committed this bold act out of fear, therefore interjecting himself into the parley, Three-Rivers saw the Hand of The Beginner in this, and took advantage, as piety of course dictated of a dedicated medicine-man. He spoke first in squirrel, “Gerald pose like the shaved over-fed men who are possessed by mirrors and wrestle with the iron poles in their sweaty dens of toil back on Sunset.”

As he could feel Gerald striking his various poses—‘double-bicep’ being his favorite—Three-Rivers greeted Medicine-Cloud, “Medicine-Cloud you have summoned me—Three-Rivers-Thunder-Boy-WhiteSkyCanoe—through your communion with The Beginner by way of his totem the Great Hare. You are surely the finest medicine-man to beseech The Beginner. I, deciding that your request was most worthy, have brought my totem, Chief Gerald Hicks, who is in actual fact the transmigrant soul of a Burnt Man who escaped the four-hundred-winters-of-woe inflicted upon his kind by the Evil White Masters of Sunset through drinking their medicine-water and becoming, as you can see, a squirrel—an old and wise squirrel at that.”

“Also, I bring my faithful disciples: T.T. Redbone, the largest warrior of Sunset; and Fast Eddie, who has the gift of bewildering enemies who speak the Anglish language. He is my very own medicine-man.”

“Thank you Medicine-Cloud and you also good elder Ernest Smoke, for welcoming me to your fine town. I would now hear your plight. Also, if you could tell me everything you know about the activities of White Men; Anglish, Spanish and others, this would assist me in contriving a solution to your people’s troubles.”

Hear the awe-betoken silence that permeates the town. They hang on your every word. The medicine-man is weary from his ritual and fears misspeaking. Help him.

“Medicine-Cloud, what of the White Men?”

“Early in the year a great floating town of Spanish canoe-houses was driven into the Shellfish-water to Porto Soto by enemies of theirs, who are called we-do-not-know-what. The many dirty Spanish warriors have spread out from that place to steal maize and wives. The Tide-Waters, the Wide-Waters, some Falling-Water warriors, and some of our warriors have joined with the remaining Sons of Fierce Woman, to battle these savages. And still other stinky Leg-covered-men, ‘White’ as you call them, but dirty as I see them, have come poking up the rivers looking for the shining metal they covet so. Their canoe-houses can float nearly to the bank of our town on our fine river. I fear that The River itself has forsaken us and wonder what evil we have done to have Him turn upon us.”

Three-Rivers spoke first to Gerald, “Gerald, when I raise my voice at the end of each sentence flourish your hat and point to heaven as if you are a child pointing to an older brother come to drive off the bullies tormenting you.”

“Boy you ain’ neva seen panhandlin’ like you ‘bout ta see!”

Three-Rivers had studied the doings of Sunset People called history with Jan on his computer. Jan was very adamant that Three-Rivers learn about Hated Hare-Lip of the Nazi Hate Society of the German Tribe. This evil medicine-man had been able to use his hands and body and face to help him with his persuasive public speaking. Three-Rivers decided now that he would use the speaking tricks of Hated Hair-Lip—though he as yet had no hare on his lip at all—for the good purpose of bringing the Mother Earth Peoples together in the face of the White Menace.

You should do well in this thing. For you have a posing squirrel and well-dressed disciples, where Hated Hare-Lip had only sour-faced and drearily-dressed disciples moping about as he preached.

Then, with squirrel on head, Three-Rivers rose and spread his arms, speaking slowly and expressively to all with his hands, “Brothers, sisters, I have known the White Men and their ways since before the days of your grandfathers, and I know their mind, and it is One!”

He paused and took a deep breath, “He-Who-Makes-Rivers and his father Thunderer tolerate the Whites and their canoe-houses only to the first rock; the first falling water. They fear the good deep lands, the forests, the hills. Before spring comes you must move your town beyond the first rocks, toward Crossing Rock where my flesh-demon DeathSong and I took the Spanish chiefs to their doom!”

They like this. Mister Hicks is hypnotizing them.

He reached to heaven and brought his hands down as if pulling a pregnant cloudbank to himself, and he thought deeply of Thunderer so that his belly and eyes would light up—just a little show for my peeps.

As they stood entranced he imitated the deep voice of DeathSong, and to his surprise, he sounded exactly like the infamous flesh-demon from Sunset, “Have no fear friends. You have all winter to move your town. The White Men have less than a moon to hide in their big dirty one. Burnt Man has for servants the fiercest of White warriors. I shall summon them and set them upon their dirty little cousins like the Famished Wolves of Deep Winter pouncing upon a pack of scrawny town dogs!”

Where has the non-violent Tree-eater gone?

He heard a wolf’s howl echo from the town’s staked wall. Then he realized that he was howling like the Perfect Wolf of Winter and the people cheered as his totem pointed fiercely at the setting sun.

Your eyes are hot, and you’re a cooked-and-salted-dirty-squealing-four-leg as they say on Sunset. Take your repose and meditate before them. They shall understand. You are, after all, Thunder-Boy.

He suddenly felt ill and wondered if the glowing thunder-hoop in his belly and the blazing light behind his eyes where things that Healer, advocate of the body that he was, would find fault with.

You will be strong again in the morning. Fall asleep looking into the moon where you stand. This will be the vision quest of Thunder-Boy, and they will speak of it to their grandchildren.