"Yah!" And his disgust burst through the thick lips in a deep howl. "Who of us will be alive a hundred years from now? Were we put on earth to slave and make fortunes for fools not yet born? Did any fools work and save up so we could take life soft and easy? You make me sick!" "I'm sorry, Mr. Dale, to hear you say that. However, the war is here----" "The war may be here, in Virginia, among the backwoodsmen. It is also in Dunmore's heart, but it ain't in the hearts of the Indians," he passionately contradicted. "The Indians only ask to be let alone, to be allowed to trade with us. Some canting hypocrites are whining for us to civilize the Indians. Why should they be civilized? Do they want to be? Ever hear of Indians making a profit out of our civilization? Did the Conestoga Indians make a profit when they tried to live like the whites near Lancaster, and the Paxton boys killed fourteen of them, men, women and children, then broke into the Lancaster jail where the others had been placed for their safety, and butchered the rest of them? "Did the ancient Virginia Indians prosper by civilization? I reckon if the old Powhatans could return they'd have some mighty warm things to say on that score. Why shouldn't the Indians insist we live as they do? They were here first. The only way to help the Indian is to trade with him. And when you help him that way you're helping yourself. That's the only point you can ever make a red man see. "I know the Indians. I can go into their towns now, be they Cherokee, Mingo, Shawnee or Delaware, and they'll welcome me as a brother. They know I don't want their land. They know I'm their true friend. They want me to make a profit when I trade with them, so I'll come again with more rum and blankets and guns, and gay cloth for their women." "You have the trader's point of view, and very naturally so," I said. "Thank God I ain't got the land-grabber's point of view! Nor the canting hypocrite's point of view! Nor a thick-headed forest-runner's point of view!" he loudly stormed, rising to end the discussion. But I was not to be balked, and I reminded him: "I called to pay my respects to Mistress Dale. I hope I may have the pleasure." "She's in the field back of the house. I'll call her," he grumbled. "I have a man in my kitchen, a white man, who has lived with the Indians ever since he was a boy. He knows more about them than all you border-folks could learn in a million years. He's the most sensible white man I ever met. He agrees with me perfectly that trade is what the Indian wants; not settlers nor Bibles." "Your guest would be John Ward!" I exclaimed, remembering the governor's errand. "I was asked by Colonel Lewis to find him and send him to Richfield. The colonel and Governor Dunmore wish to talk with him."