“That other year the white strangers came. They staid not long. This time not so many come––next time not any ever come––maybe so!”
“Maybe so!” echoed Tahn-té, but shook his head in sadness. Like the men of his own village, these men had the hopefulness of children that all would be made well.
“If their god is so strong a god––and they come with good gifts, is it not well to make treaty and have them as brothers?” asked the old governor. “With the thunder and the lightning given to them instead 209 of arrows, they could do good warrior work for those who were precious to them.”
“That is so,” agreed Tahn-té––“but the men of dark skins will never be precious to the white men of the beards––except they make slaves who obey,––who carry the water, and bring wood for the fire.”
“Men carry the water?”
“They are not men when they become slaves––they are not people any more!”
“We did not hear that,” said the governor. “Do these men tell it that way?”
“No––not in that way. But talking leaves of their god tells them that dark men of other gods than theirs must be ever as slaves to the white men of iron and all of their kind. It has been like that always. The talking leaves tell them how to make slaves––and how to make war on all people who refuse to say that their god must be the only god.”
“And that white god sends talking leaves of a spirit tree?”
“It is so,” said Tahn-té:––“Many leaves! The spirit of that tree was once a strong spirit, but the white people caught it with magic and shut it in a book, and the spirit grows weak in the book––the heart of the Most Mysterious cannot be shut in a thing like that. They have magic, but the heart does not sing to that magic––only the eyes see it.”