Instead of being frightened off the ground, he arose to
answer as promptly as if a practised debater, though with an air of
humility so profound, that no one could take offence at his
presumption.
"The unknown chief has answered," he said, "I am glad. I love to
hear his words. My ears are always open when he speaks, and my mind
is stronger. I now see that it is good he should not have a tribe.
He may be a Cherokee, and then our warriors would wish him ill."
This was a home-thrust, most artfully concealed; a Cherokee being
the Indian of all others the most hated by the chiefs present;--the
Carthaginians of those western Romans. "It is better he should not
have a tribe, than be a Cherokee. He might better be a weasel.
"Brothers, we have been told to kill ALL the pale-faces. I like that
advice. The land cannot have two owners. If a pale-face owns it, an
Injin cannot. If an Injin owns it, a pale-face cannot. But the chief
without a tribe tells us not to kill all. He tells us to kill all
but the bee-hunter and his squaw. He thinks this bee-hunter is a
medicine bee-hunter, and may do us Injins great harm. He wishes to
let him go.
"Brothers, this is not my way of thinking.
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