killing their game, and driving the natives farther and farther back into the hills. Soon there would be no place left for them.
The sergeant was well aware of these old complaints, so he was not surprised to hear them again. He was wise enough not to attempt to answer them directly, as it would only involve him in a lengthy argument, for which he was not at all inclined. He merely told the Indians that what their leader said was only too true. But the Police were in the country to protect them from bad white men, and to save their young men and women. If they obeyed the laws it would be for their good, and no harm would come to them. He then drew a picture of their happy condition at The Gap when the missionary was their teacher, guide, and friend.
“Were you not happier then?” he asked. “Were you not all like one big family? But what has happened? Your teacher has been shot by a bad white man, and he may be dead now. He gave up his life for the Indians, and his every thought was for you. He was always praying that you might come back to him again. Let us now forget all strife and think only of him who is lying wounded in his house at The Gap. Suppose we have a little service here, and pray to the Lord to spare the missionary. That will do more good than quarrelling.”
This suggestion was carefully considered by the natives. Although he did not know what was being said, yet the sergeant could tell that several of the young men opposed the idea. But the will of the majority prevailed, and it was not long ere many of the natives were holding in their hands copies of the
