"Water is Life. Tahoma, the Big White Mountain! the source of water.
When I die, the Earth will take care of my body."
Chief Sluskin, the Yakima.
WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?
Hon. Cato Sells recently visited the Yakima Indian Reservation ostensibly in the interest of the Indian, but so far as can be learned no Indian was consulted, no tribesman invited to council, none permitted to air their many just grievances. None knew of his coming and but few learned of his going, and this, through a few friendly whites. Perhaps the Commissioner had not the time to devote to his Red Wards. Banquets with officials and speculators in Indian lands could not be foregone. In Toppenish a few of the Yakimas were informed of the stranger's personnel as he and his "escorts," or "body guard," as one observer commented, stepped into the Agency car and was whirled away. One of the tribesmen exclaimed:
"What does this mean? Why does our Commissioner do this thing? I thought he was our commissioner, to look after us. What is he here for? What is he doing? I know some of those men with him. I know who they are, what they are doing to the Injuns. We want to tell Mr. Sells something about how we are treated, how we are robbed, but Mr. Carr keeps him from us. Why is this? What is wrong with Mr. Sells."
Let Mr. Cato Sells explain his course to this untutored Yakima.
There is "something rotten in Denmark" when an Indian who has a thousand dollars due him at the Agency is compelled to borrow fifty dollars with which to purchase grain sacks before he can thrash his wheat crop.
"It is Hell to be an Injun!" was the rueful self diagnosis of a Yakima allottee as he dejectedly surveyed his torn hog fence and ruined garden, ground and demolished by one of the Government dredges. The crew, finding a bridge on the public road possibly unsafe, had, without consulting the Indian or asking his permission, opened his fence, entered his premises with the many toned machine, passed over a part of his garden, obliterating it, leaving the fence broken permitting his hogs to scatter at large. The Indian was not aware of this occurrence until hours afterwards when he found his hogs wandering on the highway. When the dredge-crew was spoken to he was referred to the Indian Farmer. When this official was approached, he was referred to the Agency Superintendent. Appealing to this worthy, he was informed that he "knew nothing about it." And yet it is expected of the Indian that he be law abiding, show love and reverence for the Flag and the Government—to lick the hand that vivisects him. Surely it is "Hell to be an Injun."