It matters but little where we pass the remainder of our days. They are not many. The Indian's night promises to be dark. No bright star hovers about the horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance.
A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of all the mighty hosts that once filled this broad land or that now roam in fragmentary bands through these vast solitudes will remain to weep over the tombs of a people once as powerful and as hopeful as your own.
From common ground you may lease some land but not all land.
By common sense you thereby gain some rights but not absolute rights.
Leased earth retains its utter right to flourish and to reclaim itself when abused.
Your capacity for greed and brutality wears thin your welcome to this place.
As you sow the wind, so shall you reap
the whirlwind.
