Once Three-Rivers had come to Sunset and had learned of the sad fate of the peoples of Mother Earth at the hands of the Whiteman he, being a prophet, looked for hints in the Sunset record of things done called history, for places of power. These places of power he reasoned—much like a Sunset medicine-man called scientist I might add—would be those places through which he had passed and experienced significant spiritual encounters in his journey through Mother Earth with DeathSong; that grim White killer being his spiritual link to Sunset. These would also be places where bad things had happened to the Natural People of Sunset, and to other slaves of the Whiteman.

It is so frightful to think that bleak old Sunset holds the key to saving Mother Earth from a like fate.

Crossing Rock, called Harper’s Ferry by the Whites of Sunset, was one such place. There, back in Mother Earth, DeathSong had tricked the war-tribe of Don Tinoco after Meadow Hawk had come to Three-Rivers in a dream. In Sunset Past this place had been a major staging area of the Whiteman for his wars against the Red Men, and some freedom-seeking Blacks had come to woe there also. Crossing Rock was a place of power where he would seek medicine in the future. Even the Whiteman had recognized it by declaring it a non-aging-penned-in-sacred-place called park. Besides, in Three-Rivers’ mind, Crossing Rock would always be the place where Meadow Hawk had killed the Lesser Demon of Sunset. This place was forever set forth in his mind as a place of power.

You must be like Meadow Hawk, gaining victory for others through understanding and trickery, not through fury.

Then there was Corn Town of the Summer People, where he had been enlightened by Black Fang, and where Eggshell had consecrated Thunderer’s Sun-fire Hoop upon the sacred mound. The Whiteman of Sunset called this place Point Pleasant, in accordance with its nice climate, and had named it a park. At this place both White Men and Red Men had come to woe in a great battle of Sunset Past. Here Three-Rivers made his chief camp in Sunset and in Mother Earth. In both places he called his camp AllPeople Town. In Sunset it consisted of a group of wheeled houses called RVs—the most domestic of thunderbeasts—pulled together in the campground of the park. This town was secret. Back in Mother Earth the town was closer to the river and walled; a proper principal town for a prophet. This was the place of power dearest to his heart.

You must keep your promise that the Whiteman shall never rubout your people from this sacred place.

There were other sacred places though that he had not seen in many lifetimes, at least as lifetimes passed on Mother Earth. He wished to see the sacred places of his youth, beginning with the town that the Good River People had named after him. This was not strictly the case. When he was a new baby, WhiteSkyCanoe had taken him to that place where the Mudslide-river and the Beautiful-river flowed together to form the Good River, and had named him Two-rivers-flowing-together-to-become-one, or Deganawida in the Longhouse tongue. Of course, since Sunset People and White Men in general, tend to be very stupid where names are concerned, and lazy-in-language besides, he had always translated it for his White friends as Three-Rivers. This was his primary place of power. He had been to it only a few winters past, and would still be acquainted with its inhabitants if he returned now.

This shall be your first step in your world-canoeing quest, and you must accomplish it in a state of purity, with your totem only, with no companions or protectors or disciples to ease your way.

Yes Father, I understand. I shall go as you did before you acquired the services of the White Face Society, only in my sun-fire time canoe rather than in your white birch river canoe.

The White Faces were dear to me, loyal, and lent me strength of heart. This was purposefully good at times. But in later years they became the strong stick that an old man leans upon and my need for them made me a servant to the evil chiefs of common men. Learn this lesson boy, when a medicine-man goes alone he gathers power, when a prophet goes alone he gains vision. Go alone.

I will sneak off alone Father, by way of Sunset and the power of the thunderbeasts, and then I shall return to my naming place.

When he emerged from his communion he found himself surrounded by his disciples who all now insisted on touching him. He permitted this as he blessed them, although it was time-consuming—who is thinking like a hurrying Sunset Whiteman now?—and embarrassing, to be the object of such attention. Deep inside he felt unworthy, knowing that he was possibly just a tricky boy who had stumbled upon the best trick of them all.

They love you and you love them, so this cannot be wrong.

Yet I feel unworthy Father.

Silence within.

He had been some moons at AllPeople Town, and Sister Spring was now breathing her life across the meadows. It would be a good time to be alone. He turned to George Silver and T.T. Redbone, who were never far from him.

“Mister Redbone and Medicine-man George, it is time for me to return to wicked Sunset. George, please have Eggshell make the announcement. T.T. please paddle me over to the far bank. I would like to hitchhike up Route Seven on the Ohio side of the river.”

T.T.’s voice was not the rumbling thunder that one would expect to come from the mouth of such a giant, but rather a soft strong voice close to The Beginner.

“Three-Rivers I will do as you ask. But please, do not hitchhike. It is dangerous. It is safer to walk, and make sure you walk against traffic.”

Do not afflict him with sorrow. You have to trick him into believing you will take the safe course for his peace-of-mind without overtly lying, like the hunter to the nagging wife.

“T.T. you are wise and I will strive to be likewise.”

Good, you did not commit the sin of lying to a disciple and he believed you called ‘bought it’.

T.T. immediately began to gather him to place on his shoulders for the push through the crowd. Seeing this Mister Gerald Hicks the Sunset squirrel hopped on the big man’s bald head and sat on his haunches face-to-face with Three-Rivers. The Sunset squirrel, resplendent in his tuxedo and silk-banded pimp hat, which did match Three-River’s black and red tuxedo and hat—now adorned with sacred quills and feathers and wampum—twitched his whiskers angrily, “So we leavin’ boy, jus like dat? Takin’ me back ta Whitey Worl witout no neva-min’?”

“Why yes Gerald.”

“Den yo uppity ass min’ tellin’ me why?”

“Father has summoned me for a vision quest.”

“Oh yeah, da famous daddy—I fogot ‘bout yo ass bein’ possessed en all. So ansa me dis boy, why do it jus’ so happen dat da corn beer ‘bout ta be ready ta drink, en Dead Daddy gives da call? I tought yo was some hippie kid, not some holy rolla’s boy.”

“As you say Gerald, it is true that Father called just as we were ‘fixin’ ta ged drunk’. I do not think, however, that keeping us sober was his aim. As much as he would decry the use of alcohol visions by the Masters of the Whiteman to keep Natural People distracted in your world, I think he realizes that I am a trained vision-seeker, and am in no great danger from beer. And you of course died from drinking wine, so you are an expert on the subject of seeking visions through drink. So Gerald, I see no reason why we can’t ‘ged loaded’ when we return to Sunset, which will be very shortly.”

The fat old squirrel twitched his nose in irritation and squinted his eyes into slits.

“But of course Gerald, you are my totem after all; my spiritual advisor. Whatever you ask shall be yours.”

Gerald chirped, “Deal,” and extended his little claw to shake on the vision-seeking trade just discussed.

Three-Rivers gave Gerald his forefinger and they shook as the children below laughed and cheered, for Gerald was dear to them. Knowing now that he was the center of attention Gerald scampered about to the top of Three-Rivers’ head and to each of T.T.’s gigantic shoulders, and back to the top of the man’s head, striking various dignified posses and pointing his nose and chattering as the boys and girls cheered him on. Eventually, they were on the riverbank climbing into a canoe for the journey across. Holy men and youths were also taking canoes as well, wanting to see his leaving. As they settled into the canoe Gerald looked up at him and pointed a claw at T.T., “So we takin’ dis big cornfed country somebitch wit us?”

“No Mister Hicks, this is a vision-quest not a hunt or warpath journey.”

“Ain’t you da captain a dumbass ideas boy! Whad if some White-boys gonna jack us fo our shit? What we gonna do den genius?”

“Why Gerald, I have you to protect me.”

“Sheeee. I a fitty-year-ole pot-bellied squirrel dat don’ weigh mo den tree pound. Whad I goona do ‘genz some nasty-ass White-boy towerin’ above like some Kay-Kay-Kay Godzilla?”

Three-Rivers, noting that his totem was anxious, produced the solution in the form of a ‘reefer’ for smoking that had been given to him by Eddie, for just such a moment. Gerald’s ears went back and his whiskers went up as he sat high and sniffed the air. Three-Rivers then lit the tiny dream-cigar and placed it between Gerald’s acorn-cracking teeth, and said, as the squirrel sucked greedily, “So Gerald, what do you say about those White-boys now?”

Gerald placed both claws around the base of the reefer and reclined against T.T.’s massive moccasin as he puffed away. “Well boy, like I said, deese claws is lethal—made fo whoopin’ ass! En boy I can chow down with deese ‘ere choppers—en dey didn’ call me a rollin’ stone fer nottin’ boy! I rolled ova some chumps in da street when I were young. Yessiree, I got you back boy. You got you an eye-scratchin’, ear-rippin’ ball-bitin’ machine up in ‘ere son. Whachyou got ‘ere is a can a whoopass you can keep in yo pocket ratha den some big Rican who ‘ill eat you outta house-en-home en drink up yo liquor on Wenzday night!”

And on Gerald went, for perhaps an hour, telling tales of his victories in the drinking-houses and smoking-houses and refuse-streets called alleys that constituted the favorite haunts of his youth in the Sunset Town of Burnt Men called Baltimore. Three-Rivers translated from squirrel to English for the man that paddled their canoe. Mister Redbone just shook his head and smiled, knowing the squirrel to be a coward, but enjoying his boasts none-the-less.