“Long, long ago the Cantanas were a powerful people. They built the largest canoes and travelled to the river’s end. They saw them. The story of their wandering came to me from my mother.”
“When we are men,” one of the boys said, “we will make a great canoe. Then you will take us to see the water that is so broad it has no other side.”
“No,” Oomah said sadly. “It is impossible, for since that day white men have come in countless numbers and settled along the borders of the Father of Waters. Little by little they are pushing up the river. Some day they will be even here.”
“Not so long as there is a Cantana alive,” the oldest of the youths replied. “We will fight them and drive them back.”
“I am glad to hear you say that and I would that I could be the leader against them. But, that too is not possible,” regretfully. “The white men are numerous as the stars in the heavens. They fight with sticks that roar like thunder and throw the lightning that kills instantly. Their boats vomit fire and smoke and are longer than from here to the water’s edge.”
“What terrible savages they must be,” one of the boys said breathlessly.
“Some day,” Oomah continued, a strange light brightening his face, “I will take you down the river to the border of the region where the white men live. We will travel at night and hide by day. From our places of concealment we will watch them but they shall not see us.”
“What would Choflo say?” one of the more timid ones asked.
“We will not ask Choflo,” another promptly replied. “He says too many things and always makes us do the things we hate to do.”
“You forget,” Oomah advised them, “that Choflo is leader of the tribe. So long as he lives he must be obeyed.”