“Now that everybody's comfortable,” said Harrison, “why don't you set down and tell us what you came for, Ta-Kumsaw.”

Ta-Kumsaw didn't sit. Didn't close the door, didn't take a step farther into the room. “I speaking for Shaw-Nee, Caska-Skeeaw, Pee-Orawa, Winny-Baygo.”

“Now, Ta-Kumsaw, you know that you don't even speak for all the Shaw-Nee, and you sure don't speak for the others.”

“All tribes who sip General Wayne's treaty.” TaKumsaw went on as if Harrison hadn't said a thing. “Treaty says Whites don't sell whisky to Reds.”

“That's right,” said Harrison. “And we're keeping that treaty.”

Ta-Kumsaw didn't look at Hooch, but he lifted his hand and pointed at him. Hooch felt the gesture as if TaKumsaw had actually touched him with that finger. It didn't make him mad this time, it plain scared him. He heard that some Reds had a come-hither so strong that didn't no hex protect you, so they could lure you off into the woods alone and slice you to bits with their knives, just to hear you scream. That's what Hooch thought of, when he felt Ta-Kumsaw point to him with hatred.

“Why are you pointing at my old friend Hooch Palmer?” asked Harrison.

“Oh, I reckon nobody likes me today,” Hooch said. He laughed, but it didn't dispel his fear after all.

“He bring his flatboat of whisky,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“Well, he brought a lot of things,” said Harrison. “But if he brought whisky, it'll be delivered to the sutler here in the fort and not a drop of it will be sold to the Reds, you can be sure. We uphold that treaty, Ta-Kumsaw, even though you Reds aren't keeping it too good lately. It's got so flatboats can't travel alone down the Hio no more, my friend, and if things don't let up, I reckon the army's going to have to take some action.”

“Burn a village?” asked Ta-Kumsaw. “Shoot down our babies? Our old people? Our women?”

“Where do you get these ideas?” said Harrison. He sounded downright offended, even though Hooch knew right well that Ta-Kumsaw was describing the typical army operation.

Hooch spoke right up, in fact. “You Reds burn out helpless farmers in their cabins and pioneers on their flatboats, don't you? So why do you figure your villages should be any safer, you tell me that!”

Ta-Kumsaw still didn't look at him. “English law says, Kill the man who steals your land, you are not bad. Kill a man to steal his land, and you are very bad. When we kill White farmers, we are not bad. When you kill Red people who live here a thousand years, you are very bad. Treaty says, stay all east of My-Ammy River, but they don't stay, and you help them.”

“Mr. Palmer here spoke out of turn,” said Harrison. “No matter what you savages do to our people– torturing the men, raping the women, carrying off the children to be slaves– we don't make war on the helpless. We are civilized, and so we behave in a civilized manner.”

“This man will sell his whisky to Red men. Make them lie in dirt like worms. He will give his whisky to Red women. Make them weak like bleeding deer, do all things he says.”

“If he does, we will arrest him,” said Harrison. “We will try him and punish him for breaking the law.”

"If he does, you not will arrest him," said Ta-Kumsaw. "You will share pelts with him. You will keep him safe. "

“Don't call me a liar,” said Harrison.

“Don't lie,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“If you go around talking to White men like this, TaKumsaw, old boy, one of them's going to get real mad at you and blast your head off.”

“Then I know you will arrest him. I know you will try him and punish him for breaking the law.” Ta-Kumsaw said it without cracking a smile, but Hooch had traded with the Reds enough to know their kind of joke.

Harrison nodded gravely. It occurred to Hooch that Harrison might not realize it was a joke. He might think Ta-Kumsaw actually believed it. But no, Harrison knew he and Ta-Kumsaw was lying to each other; and it came into Hooch's mind that when both parties are lying and they both know the other party's lying, it comes powerful close to being the same as telling the truth.

What was really hilarious was that Jackson actually did believe all this stuff. “That's right,” said the Tennizy lawyer. “Rule of law is what separates civilized men from savages. Red men just aren't advanced enough yet, and if you aren't willing to be subject to White man's law, you'll just have to make way.”

For the first time, Ta-Kumsaw looked one of them in the eye. He stared coldly at Jackson and said, “These men are liars. They know what is true, but they say it is not true. You are not a liar. You believe what you say.”

Jackson nodded gravely. He looked so vain and upright and godly that Hooch couldn't resist it, he hottened up the chair under Jackson just a little, just enough that Jackson had to wiggle his butt. That took off a few layers of dignity. But Jackson still kept his airs. “I believe what I say because I tell the truth.”

“You say what you believe. But still it is not true. What is your name?”

“Andrew Jackson.”

Ta-Kumsaw nodded. “Hickory.”

Jackson looked downright surprised and pleased that Ta-Kumsaw had heard of him. “Some folks call me that.” Hooch hottened up his chair a little more.

“Blue Jacket says, Hickory is a good man.”

Jackson still had no idea why his chair was so uncomfortable, but it was too much for him. He popped right up, stepped away from the chair, kind of shaking his legs with each step to cool himself off. But still he kept talking with all the dignity in the world. “I'm glad Blue Jacket feels that way. He's chief of the Shaw-Nee down in Tennizy country, isn't he?”

“Sometimes,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“What do you mean sometimes?” said Harrison. “Either he's a chief or he isn't.”

“When he talks straight, he is chief,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“Well, I'm glad to know he trusts me,” said Jackson. But his smile was a little wan, because Hooch was busy hotting up the floor under his feet, and unless old Hickory could fly, he wasn't going to be able to get away from that. Hooch didn't plan to torment him long. Just until he saw Jackson take a couple of little hops, and then try to explain why he was dancing right there in front of a young Shaw-Nee warrior and Governor William Henry Harrison.

Hooch's little game got spoiled, though, cause at that very moment, Lolla-Wossiky toppled forward and rolled out from under the table. He had an idiotic grin on his face, and his eyes were closed. “Blue Jacket!” he cried. Hooch took note that drink had finally slurred his speech. “Hickory!” shouted the one-eyed Red.

“You are my enemy,” said Ta-Kumsaw, ignoring his brother.

“You're wrong,” said Harrison. “I'm your friend. Your enemy is up north of here, in the town of Vigor Church. Your enemy is that renegade Armor-of-God Weaver.”

“Armor-of-God Weaver sells no whisky to Reds.”

"Neither do I," said Harrison. "But he's the one making maps of all the country west of the Wobbish. So he can parcel it up and sell it after he's killed all the Reds. "

Ta-Kumsaw paid no attention to Harrison's attempt to turn him against his rival to the north. “I come to warn you,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“Warn me?” said Harrison. “You, a Shaw-Nee who doesn't speak for anybody, you warn me, right here in my stockade, with a hundred soldiers ready to shoot you down if I say the word?”

“Keep the treaty,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“We do keep the treaty! It's you who always break the treaties!”

“Keep the treaty,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

“Or what?” asked Jackson.

“Or every Red west of the mountains will come together and cut you to pieces.”

Harrison leaned back his head and laughed and laughed. Ta-Kumsaw showed no expression.

“Every Red, Ta-Kumsaw?” asked Harrison. “You mean, even Lolly here? Even my pet Shaw-Nee, my tame Red, even him?”

For the first time Ta-Kumsaw looked at his brother, who lay snonng on the floor. “The sun comes up every day, White man. But is it tame? Rain falls down every time. But is it tame?”