"Father before he died, him all time want to go settle in the Oklahoma country--settle on a claim with mother. They go there two times--three--but soldiers all time make them go back to Kansas. So me, I was born and they named me Oklahoma--but all time they call me Lahoma. That I must be called, Lahoma because that father and mother all time call me. Lahoma, that my name." She inquired anxiously, "You call me Lahoma?" She leaned forward, hands upon knees, in breathless anxiety. "You bet your life I will, Lahoma!" "Then me stay all time with you--all time. And you teach me talk right, and dress right, and be like mother and my white people? You teach me all that?" "That's the program. I'm going to civilize you--that means to make you like white folks. It's going to take time, but the mountains is full of time." "You 'civilize' me right now?-- You begin today?" She started up and stood erect with arms folded, evidently waiting for treatment. "The process will be going on all the while you're associating with me, honey. That chief, Red Feather--he has a daughter, hasn't he?" "No; him say no girl, no boy." She spoke with confidence. "I see. And your father's dead too, eh?" Evidently Red Feather had thoroughly convinced her of the truth of these pretenses. "Both--mother, father. Nobody but me." She knelt down at his side, her face troubled. "If I had just one!" "Can you remember either of them?" "Oh, yes, yes--and Red Feather, him talk about them, talk, talk, always say me be white with the white people some day. This is the day. You make me like mother was. You civilize me--begin!" She regarded him with dignified attention, her little hands locked about her blanket where it lay folded below her knees. The cloud had vanished from her face and her eyes sparkled with expectancy. "I ain't got the tools yet, honey. They's no breaking up and enriching land that ain't never bore nothing but buffalo-grass, without I have picks and spades and plows and harrers. I got to get my tools, to begin." She stiffened herself. "You needn't be afraid I'll cry. I WANT you to hurt me, if that the way." "It ain't like a pain in the stomach, Lahoma. All I gets for you will be some books. Them is the tools I'm going to operate with." "Books? What are books?" "Books?" Willock rubbed his bushy head in desperation. "Books? Why, they is just thoughts that somebody has ketched and put in a cage where they can't get away. You go and look at them thoughts somebody capable has give rise to, and when you finds them as has never ranged in your own brain, you captures 'em, puts your brand on 'em, and serves 'em out in your own herd. You see, Lahoma, what you think in your own brain ain't of no service, for YOU don't know nothing. If you want to be civilized, you got to lasso other people's thoughts--people as has went to and fro and has learned life--and you got to dehorn them ideas, and tame 'em."