Cogewea and Densmore left the Stemteemä in her lodge, to dream of the past. Thus would she live to the close of her days. The teepee would never be deserted for the dwellings of civilization, which had only proven deathtraps for her race. Strolling to the river bank, the two sat down under the pines. Densmore was the first to speak. More to court favor, he broached a subject in which he felt no particular interest.

“Cogewea! are all those supposed facts as narrated by your grandmother concerning the first coming of the white man, or only legend? They seem to be no part of the chronicles.”

“Why! man!” exclaimed the girl in unfeigned surprise, “didn’t you see that she was in earnest? Sincerity was manifest in the telling. There are plenty of facts that are never alluded to by the recording historian. Are oral impartations of mind-stored truths to be reckoned as naught? A fact, like the life germ of a seed, is no less a fact from having been stored for a time.”

“Well⁠—yes! I thought the grandmother was in earnest, but mistaken. Lewis and Clark were the first Caucasians to reach and explore the great Northwest. That is recognized history.”

“They were the first white explorers of the Northwest, but not the first to penetrate its sylvan wilds. It is my belief that the last two ‘pale faces’ Stemteemä mentioned were the famous pathfinders sent out by the Government, and I am sure that when you hear her story of these men, you will agree with me on that score. Stemteemä was a small child at the time of this second coming, and she has certainly seen more than a hundred snows. Of this, there can be no doubt. My mother was the youngest of twelve children and if she were now living, would be in her late sixties at least. The grandmother was shrunken with age as far back as I can remember. My early ancestors were all favored with remarkable longevity⁠—those permitted to live out their natural lives⁠—and retentive minds; some of them filling the role of tribal historians. While I am familiar with this prospective narrative of Stemteemä’s I prefer that you hear it from her directly; that you may be convinced that I am not imbued with a mere fairy tale. The legend⁠—as you seem to term it⁠—of the ‘Black Robe’ can hardly be gainsaid.”

“It is all ‘bilk’ to me! I cannot conceive that any man, however zealous in the cause of soul-saving, would, without any prospect of worldly compensation, consider for a moment an undertaking so fraught with hardship and deadly danger. To my mind, such course would denote a mental unbalancing.”

“Without the fervent qualities of the true missionary, I agree that it is difficult to comprehend the motives which plunged into the wilderness the Black Robes. And, while I have read of the recognized earliest adventurers to reach our regions, I am confident that the first white man to come among my primitive people, was a priest from the Hudson Bay outfit in Canada. This was years prior to the advent of Lewis and Clark on the waters of the Swa-net^k-qha. Doubtless this Jesuit was killed by Indians farther west after he left our tribe. The Schu-ayl-p^k from the very first, were peaceful with the whites22 and I cannot understand why investigators have never learned of this visit of the Black Robe and of his subsequent disappearance. He was followed by others who were equally fired with a zeal to serve their church. They were the forerunners; the dispensers of a new philosophy destined to supplant the simpler faith of the forest children. This is the principal reason that the Colville-Okanogans are Catholic adherents. Many of the older natives became converts and proved loyal to the creed. The word of the priest with them has ever been law and whatever that dignitary says still goes, and all my folks are of like ilk. I suppose that it is good. At least it is the only thing that has ever been taught them of this ‘better life.’ But as for me, I tolerate dictation from no dogmatist.”

“Then you are not a professed Catholic?”

“No, hardly! Stemteemä and my sisters are, but I am not. The little grandmother thinks that I am, but the girls know and help me to keep it from her. I claim the freedom to attend or forego any and all churches just as I see fit. It would break Stemteemä’s heart if she knew the truth, and the priest would simply raise the dickens⁠—if not something hotter.”

Cogewea’s low, musical laughter chimed musically with the soughing of the pine tops as she recalled whilom escapades. Amused by the pun, Densmore joined in the merriment, but the girl’s mood changed instantly to one of seriousness as she shot the interrogatives:

“What are your religious views? What is your choice of churches?”

Taken wholly by surprise, the Easterner answered rather confusedly:

“Me?⁠—Oh! mine has been a somewhat varied experience. Born a Methodist, I was immersed in a Baptist pool. By turns a Congregational deacon and chorister; a vestryman and Sunday school superintendent in the Episcopal fold; I eventually landed as an elder among the Presbyterian elite. A sort of free prospector, I have panned wherever the colors showed most promising; which I really have found to be the evangelistic field. There were ‘prophets’ of old and there are ‘prophets’ of today, if only one has the powers of discernment. Aside from man-made creeds, the churches in toto are very much the same, as I may judge.”

“You should be a qualified criterion on church dogmatics!” was the half amused reply. “They are of one specie but different breeds. Lap-poodle, or greyhound; draft-horse or track-speedster; one brandin’ iron should suffice for them all. I cannot fathom this wrangling among the various divines. There must be a diversity of gods to please them all. Some deal directly with Deity, bearing their own burdens to the altar in personal supplication; while others make use of a solicitor, an intercessor, who for a stipend, does the sin absolving stunt. Many contend for an abundance of water⁠—a tank of depth⁠—in the carrying out of a beautiful symbol, while equally conscientious devotees are content with a mere drizzling sprinkle. Why all this bickering discord? Snows before the Indian ever heard of the white man’s God, he firmly believed that there was a higher order⁠—a Great Spirit⁠—somewhere in, or towards the sky mystery. The sun and the moon, he adored as the lodges of the Supreme. The stars were gleaming rays of hope; and throughout all nature there was a recognized governing wisdom, most reverently and devotedly worshipped. Among the tribes there was no quarreling about creeds. Was it right to totally uproot tenets of such philosophy?”

“Judging of what I have seen of the native American since I came here,” observed Densmore, with a degree of warmth, “I do not think that the uprooting has been entirely effective. But, admittedly possessed of redeeming qualities, your philosophy did not lift your race from the thralls of savagery. The coming of the Mayflower was as a spiritual light bursting on a darkened New World.”

“Zealous and good Christians,” rejoined Cogewea, “see in the Discovery by Columbus, a guidance of Divine Providence, in that a new faith was brought to the natives. This may be, but the mistake was with the priests and teachers who did not understand that there was no fundamental difference in the attributes of the deities of the two races. They lacked the perceptive sagacity of a certain great reformer of nearly two thousand years ago; who, when carrying the Message to the benighted Athenians, ‘stood in the midst of Mars hill’ and declared that it was of their ‘Unknown God’ to whom he had noticed an altar erected, that he spake. It was wrong! woefully wrong! to compel the untutored native in some instances with fire and sword⁠—to forsake his ancient beliefs with all their sacred traditions. Has he, by the change been mentally, morally or physically strengthened? Too often the high sounding claim of progress emanating from missionary religionists and Indian Bureau politicians, are chimerical; and, as the Indian expresses it, mere ‘blanket-blind.’ They murk the stream that the piteous wrecks strewing its bottom may not be seen. Viewed in its proper light the coming of the Mayflower was, to my people, the falling of the star ‘Wormwood’; tainting with death the source of our very existence.”23

While the theme was not altogether engaging to the crafty Easterner, he was playing his cards; and he resumed with studied intent:

“I do not assume to be conversant with Scripture, but I believe that Christianity is founded on unquestioned revelation from Deity, first through the prophets and later as taught and exemplified by the Son. Has there ever been any such manifestations among your own race? The Great Spirit has never directly or indirectly communed with even the wisest of your seers. Such contentions are mere prattlings of the Satan-inspired medicine men, as I have often heard explained by theologians well versed on the subject. Evidently there can be but one true religion.”

“All philosophies,” explained Cogewea in piquant tones, “are true which trend to a betterment of earthly conditions; to a mental and moral advancement of its devotees. The term false religion is a misnomer. A useful life has no dread of the future. Our faith has never suffered from commercialism. What of yours? What of the salaried followers of Christ? Do you see any scourging of moneychangers from the Temple? The ambiguity of pew-rentals should be guarded against by the ‘called’ of God. The offering plate was never known in our worship. As the scroll⁠—”

“Yes! but the revelation! the revelation!” broke in Densmore impatiently. “There can be but one revealed philosophy.”

“⁠—of the future was unrolled to the primitive prophets and to the uneducated Galilean fishermen,” continued Cogewea without noticing the interruption, “so were there revelations to many of our tribesmen. The vision of the dead man was that the coming of the first pale face would result beneficially to the people, spiritually; but the storm-rack of death would shriek in the wake of the myriads to follow. This prophecy has proven true. Where is our once strong and virile race? The white man’s God has not saved my people from the extermination which came hand in hand with this ‘spiritual light bursting on a darkened New World.’ Woe! and degradation has been our heritage of the invaders’ civilization; the invader who taught that our God was a myth. His teachings and example have failed to fit us for his heaven, while they have unfitted us for our own Happy Hunting Grounds.24 I am wondering if there will be any place for us in the hereafter. As a half-blood, I suppose that I will be left entirely out in the cold.”

“Why do you always say ‘our’ people, or ‘my’ people, when referring to the red side of your house?” asked Densmore impatiently. “You seem to forget that you are as much Caucasian as Indian. Your sympathies should be equally divided.”

“It is because I prefer the Indian!” was the passionate reply. “I have no more occasion to feel debased on account of my native blood, than pride for my heritage of foreign shame.”

“I do not understand!” protested Densmore irritably. “What do you mean by ‘foreign shame’? Have you lost sight of the superiority of the⁠—the⁠—”

“White race!” came the ironical prompting. “Why struggle with a phrase so easily spoken?”

“Perhaps,” observed Densmore abashed and ill at ease, “you can explain just what you mean by terming your foreign descent a ‘heritage of shame.’ Such declaration might have far reaching interpretation.”

“It has!” broke in the girl fiercely. “What has our race gained by contact with yours? When have you considered our rights⁠—our ideals? When have you not flaunted your higher standards⁠—your superiority? Under the sheep-cloak of philanthropy and benevolent intentions, you have despoiled us as a nation, dispossessed us of our country, and, dethroning our manhood and womanhood, entailed on our youth the cursed taint of an hitherto unheard of blood-pollution. What has been our compensation? Not a ‘measure of wheat,’ but a double measure of broken promises. Not ‘three measures of barley,’ but thrice three measures of secularized debasement; with the stern admonition that we ‘hurt not the oil and the wi⁠—’ no! the ‘wine’ you very considerately left without the ban. Surely! by our rivers have ‘we sat down and wept.’ Yea! the mountain tops have heard our lamentations. For my race, Hell has ever glared in the vanguard of the ‘pale horse’ and rider, passing interminably, and with phantom glide over the Death Trail, ending in sunset. Trouble and affliction; dependency and thraldom has been your benefaction, filled with the mutterings of Sinai, and the belchings of Kilwea. Our star has gone down in the grisly swirl of flame and blood; its ray supplanted by the hideous leer of the specter of extermination. When you show me a solitary treaty made with us by the Government which has not wantonly been violated; when you cite an Indian war where you have not been the flagrant aggressor; then will I admit the moral superiority of the Caucasian, and in beliefs and manner become one of you.”

“Cogewea,” spoke Densmore after an awkward pause, “I am not disposed to contend that point with you. There are more pleasant themes. We cannot help what our forebears have done. Why not relegate all racial differences to the discard of forgetfulness? Let you and I form a peace-pact! I want to learn more concerning that tribal marriage ceremony. Tell me about it!”

The Easterner took the girl’s shapely hand in his. She looked up hurriedly and half frightened. Her eyes, bespeaking bewilderment and earnest inquiry, met those of her companion, burning with latent fervency. With the color suffusing her olive cheek, she asked, simply:

“Why do you want to learn now?”

“Because I love you!”

“What has that to do with the Indian marriage ceremony?”

“Cogewea! You understand what I mean!” was the passionate reply. “A union by the native mode would be romantic and just as binding as that of⁠—”

“Let’s go home!” exclaimed Cogewea abruptly, disengaging her hand and springing to her feet. “The sun is nearly down and those hungry boys will soon be lopping in. I must help sister with the supper.”

“Cogewea! Stay a little longer! I have something to say and⁠—”

“Say it tomorrow when we ride out on the old buffalo grounds. Then,” she continued with a laugh, “you may have the full floor, since I have monopolized most of the time today.”