“I did not expect that you would,” replied the Indian, giving a gentle turn to his oar in order to clear a mudbank, on which a number of alligators were basking comfortably.
“Why so, Tiger? Surely peace and good government are as desirable to them as to others.”
“No doubt, but many of them do not love peace. They are young. Their blood is hot, and they have nothing to do. When that is so, war is pleasant to them. It is natural. Man must work, or play, or fight. He cannot lie still. Those who are killed cannot return to tell their comrades what fools they have been, so those that remain are greater fools than ever.”
“I agree with you, Tiger; but you see it is not the young men who have the making of war, though they generally get all the doing of it, and the poor women and children take the consequences; it is the governors, whom one would expect to show some sort of wisdom, and recognise the fact that union is strength, and that respect for Law is the only hope of the land.”
“Governors,” returned Tiger, in a deep voice, “are not only fools, but villains—tyrants!”
The Indian spoke with such evidence of suppressed indignation that Pedro tried to look at him.
The aspect of his frowning countenance upside-down was not conducive to gravity.
“Come, Tiger,” said Pedro, with a tendency to laugh, “they are not all tyrants; I know one or two who are not bad fellows.”
“I know one who is a fool and a robber.”
“Indeed. What has he done to make you so bitter?” asked Pedro.