he one way. Always does the moose come down from the high mountains
when the winter is here. Always does the salmon come in the spring when
the ice has gone out of the river. Always does everything do all things
in the same way, and the Indian knows and understands. But the white man
does not do all things in the same way, and the Indian does not know nor
understand.

"Tobacco be very good. It be food to the hungry man. It makes the
strong man stronger, and the angry man to forget that he is angry. Also
is tobacco of value. It is of very great value. The Indian gives one
large salmon for one leaf of tobacco, and he chews the tobacco for a long
time. It is the juice of the tobacco that is good. When it runs down
his throat it makes him feel good inside. But the white man! When his
mouth is full with the juice, what does he do? That juice, that juice of
great value, he spits it out in the snow and it is lost. Does the white
man like tobacco? I do not know. But if he likes tobacco, why does he
spit out its value and lose it in the snow? It is a great foolishness
and without understanding."

He ceased, puffed at the pipe, found that it was out, and passed it over
to Zilla, who took the sneer at the white man off her lips in order to
pucker them about the pipe-stem. Ebbits seemed sinking back into his
senility with the tale untold, and I demanded:

"What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why is it that you and your
old woman are without meat at the end of your years?"

He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an effort.

"It is not good to steal," he said. "When the dog takes your meat you
beat the dog with a club. Such is the law. It is the law the man gave
to the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it suffer the
pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your canoe, or your wife,
you kill that man. That is the law, and it is a good law. It is not
good to steal, wherefore it is the law that the man who steals must die.
Whoso breaks the law must suffer hurt. It is a great hurt to die."

"But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the dog?" I asked.

Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla sneered openly
at the absurdity of my question.

"It is the way of the white man," Ebbits mumbled with an air of
resignation.

"It is the foolishness of the white man," snapped Zilla.

"Then let old Ebbits teach the white man wisdom," I said softl