Bruco’s woodcraft was even better than his. The only thing he really had on the guy was his senses. He had smelled the man’s hormones and felt his breathing before he ever would have heard him. Bruco—as loud as he was when drunk—was the most quiet woodsman and strongest swimmer Jay had known, or could even imagine. Recently Bruco had been attempting to learn English, with limited success. It did make Jay feel a little better about his own disastrous diction to hear Bruco attempt to be understood in English. His voice was deeper than a base drum with a rasp to lend it a grinding character, “Loco Englese me casa.”

Jay acknowledged with a nod and they walked over to Bruco’s tent, before which sat Maria, busily brushing her hair. She looked up at Jay and spoke to Bruco at length. The Gomero was still naked but for his moccasins and loincloth, but did have a bear-hide draped over his shoulders. He was armed with a knife and halberd. Even now, in camp, he had his pole-arm in hand. After listening to the woman he turned to Jay. “Englese… Maria say, belong me, belong you?”

“I gave her to you, she’s yers.”

“Whore, wife?”

“Whatever she wants ta be man. I ain’t a slaver.”

Bruco continued with a big question in his eyes, “Bruco…baby on Maria?”

“Dude, if ya’ll wan’ kids iz none a my affair.”

Bruco grabbed his shoulder so hard it felt like it would separate between his iron fingers, “Bruco sons! Maria wife—no whore!”

“Ya got ma blessin’ folks. Have at it.”

He patted Bruco on the back and winked at Maria, who jumped up and kissed him before hugging Bruco, who was ecstatic. “Me madre mucho sons!”

Little Bruco’s running around. That is frightening.

On the tenth day they hit the Monongahela and turned north along its eastern bank. Three more days through light snowfall and bitter cold brought them to a big town of perhaps forty small houses at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela enclosed by a stockade complete with a catwalk.

This would by Pittsburg.

A small party of warriors came out to meet them. Although he could not stand, Three-Rivers was lucid, so he stood with Angh’s aid to greet the warriors. He insisted on holding his pimp-cane while the squirrel perched on top of his head. He spoke briefly to the men, indicating himself and Jay. The warriors stared in disbelief and then cheered; their fastest man running back to the stockade with what seemed to be long expected good news.

They spent about six weeks in this town, which had been renamed Three-River’s Town in the native language in honor of their passing here before and the extermination of the enemy Eerie tribe, which had been begun by Jay and finished by his adopted Seneca father, Howls-at-the-Moon. Apparently there had been a prophecy about them returning so that their arrival sparked a series of jubilees, with dignitaries coming from up and down the Allegheny and Ohio.

Three-Rivers slowly gained strength, until finally, at about mid-February, he was his old precocious self; telling stories and singing all day and all night. An older widow had been assigned to be Jay’s temporary wife. He found her appealing and made the most of the arrangement. Eventually he traded Socks for four canoes—since T.T. virtually required one for himself—and made arrangements to get downriver before spring. He wanted to catch Eggshell before her and her girls up and moved when the weather broke in March. There was a great ceremony which included the presentation of a young teenager to Three-Rivers, who was supposed to act as his servant, and in return be educated by Three-Rivers, to one day return to his people as a prophet. The boy was named MoonBeaver, and came from the most prominent family of the town.

Jay and Carl took the lead canoe. The second canoe was paddled by T.T. and Lucia and carried their supplies. The third canoe was paddled by Eddie and MoonBeaver with Three-Rivers melting his beads in the middle and speaking to his squirrel and the river, and the fish and birds, and generally hamming it up as the ‘Thunder-Boy’. The last canoe was paddled by Bruco and Maria, with Angh sketching the scenery.

When, on the third day, they passed the Wheeling site and the place where the Mother People had had their village there was not a trace of either. This made him sad, as he glided by two lost chapters out of his past of which there was not even a trace. The skies were clear for their transit of the Upper Ohio. On the seventh day they reached Point Pleasant. Where there had once been a small Shawnee village at the confluence of the Kanawha and Ohio, there was now a larger complex, a walled town with a central mound that rose to a platform just above the height of the walls. It was just a single-story structure, and was not massive at the base. But it did make an impression. There was a pine trunk planted in the mound like a mast. Atop this pole shined something in the sunlight; it was a glowing platinum hoop suspended by rawhide laces like a halo.

Dallas, we have a situation…

They were welcomed with great anticipation. Three-Rivers stage-managed an entrance ceremony with glowing eyes, and squirrel tricks, stone-age propaganda and unfathomable religious bullshit, to the point where he was literally greeted as a savior of these people, who did not seem to be in any trouble at all. Eggshell had led the delegation to the riverbank, as Jay had led their party ashore. But they were both gradually edged out of the ceremony and left on the sidelines as spectators.

She nudged him playfully. “It appears that we are not needed just now Grandfather.”

“Well girl, when SquirlBoy comes ta town with ‘is magic circus ebry body else is secon’ fiddle.”

She whispered happily, “Grandfather, it is so nice to see you under such good conditions. I miss you. It is so strange that I am your granddaughter and am yet older than you, yet you have seen and done so much more.”

“Nice ta see you too girl. Look, level wit me. Why are you out here?”

“I know that Hope formed the Circle to travel, to aid all, to have no home, take no sides except against the Whiteman. But the Eastern tribes are already becoming corrupted. No, the Whites may not have taken land, but they have taken souls. Chiefs covet the Whiteman’s iron and seek his favor. Men grow greedy for power and things. Only the Sons of Fierce Woman remain true against the Whites and they are doomed; too few, too close. We chose to give our power to the Shawnee. They are fierce, but in the independent way, not conquerors like the Longhouse-men.

“Are you angered?”

It really does matter to her what you think of her and her decisions.

“Naw girl, I undastand. Jus’ do me one favor. Jus’ like many men now is bad, many men where I from is bad too. You got that hoop lit up. That’s how we found yah. Others not so good as us could find ya. Keep it turned off, okay?”

“Yes Grandfather, I did not consider such things, only wished a beacon for Three-Rivers since he had promised to return.”

“Well girl, he’s gonna use it to send some a dese folks back, den I sugges’ ya keep it off. I also expect ta leave ya some help, okay.”

“Yes Grandfather,” she said as she hugged him meekly, “you are so kind and wise when you are not possessed. I will provide you with a willing young wife for your nights among us. However, I hope that you shall spend your days with me. We will see little of one another before I pass on. Age is already upon me.”

“Sure girl—en if it makes ya feel any betta I’ll be doin’ my darndess ta beat ya ta da grave.”

She spoke off into space while her head rested against his chest and they looked out over the wide river, “I understand that to be a kind sentiment Grandfather, despite the utter barbarity of the statement. Bless you, and may I pass on first.”