Inza did not seem to hear Merriwell’s words, and she was giving him no attention. She had called Hodge to her side, and was speaking to Bart.
As Frank turned toward the girl he heard her say:
“It’s a disgrace to civilization that the American Indian is treated in such a shameful manner! The Indians have been robbed, and deceived, and butchered, and lied to, till they have no confidence in white men; and now, because once in a while an Indian imitates a white man and gets drunk, it is said all Indians are bad! It makes my blood boil to think of it. John Swiftwing is a specimen of the educated Indian, and he shows what the government might do with these unfortunates if it tried. I think the United States ought to be ashamed of itself! I am ashamed of it, so there!”
Hodge laughed.
“You have grown very enthusiastic over this subject of late,” he said. “It seems to me that all your enthusiasm has been aroused since you first saw John Swiftwing.”
Inza echoed his laugh, but added color came to her cheeks.
“Perhaps you are right,” she admitted. “I confess I did not know there were any Indians like Mr. Swiftwing. He was a revelation to me.”
“There are a few like him, but he is not just what he seems, you may be sure of that, Inza.”
“Now stop right there, Bart Hodge! Don’t tell me that he is still a savage at heart. I know better! You can’t make me believe that after seeing all the fine things there are in the East and learning how much superior the method of living among white men is to the way the Indians live that a highly intelligent fellow like John Swiftwing could desire to come back here and live as his people live.”
“I shall not try to make you believe it, Inza,” smiled Bart, “for I have learned that it is not an easy thing to change your mind once you have it set on anything.”