I then replied: “I do not come commanding these things. It is the agent who says them. Do not blame me.”
The chief, who had regained his composure, interposed quietly: “My son, you are right. We should not blame you, but the one who sent you. Therefore I say take these words to the agent: ‘I will not give up the dance.’”
In the hope of persuading him, I asked: “Do you believe in the dance?”
“I do not know,” he replied. “I am watching, I am listening. It is like the white man’s religion—very wonderful and very difficult to believe. I wish to try it and see. The white men are very wise, yet their preachers say that the sun stood still for Joshua, and Christ, their great Medicine Man, healed the lame and raised the dead.”
“But that was long ago,” I hastened to say.
“If such wonders happened then they can happen now,” he answered. Then he passionately broke forth: “I desire this new earth. My people are in despair, their hearts are utterly gone. We need help. My warriors will soon be like the Chinaman at the fort, fit only to wash windowpanes. Our rations are being cut off. What is there to look forward to? Nothing. I saw in the east many poor people. They worked very hard and wore ragged clothes. All were not rich and happy. Among the white men my people would be only other poor people, ragged and hungry, creeping about, eating scraps of food like hungry curs. I fear for them, therefore my ears are open to the words of this new religion which assures me that the old world—the world of my fathers—is to return. You say the agent is displeased. Is there anything I can do which does not displease him? The white men have their religion—they pray and sing. Why should not we sing if we have heart to do so? Go ask him if he is afraid that the Messiah has come of a truth, and that the white man is to be swept away.”
“He thinks it is a war dance,” I said. “He is afraid it will stir up strife.”
“Go tell him what you have seen. Say to him that it is a peaceful dance. There are no weapons here; there is no talk of fighting. It is a magical prayer. Mato says those who lie out there are with the spirits. You heard them tell what they saw. If these tales are true and if we could all be as they, then would the white man’s world indeed vanish like smoke and the pasture of the buffalo come again. It is strange—that I know—but the white man’s religion is also very hard to believe. The priest will tell you stories just as wonderful, and the preacher, too. Their Messiah was born in a stable among cattle; ours appears among the mountains. Their Christ rose from the dead. So does ours. Their Christ came to the poor people, so they say. Are we so despised of God that we cannot have our Messiah, too? I do not say all this is true, I only wish to test it and see.”
I could see that his clear mind could not accept the new religion, yet his heart desired it deeply. Once he had said: “I do not understand your Christ and his teaching. I must have time to think; I will not be pushed into it,” and as he had often reproved his people for saying yes to everything the white man said, so now he was equally cautious, only he was older, with a deeper longing to be comforted.
My task was only half completed and I said: “Chief, the agent told me to say to you, ‘Put Mato away.’ I beg you to come with me and meet the agent and explain to him the meaning of the dance, and then maybe he will not insist on this inhospitable thing.”