In frontier days when the white man and the Indian met on a lonely trail it was natural for them to watch each other with suspicion as they rode side by side. To both the companionship seemed questionable, until finally some words of the red man convinced the white man that his companion was trustworthy. After that there were a sharing of food or water or tobacco and an admixture of comfort to the companionship.
The other agent had sworn at him and once had kicked at him—“for which I will kill him”—he added with quiet menace. “He has tried to steal away my children to teach them white man’s ways. I don’t want them to learn white man’s ways. White man lie, and steal and quarrel. Then the agent cut off my rations which are a part of our treaty and I was hungry. For all this I am angry at white men.”
When he had finished the agent said, “You’re all wrong, Howling Wolf. Some white men are bad, but many are good and want to do the Indian good. I am one of those who are set aside by the Great Father to see that your rights are secured. You may depend on me. Go ask Red Beard, Wolf Voice, or White Calf, they will tell you the kind of man I am. I’m going to be your friend whether you are my friend or not. I want you to come and see me. I want you to draw your rations and be friends with me. Will you do it? I want you to think about this to-night and come and see me again.”
For fully five minutes Howling Wolf sat thinking deeply with his eyes on the floor. His lips twitched occasionally and his broad breast heaved with profound emotion. It was hard to trust the white man even when he smiled, for his tongue had ever been forked like the rattlesnake and his hand exceedingly cunning. His deeds also were mysterious. Out of the east he came and monstrous things followed him—canoes that belched flame and thunder, iron horses that drew huge wagons, with a noise like a whirlwind. They brought plows that tore the sod, machines that swept away the grass. Their skill was diabolical. They all said, “dam Injun,” and in those words displayed their hearts. They desolated, uprooted and transformed. They made the red men seem like children and weak women by their necromancy. Was there no end to their coming? Was there no clear sky behind this storm? What mighty power pushed them forward?
And yet they brought good things. They brought sugar and flour and strange fruits. They knew how to make pleasant drinks and to raise many grains. They were not all bad. They were like a rainstorm which does much harm and great good also. Besides, here was this smiling man, his agent, waiting to hear what he had to say.
At last he was able to look up, and though he did not smile, his face was no longer sullen. He rose and extended his hand. “I will do as you say. I will go home and think. I will come to see you again and I will tell you all my mind.”
When he came two days later he met the agent with a smile. “How! My friend—How!” he said pleasantly.
The agent took him to his inner office where none might hear and made the sign “Be seated.”
Howling Wolf sat down and began by saying, “I could not come yesterday, for I had not yet finished thinking over your words. When night came I did as you said. I lay alone in my tepee looking up at a star just above and my thoughts were deep and calm. You are right, Howling Wolf is wrong. Nobody ever explained these things to me before. All white men said, ‘Go here,’ ‘Do that,’ ‘Don’t go there,’ ‘Don’t do that,’—they never explained and I did not understand their reasons for doing so. No white man ever shook hands with me like a friend. They all said, ‘Dam Injun’—all Shi-an-nay know those words. You are not so. You are a just man—everybody tells me so. I am glad of this. It makes my heart warm and well. I have taken on hope for my people once more. I had a heart of hate toward all the white race—now all that is gone. It is buried deep under the ground. I want to be friends with all the world and I want you to make me a paper—will you do it?”
“Certainly,” replied the agent. “What shall it be?”