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

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

"The dog is not killed, because it must pull the sled of the man.
No man pulls another man's sled, wherefore the man is killed."

"Oh," I murmured.

"That is the law," old Ebbits went on. "Now listen, O White Man,
and I will tell you of a great foolishness. There is an Indian.
His name is Mobits. From white man he steals two pounds of flour.
What does the white man do? Does he beat Mobits? No. Does he
kill Mobits? No. What does he do to Mobits? I will tell you, O
White Man. He has a house. He puts Mobits in that house. The
roof is good. The walls are thick. He makes a fire that Mobits
may be warm. He gives Mobits plenty grub to eat. It is good grub.
Never in his all days does Mobits eat so good grub. There is
bacon, and bread, and beans without end. Mobits have very good
time.

"There is a big lock on door so that Mobits does not run away.
This also is a great foolishness. Mobits will not run away. All
the time is there plenty grub in that place, and warm blankets, and
a big fire. Very foolish to run away. Mobits is not foolish.
Three months Mobits stop in that place. He steal two pounds of
flour. For that, white man take plenty good care of him. Mobits
eat many pounds of flour, many pounds of sugar, of bacon, of beans
without end. Also, Mobits drink much tea. After three months
white man open door and tell Mobits he must go. Mobits does not