Alvin Journeyman: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume IV by Orson Scott Card

liked people like that.”
    “You want to hear how you
ought
to tell your tale?”
    “I’m listening.”
    “The Reds were at war with the Whites. They weren’t using the land but they didn’t want White farmers to use it, either. They just couldn’t share even though there was plenty of room. Tenskwa-Tawa claimed to be peaceful, but you knew that he was gathering all those thousands of Reds together in order to be Ta-Kumsaw’s army. You had to do
something
to rile up the Whites there to put a stop to this menace. So yes, you had two boys kidnapped, but you never gave orders for anybody to be killed—”
    “If I say
that
the blood just leaps onto my hands on the spot—”
    “I’m sure you’ve thought of all the possible lies, but hear me out,” said Calvin.
    “Go on.”
    “You didn’t order anybody killed. That was just lies your enemies told about you. Lies originating with Alvin Miller Junior, now called Alvin Smith. After all, Alvin was the Boy Renegado, the White boy who went everywhere with Ta-Kumsaw for a year. He was Ta-Kumsaw’s friend—we’ll use the
wore friend
because we’re in decent company—so of course he lied about you. It was your battle at Tippy-Canoe that broke the back of Ta-Kumsaw’s plans. If you hadn’t struck then and there, Ta-Kumsaw would have been victorious later at Fort Detroit, and Ta-Kumsaw would have driven all the civilized folks out of the land west of the Appalachees and Red armies would be descending on the cities of the east, raiding out ofthe mountains and—why, thanks to you and your courage at Tippy-Canoe, the Reds have been driven west of the Mizzipy. You opened up all the western lands to safe colonization.”
    “My hands would be dripping before I said all that.”
    “So what? Hold them up and say, ‘Look what the Red Witch Tenskwa-Tawa did to punish me. He covered my hands with blood. But I’m glad to pay that price. The blood on my hands is the reason why White men are building civilization right to the shores of the Mizzipy. The blood on my hands is the reason why people in the east can sleep easy at night, without so much as a thought about Reds coming and raping and killing the way those savages always did.’ ”
    Harrison chuckled. “Every word you’ve said is the profoundest bull hockey, my boy, I hope you know that.”
    “You just need to decide whether you’re going to let Tenskwa-Tawa have the final victory over you.”
    “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”
    “I don’t know. I came looking for you thinking you might know something of power, but when I heard you tell that weaselly weakling tale I knew that you didn’t know nothing that a
man
could use. In fact, I knew more than
you.
So, seeing how I was going to ask you to share, it seemed only fair to share right back.”
    “How kind of you.” His sarcasm was inescapable.
    “I don’t think so. I just picture the look on my brother Alvin’s face when you tell everbody he was the Boy Renegado. You say
that,
and nobody’ll believe him if he testifies against you. In fact, he’ll have to hide himself, when you think of all the terrible things folks believe about the Boy Renegado. How he was the crudest Red of them all, killing and torturing so even the Shaw-Nee puked.”
    “I remember those tales.”
    “You hold up those bloody hands, my friend, and then make them mean what
you
want them to mean.”
    Harrison shook his head. “I can’t live with the blood.”
    “So you
have
a conscience, eh?”
    Harrison laughed. “The blood gets in my
food.
It stains my clothes. It makes people sick.”
    “If I were you, I’d eat with gloves on and I’d wear dark clothes.”
    Harrison was through eating. So was Calvin.
    “So you want me to do this to hurt your brother.”
    “Not hurt him. Just keep him silent and out of sight. You’ve spent, what, eight years living like a dog. Now it’s his turn.”
    “There’s no going back,” said Harrison. “Once I tell lies,