Surely, as the colonel had
said, the Indians had reason for their hatred of the pioneers.
Truly, they were a blighted race.
Seldom had the rights of the redmen been thought of. The settler
pushed onward, plodding, as it were, behind his plow with a rifle.
He regarded the Indian as little better than a beast; he was easier
to kill than to tame. How little the settler knew the proud
independence, the wisdom, the stainless chastity of honor, which
belonged so truly to many Indian chiefs!
The redmen were driven like hounded deer into the untrodden wilds.
From freemen of the forests, from owners of the great boundless
plains, they passed to stern, enduring fugitives on their own lands.
Small wonder that they became cruel where once they had been gentle!
Stratagem and cunning, the night assault, the daylight ambush took
the place of their one-time open warfare. Their chivalrous courage,
that sublime inheritance from ancestors who had never known the
paleface foe, degenerated into a savage ferocity.
Interesting as was this history to Jim, he cared more for
Glickhican's rich portrayal of the redmen's domestic life, for the
beautiful poetry of his tradition and legends. He heard with delight
the exquisite fanciful Indian lore. From these romantic legends,
beautiful poems, and marvelous myths he hoped to get ideas of the
Indian's religion.
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