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But the White man never guessed at what the Red man saw and heard and felt。 The White man brought death and emptiness to this place。 The White man cut down wise old trees with much to tell； young saplings with many lifetimes of life ahead； and the White man never asked； Will you be glad to make a lodgehouse for me and my tribe？ Hack and cut and chop and burn； that was the White man's way。 Take from the forest； take from the land； take from the river； but put nothing back。 The White man killed animals he didn't need； animals that did him no harm； yet if a bear woke hungry in the winter and took so much as a single young pig； the White man hunted him down and killed him in revenge。 He never felt the balance of the land at all。
No wonder the land hated the White man！ No wonder all the natural things of the land rebelled against his step： crackling underfoot； bending the wrong way； shouting out to the Red man； Here was where the enemy stood！ Here came the intruder； through these bushes； up this hill！ The White man joked that Reds could even track a man on water； then laughed as if it wasn't true。 But it was true； for when a White man passed along a river or a lake； it bubbled and foamed and rippled loud for hours after he had passed。
Now Hooch Palmer； poison…seller； sly killer； now he stands making his silly fire on another White man's saddles； thinking no one knows。 These White men with their weak little knacks。 These White men with their hexes and their wardings。 Didn't they know their hexes only fended off unnatural things？ If a thief es； knowing he does wrong； then a good strong fending hex makes his fear grow till he cries out and runs away。 But the Red man never is a thief。 The Red man belongs wherever he is in this land。 To him the hex is just a cold place； a stirring in the air； and nothing more。 To him a knack is like a fly； buzz buzz buzz。 Far above this fly； the power of the living land is a hundred hawks； watching； circling。
Ta…Kumsaw watched Hooch turn away； return to the fort。 Soon Hooch sells his poison in earnest。 Most of the Red men gathered here will be drunk。 Ta…Kumsaw will stay； keeping watch。 He does not have to speak to anyone。 They only see him； and those with any pride left will turn away without likkering。 Ta…Kurnsaw is not a chief yet。 But Ta…Kumsaw is not to be ignored。 Ta…Kumsaw is the pride of the Shaw…Nee。 All other Red men of every tribe must measure themselves against him。 Whisky…Reds are very small inside when they see this tall strong Red man。
He walked to the place where Hooch had stood； and let his calm replace the twisting Hooch put there。 Soon the buzzing； furious insects quieted。 The smell of the likkery man settled。 Again the water lapped the shore with accidental song。
How easy to heal the land after the White man passes。 If all the White men left today； by tomorrow the land would be at rest； and in a year it would not show any sign the White man ever came。 Even the ruins of the White man's buildings would be part of the land again； making homes for small animals； crumbling in the grip of the hungering vines。 White man's metal would be rust； White man's stone work would be low hills and small caves； White man's murders would be wistful； beautiful notes in the song of the redbird for the redbird remembered everything； turning it into goodness when it could。
All day Ta…Kumsaw stood outside the fort； watching Red men go in to buy their poison。 Men and women from every tribe Wee…Aw and Kicky…Poo； Potty…Wottamee and Chippy…Wa； Winny…Baygo and Pee…Orawa they went in carrying pelts or baskets and came out with no more than cups or jugs of likker； and sometimes with nothing more than what they already had in their bellies。 Ta…Kumsaw said nothing； but he could feel how the Reds who drank this poison were cut off from the land。 They did not twist the green of life the way the White man did； rather it was as if they did not exist at all。 The Red man who drank whisky was already dead； as far as the land knew。 No； not even dead； for they give nothing back to the land at all。 I stand here to watch them be ghosts； thought Ta…Kumsaw； not dead and not alive。 He said this only inside his head； but the land felt his grief； and the breeze answered him by weeping through the leaves。
e dusk； a redbird walks on the dirt in front of Ta…Kumsaw。
Tell me a story； says the redbird in its silent way； its eyes cocked upward at the silent Red man。
You know my story before I tell it； says Ta…Kumsaw silently。 You feel my tears before I shed them。 You taste my blood before it is spilled。
Why do you grieve for Red men who are not of the Shaw…Nee？
Before the White man came； says Ta…Kumsaw silently； we did not see that all Red men were alike； brothers of the land； because we thought all creatures were this way； so we quarreled with other Red men the way the bear quarrels with the cougar； the way the muskrat scolds the beaver。 Then the White man came； and I saw that all Red men are like twins pared to the White man。
What is the White man？ What does he do？
The White man is like a human being； but he crushes all other living things under his feet。
Then why； O Ta…Kumsaw； when I look into your heart； why is it that you do not wish to hurt the White man； that you do not wish to kill the White man？
The White man doesn't know the evil that he does。 The White man doesn't feel the peace of the land； so how can he tell the little deaths he makes？ I can't blame the White man。 But I can't let him stay。 So when I make him leave this land； I won't hate him。
If you are free of hate； O Ta…Kumsaw； you will surely drive the White man out。
I'll cause him no more pain than it takes to make him go away。
The redbird nods。 Once； twice； three times； four。 It flutters up to a branch as high as Ta…Kumsaw's head。 It sings a new song。 In this song Ta…Kumsaw hears no words； but he hears his own story being told。 From now on； his story is in the song of every redbird in the land； for what one redbird knows； all remember。
Whoever watched Ta…Kumsaw all that time had no idea of what he said and saw and heard。 Ta…Kumsaw's face showed nothing。 He stood where he had been standing； a redbird landed near him； stayed awhile； sang； and went away。
Yet this moment turned Ta…Kumsaw's life； he knew it right away。 Until this day he had been a young man。 His strength and calm and courage were admired； but he spoke only as any Shaw…Nee could speak； and having spoken； he then kept still and older men decided。 Now he would decide for himself； like a true chief； like a war chief。 Not a chief of the Shaw…Nee； or even a chief of the Red men of this north country； but rather the chief of all Red tribes in the war against the White man。 He knew for many years that such a war must e； but until this moment he had thought that it would be another man； a chief like Cornstalk； Blackfish； or even a Cree…Ek or Chok…Taw from the south。 But the redbird came to him； Ta…Kumsaw； and put him in the song。 Now wherever Ta…Kumsaw went throughout the land that knew the redbird song； his name would be well known to the wisest Red men。 He was war chief of all Red men who loved the land； the land