Some Five Similar
Meetings Were Held Here, Two Of Them In The Daytime, And We Began To
Feel Quite At Home In The Big Block-House With Our Hospitable And
Warlike Friends.
At the last meeting an old white-haired shaman of grave and venerable
aspect, with a high wrinkled forehead, big, strong Roman nose and
light-colored skin, slowly and with great dignity arose and spoke for
the first time.
"I am an old man," he said, "but I am glad to listen to those strange
things you tell, and they may well be true, for what is more
wonderful than the flight of birds in the air? I remember the first
white man I ever saw. Since that long, long-ago time I have seen
many, but never until now have I ever truly known and felt a white
man's heart. All the white men I have heretofore met wanted to get
something from us. They wanted furs and they wished to pay for them
as small a price as possible. They all seemed to be seeking their own
good - not our good. I might say that through all my long life I have
never until now heard a white man speak. It has always seemed to me
while trying to speak to traders and those seeking gold-mines that it
was like speaking to a person across a broad stream that was running
fast over stones and making so loud a noise that scarce a single word
could be heard.
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