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“As I say, with our dogs, so with us. And one day came the first white man. He dragged
himself, so, on hand and knee, in the snow. And his skin was stretched tight, and his
bones were sharp beneath. Never was such a man, we thought, and we wondered of what
strange tribe he was, and of its land. And he was weak, most weak, like a little child, so
that we gave him a place by the fire, and warm furs to lie upon, and we gave him food as
little children are given food.
“And with him was a dog, large as three of our dogs, and very weak. The hair of this dog
was short, and not warm, and the tail was frozen so that the end fell off. And this strange
dog we fed, and bedded by the fire, and fought from it our dogs, which else would have
killed him. And what of the moose meat and the sun-dried salmon, the man and dog took
strength to themselves; and what of the strength they became big and unafraid. And the
man spoke loud words and laughed at the old men and young men, and looked boldly
upon the maidens. And the dog fought with our dogs, and for all of his short hair and
softness slew three of them in one day.
“When we asked the man concerning his people, he said, `I have many brothers,’ and
laughed in a way that was not good. And when he was in his full strength he went away,
and with him went Noda, daughter to the chief. First, after that, was one of our bitches
brought to pup. And never was there such a breed of dogs, — big-headed, thick-jawed,
and short-haired, and helpless. Well do I remember my father, Otsbaok, a strong man.
His face was black with anger at such helplessness, and he took a stone, so, and so, and
there was no more helplessness. And two summers after that came Noda back to us with
a man-child in the hollow of her arm.
“And that was the beginning. Came a second white man, with short-haired dogs, which
he left behind him when he went. And with him went six of our strongest dogs, for
which, in trade, he had given Koo-So-Tee, my mother’s brother, a wonderful pistol that
fired with great swiftness six times. And Koo-So-Tee was very big, what of the pistol,
and laughed at our bows and arrows. `Woman’s things,’ he called them, and went forth
against the bald-face grizzly, with the pistol in his hand. Now it be known that it is not
good to hunt the bald-face with a pistol, but how were we to know? and how was Koo-
So-Tee to know? So he went against the bald-face, very brave, and fired the pistol with
great swiftness six times; and the bald-face but grunted and broke in his breast like it
were an egg, and like honey from a bee’s nest dripped the brains of Koo-So-Tee upon the
ground. He was a good hunter, and there was no one to bring meat to his squaw and
children. And we were bitter, and we said, `That which for the white men is well, is for us
not well.’ And this be true. There be many white men and fat, but their ways have made
us few and lean.
“Came the third white man, with great wealth of all manner of wonderful foods and
things. And twenty of our strongest dogs he took from us in trade. Also, what of presents
and great promises, ten of our young hunters did he take with him on a journey which
fared no man knew where. It is said they died in the snow of the Ice Mountains where
man has never been, or in the Hills of Silence which are beyond the edge of the earth. Be
that as it may, dogs and young hunters were seen never again by the Whitefish people.
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“And more white men came with the years, and ever, with pay and presents, they led the
young men away with them. And sometimes the young men came back with strange tales
of dangers and toils in the lands beyond the Pellys, and sometimes they did not come
back. And we said: `If they be unafraid of life, these white men, it is because they have
many lives; but we be few by the Whitefish, and the young men shall go away no more.’
But the young men did go away; and the young women went also; and we were very
wroth.
“It be true, we ate flour, and salt pork, and drank tea which was a great delight; only,
when we could not get tea, it was very bad and we became short of speech and quick of
anger. So we grew to hunger for the things the white men brought in trade. Trade! trade!
all the time was it trade! One winter we sold our meat for clocks that would not go, and
watches with broken guts, and files worn smooth, and pistols without cartridges and
worthless. And then came famine, and we were without meat, and two score died ere the
break of spring.
“`Now are we grown weak,’ we said; `and the Pellys will fall upon us, and our bounds be
overthrown.’ But as it fared with us, so had it fared with the Pellys, and they were too
weak to come against us.
“My father, Otsbaok, a strong man, was now old and very wise. And he spoke to the
chief, saying: `Behold, our dogs be worthless. No longer are they thick-furred and strong,
and they die in the frost and harness. Let us go into the village and kill them, saving only
the wolf ones, and these let us tie out in the night that they may mate with the wild
wolves of the forest. Thus shall we have dogs warm and strong again.’
“And his word was harkened to, and we Whitefish became known for our dogs, which
were the best in the land. But known we were not for ourselves. The best of our young
men and women had gone away with the white men to wander on trail and river to far
places. And the young women came back old and broken, as Noda had come, or they
came not at all. And the young men came back to sit by our fires for a time, full of ill
speech and rough ways, drinking evil drinks and gambling through long nights and days,
with a great unrest always in their hearts, till the call of the white men came to them and
they went away again to the unknown places. And they were without honor and respect,
jeering the old-time customs and laughing in the faces of chief and shamans.
“As I say, we were become a weak breed, we Whitefish. We sold our warm skins and
furs for tobacco and whiskey and thin cotton things that left us shivering in the cold. And
the coughing sickness came upon us, and men and women coughed and sweated through
the long nights, and the hunters on trail spat blood upon the snow. And now one, and now
another, bled swiftly from the mouth and died. And the women bore few children, and
those they bore were weak and given to sickness. And other sicknesses came to us from
the white men, the like of which we had never known and could not understand.
Smallpox, likewise measles, have I heard these sicknesses named, and we died of them as
die the salmon in the still eddies when in the fall their eggs are spawned and there is no
longer need for them to live.
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“And yet, and here be the strangeness of it, the white men come as the breath of death; all
their ways lead to death, their nostrils are filled with it; and yet they do not die. Theirs the
whiskey, and tobacco, and short-haired dogs; theirs the many sicknesses, the smallpox
and measles, the coughing and mouth-bleeding; theirs the white skin, and softness to the
frost and storm; and theirs the pistols that shoot six times very swift and are worthless.
And yet they grow fat on their many ills, and prosper, and lay a heavy hand over all the
world and tread mightily upon its peoples. And their women, too, are soft as little babes,
most breakable and never broken, the mothers of men. And out of all this softness, and
sickness, and weakness, come strength, and power, and authority. They be gods, or
devils, as the case may be. I do not know. What do I know, I, old Imber of the Whitefish?
Only do I know that they are past understanding, these white men, far-wanderers and
fighters over the earth that they be.