While the theme was not altogether engaging to the crafty Easterner, he was playing his cards; and he resumed with studied intent:
“I do not assume to be conversant with Scripture, but I believe that Christianity is founded on unquestioned revelation from Deity, first through the prophets and later as taught and exemplified by the Son. Has there ever been any such manifestations among your own race? The Great Spirit has never directly or indirectly communed with even the wisest of your seers. Such contentions are mere prattlings of the Satan-inspired medicine men, as I have often heard explained by theologians well versed on the subject. Evidently there can be but one true religion.”
“All philosophies,” explained Cogewea in piquant tones, “are true which trend to a betterment of earthly conditions; to a mental and moral advancement of its devotees. The term false religion is a misnomer. A useful life has no dread of the future. Our faith has never suffered from commercialism. What of yours? What of the salaried followers of Christ? Do you see any scourging of moneychangers from the Temple? The ambiguity of pew-rentals should be guarded against by the ‘called’ of God. The offering plate was never known in our worship. As the scroll—”
“Yes! but the revelation! the revelation!” broke in Densmore impatiently. “There can be but one revealed philosophy.”
“—of the future was unrolled to the primitive prophets and to the uneducated Galilean fishermen,” continued Cogewea without noticing the interruption, “so were there revelations to many of our tribesmen. The vision of the dead man was that the coming of the first pale face would result beneficially to the people, spiritually; but the storm-rack of death would shriek in the wake of the myriads to follow. This prophecy has proven true. Where is our once strong and virile race? The white man’s God has not saved my people from the extermination which came hand in hand with this ‘spiritual light bursting on a darkened New World.’ Woe! and degradation has been our heritage of the invaders’ civilization; the invader who taught that our God was a myth. His teachings and example have failed to fit us for his heaven, while they have unfitted us for our own Happy Hunting Grounds.24 I am wondering if there will be any place for us in the hereafter. As a half-blood, I suppose that I will be left entirely out in the cold.”
“Why do you always say ‘our’ people, or ‘my’ people, when referring to the red side of your house?” asked Densmore impatiently. “You seem to forget that you are as much Caucasian as Indian. Your sympathies should be equally divided.”
“It is because I prefer the Indian!” was the passionate reply. “I have no more occasion to feel debased on account of my native blood, than pride for my heritage of foreign shame.”
“I do not understand!” protested Densmore irritably. “What do you mean by ‘foreign shame’? Have you lost sight of the superiority of the—the—”
“White race!” came the ironical prompting. “Why struggle with a phrase so easily spoken?”
“Perhaps,” observed Densmore abashed and ill at ease, “you can explain just what you mean by terming your foreign descent a ‘heritage of shame.’ Such declaration might have far reaching interpretation.”
“It has!” broke in the girl fiercely. “What has our race gained by contact with yours? When have you considered our rights—our ideals? When have you not flaunted your higher standards—your superiority? Under the sheep-cloak of philanthropy and benevolent intentions, you have despoiled us as a nation, dispossessed us of our country, and, dethroning our manhood and womanhood, entailed on our youth the cursed taint of an hitherto unheard of blood-pollution. What has been our compensation? Not a ‘measure of wheat,’ but a double measure of broken promises. Not ‘three measures of barley,’ but thrice three measures of secularized debasement; with the stern admonition that we ‘hurt not the oil and the wi—’ no! the ‘wine’ you very considerately left without the ban. Surely! by our rivers have ‘we sat down and wept.’ Yea! the mountain tops have heard our lamentations. For my race, Hell has ever glared in the vanguard of the ‘pale horse’ and rider, passing interminably, and with phantom glide over the Death Trail, ending in sunset. Trouble and affliction; dependency and thraldom has been your benefaction, filled with the mutterings of Sinai, and the belchings of Kilwea. Our star has gone down in the grisly swirl of flame and blood; its ray supplanted by the hideous leer of the specter of extermination. When you show me a solitary treaty made with us by the Government which has not wantonly been violated; when you cite an Indian war where you have not been the flagrant aggressor; then will I admit the moral superiority of the Caucasian, and in beliefs and manner become one of you.”
“Cogewea,” spoke Densmore after an awkward pause, “I am not disposed to contend that point with you. There are more pleasant themes. We cannot help what our forebears have done. Why not relegate all racial differences to the discard of forgetfulness? Let you and I form a peace-pact! I want to learn more concerning that tribal marriage ceremony. Tell me about it!”
The Easterner took the girl’s shapely hand in his. She looked up hurriedly and half frightened. Her eyes, bespeaking bewilderment and earnest inquiry, met those of her companion, burning with latent fervency. With the color suffusing her olive cheek, she asked, simply:
“Why do you want to learn now?”
“Because I love you!”
“What has
