And when you are talking with your Indian friend, as you sit beside him and
smoke with him on the bare prairie during a halt in the day's march, or at
night lie at length about your lonely camp fire in the mountains, or form
one of a circle of feasters in his home lodge, you get very near to
nature. Some of the sentiments which he expresses may horrify your
civilized mind, but they are not unlike those which your own small boy
might utter. The Indian talks of blood and wounds and death in a
commonplace, matter-of-fact way that may startle you. But these things used
to be a part of his daily life; and even to-day you may sometimes hear a
dried-up, palsied survivor of the ancient wars cackle out his shrill laugh
when he tells as a merry jest, a bloodcurdling story of the torture he
inflicted on some enemy in the long ago.

I have elsewhere expressed my views on Indian character, the conclusions
founded on an acquaintance with this race extending over more than twenty
years, during which time I have met many tribes, with some of whom I have
lived on terms of the closest intimacy.

The Indian is a man, not very different from his white brother, except that
he is undeveloped. In his natural state he is kind and affectionate in his
family, is hospitable, honest and straightforward with his fellows,--a true
friend. If you are his guest, the best he has is at your disposal; if the
camp is starving, you will still have set before you your share of what
food there may be in the lodge. For his friend he will die, if need be. He
is glad to perform acts of kindness for those he likes. While travelling in
the heats of summer over long, waterless stretches of prairie, I have had
an Indian, who saw me suffering from thirst, leave me, without mentioning
his errand, and ride thirty miles to fetch me a canteen of cool water.

The Indian is intensely religious. No people pray more earnestly nor more