ix ears to the stalk； thicker and milkier than any corn had ever been before。 Buffalo and deer wandered into the city from a hundred miles around； walked to the cooking fires； and lay down waiting for the knife。 When the geese flew overhead； a few from every flock would e to land on the Wobbish and the Tippy…Canoe； waiting for the arrow。 The fish swam up from the Hio to leap into the nets of Prophetstown。
All that would mean nothing； if the White man ever brought his cannons to fire grapeshot and shrapnel through the fragile wigwams and lodges of the Red city。 The searing metal would cut through the delicate walls that deadly driven rain would not be held out by sticks and mud。 Every Red man in Prophetstown would regret his oath on that day。
Ta…Kumsaw led them through the forest。 The White boy ran directly behind him。 Ta…Kurnsaw deliberately set a killing pace； twice as fast as they had run before； bringing the boy and his brother to Mizogan。 They had two hundred miles to Fort Detroit； and Ta…Kumsaw was determined to cover that distance in a single day。 No White man could do it no White man's horse； either。 A mile every five minutes； on and on； the wind whipping through the topknot of his hair。 It would kill a man to run so fast for half an hour； except that the Red man called on the strength of the land to help him。 The ground pushed back against his feet； adding to his strength。 The bushes parted； making paths； space appeared where there was no space； Ta…Kumsaw raced across streams and rivers so quickly that his feet did not touch the bottom of the stream； merely sank just deep enough to find purchase on the water itself。 His hunger to arrive at Fort Detroit was so strong that the land answered by feeding him； giving him strength。 And not just Ta…Kumsaw； but every man behind him； every Red man who knew the feel of the land within him； he found the same strength as his leader； stepped in the same path； footfall by footfall； like one great soul walking a long slender highway through the wood。
I will have to carry the White boy； thought Ta…Kumsaw。 But the footsteps behind him for Whites made noise when they ran kept up； falling into a rhythm identical with his own。
That； of course； was not possible。 The boy's legs were too short； he had to take more strides to cover the same ground。 Yet each step of Ta…Kumsaw's was matched so closely that he heard the sound of the White boy's feet as if they were his own。
Minute after minute； mile after mile； hour after hour； the boy kept on。
The sun set behind them； over the left shoulder。 The stars came out； but no moon； and the night was dark under the trees。 Still they didn't slow； found their way easily through the wood； because it wasn't their own eyes or their own mind finding the way； it was the land itself drawing them through the safe places in the darkness。 Several times in the night； Ta…Kumsaw noticed that the boy was no longer making noise。 He called out in Shaw…Nee to the man who ran behind the White boy Alvin； and always the man answered； 〃He runs。〃
The moon came up； casting patches of dim light onto the forest floor。 They overtook a storm the ground grew moist under their feet； then wet； they ran through showers； heavy rain； showers again； and then the land was dry。 They never slackened their pace。 The sky in the east turned grey； then pink； then blue； and the sun leapt upward。 The day was warming and the sun already three hands above the horizon when they saw the smoke of cookfires； then the slack fleur…de…lis flag； and finally the cross of the cathedral。 Only then did they slow down。 Only then did they break the perfect unison of their step； loose the grip of the land in their minds； and e to rest in a meadow so near the town that they could hear the organ playing in the cathedral。
Ta…Kumsaw stopped； and the boy stopped behind him。 How had Alvin； a White boy； traveled like a Red man through the night？ Ta…Kumsaw knelt before the boy。 Tbough Alvin's eyes were open； he seemed not to see anything。 〃Alvin；〃 said Ta…Kumsaw； speaking English。 The boy didn't answer。 〃Alvin； are you asleep？〃
Several warriors gathered around。 They were； all somewhat quiet and spent from the journey。 Not exhausted； because the land replenished them along the way。 Their quiet was more from awe at having been so closely tied to the land； such a journey was known to be a holy thing； a gift from the land to its noblest children。 Many a Red had set out on such a journey and been turned away； forced to stop and sleep and rest and eat； stopped by darkness or bad weather； because his need for the journey wasn't great enough； or his journey was contrary to what the land itself needed。 Ta…Kumsaw； though； had never been refused； they all knew it。 This was much of the reason Ta…Kumsaw was held in as high esteem as his brother。 The Prophet did miraculous things； but no one saw his visions； he could only tell about them。 What Ta…Kumsaw did； though； his warriors did with him； felt with him。
Now； though； they were as puzzled by the White boy as Ta…Kumsaw was。 Had Ta…Kumsaw sustained the boy by his own power？ Or had the land； unbelievably； reached out and supported a White child for his own sake？
〃Is the White like his skin； or Red in his heart？〃 asked one。 He spoke Shaw…Nee； and not in the quick way； but rather in the slow and holy language of the shamans。
To Ta…Kumsaw's surprise； Alvin responded to his words； looking at the man who spoke instead of staring straight ahead。 〃White；〃 murmured Alvin。 He spoke English。
〃Does he speak our language？〃 asked a man。
Alvin appeared confused by the question。 〃Ta…Kumsaw；〃 he said。 He looked up to see the angle of the sun。 〃It's morning。 Was I asleep？〃
〃Not asleep；〃 said Ta…Kumsaw in Shaw…Nee。 Now the boy appeared not to understand at all。 〃Not asleep；〃 Ta…Kumsaw repeated in English。
〃I feel like I was asleep；〃 he said。 〃Only I'm standing up。〃
〃You don't feel fired？ You don't want to rest？〃
〃Tired？ Why would I be tired？〃
Ta…Kumsaw didn't want to explain。 If the boy didn't know what he had done； then it was a gift of the land。 Or perhaps there was something to what the Prophet had said about him。 That Ta…Kumsaw should teach him to be Red。 If he could match grown Shaw…Nee； step for step； in such a run as that； perhaps this boy of all Whites could learn to feel the land。
Ta…Kumsaw stood and spoke to the others。 〃I'm going into the city； with only four others。〃
〃And the boy；〃 said one。 Others repeated his words。 They all knew the Prophet's promise to Ta…Kumsaw； that as long as the boy was with him he wouldn't die。 Even if he were tempted to leave the boy behind； they'd never let him do it。
〃And the boy；〃 Ta…Kumsaw agreed。
Detroit was not a fort like the pathetic wooden stockades of the Americans。 It was made of stone； like the cathedral； with huge cannon pointing outward toward the river that connected Lake Huron and Lake St。 Clair with Lake Canada； and smaller cannon aimed inland； ready to fend off attackers on land。
But it was the city； not the fort； that impressed them。 A dozen streets of houses； wooden ones； with shops and stores； and in the center of all； a cathedral so massive that it made a mockery of Reverend Thrower's church。 Black…robed priests went about their business like crows in the streets。 The swarthy Frenchmen didn't show the same hostility toward Reds that Americans often seemed to have。 Ta…Kumsaw understood that this was because the French in Detroit weren't there to settle。 They didn't think of Reds as rivals for possession of the land。 The French here were all biding their time till they went back to Europe； or at least back to the White…settled lands of Quebec and Ontario across the river； except the trappers； of course； and for them the Reds were not enemies； either。 Trappers held Reds in awe； trying to learn how Reds found game so easily； when the trappers had such a devilish time knowing where to lay their snares。 They thought； as White men always do； that it was some kind of trick the Reds performed； and if they only studied Red men long enough； these White trappers would learn how to do it。 They would never learn。 How could the land accept the