there's a great howl. I want a rule that will work both ways, and I
don't give much for a government that isn't able to protect me on the
Indian reserves the same as anywhere else. Some years ago Indian
troubles were reported at Washington, and Sherman was sent out to
investigate. Of course they heard he was coming, and all were on their
good behavior. They knew where their blankets and ponies and provisions
came from. Consequently, Sherman reported everything peaceful: he hadn't
seen anybody killed. That's about the kind of information they get in
the East on the Indian question.

"Misused? Yes, the Indians have been misused, badly misused. I know
that. But who have _they_ misused? This whole country is covered with
ruins, and they all go to show that it has been inhabited by a
highly-civilized race of people. And what has become of them? I believe
the Indians cleaned them out long years ago; and now their turn has
come. I find it's a law of Nature"--and here the narrator's tone grew
more reverent as if touching upon a higher theme--"that the weak go to
the wall. It's a hard law, but I don't see any way out of it. The old
Aztecs had to go under, and the Indians will have to follow suit."

Whatever humanitarians and archæologists may conclude concerning these
opinions, they are nevertheless extensively held in the Far West. The
frontiersman, who sees the Indian only in his native savagery, who has
found it necessary to employ a considerable part of his time in keeping
out of range of poisoned arrows, and who must needs be always upon the
alert lest his family fall a prey to Indian treachery, cannot be
expected to hold any ultra-humanitarian views upon the subject. He has
not been brought in contact with the several partially-civilized tribes,
in whose advancement many see possibilities for the whole race. He
cannot understand why the government allows the Indians to roam over