White Buffalo said he would remain with the soldiers until morning, and soon the camp settled down once again to rest. His foot was badly cut, but when Dave had put on some salve that had been placed among the stores, he said it felt much better.
“David is right,” he said, while talking to the youth. “This war is not yet in sight of the end. The French agents have been again among the red men. They bring valuable presents and much drink, and promise many things to the Indian if he will but fight with them against the English.”
“But White Buffalo, you will not listen to them,” cried Dave.
“Has not White Buffalo spoken before?” said the Indian chief in a hurt tone. “And when he has spoken, his mind is as fast as the rock upon which he sits.”
“I knew it!” cried the young soldier. “Oh, I wish all the Indians were as trustworthy as you.”
“The red man’s heart is full of trouble,” went on the Indian chief sadly. “White Buffalo will stand by the English, but when the war is at an end, when the hatchet is buried and the smoke of the pipe of peace floats on the evening air, who shall give to the Indian the land that is rightfully his own? If the French win they will keep the land, and if the English win they will keep the land, and White Buffalo and his brethren will have nothing—the maize land and the hunting land will all be gone from him.”
“It is a pity, White Buffalo, there is no denying it,” put in Henry. “You ought to have the land just as well as the white man. But the trouble is, you won’t cultivate it as we do.”
At this the chief drew himself up. “The Indian is a hunter, not a farmer,” he said proudly. “He lives by the chase and by what Nature grows for him.”
“That’s just what causes the trouble, White Buffalo. A man who plants land can live on a few acres, but one who lives by hunting must have miles and miles of plains and forests for his roamings. I like hunting myself, you know I do, so I can understand some of your feelings. But as more people come over here, or are born on the land, we’ll have to do less and less of hunting, and more planting and stock raising. In Europe there are so many people they couldn’t possibly live by hunting even if they wanted to. What would you do if there were so many Indians here?”
“The Great Spirit who rules the happy hunting ground takes care of that.” The chief paused. “And then there are wars.”