The Umatillas
my father and mother, brothers and sisters and children all buried; and I am guarding their graves. That is my heart, my friend. This reservation, this small piece of land, we look upon it as our mother, as if she were raising us. You come here to ask me for my land. It is like as if we who are Indians were to be sent away and get lost. I look upon all sides. On the outside of the reservation I see your houses. They are good. They have windows in them. You are bringing up your children well; that is why I say this. You must listen to me. I do not want to part with my land. I want to show you white chiefs that that is what my heart is. I do not want you to make my land smaller. If you do, what would my stock feed upon? What is the reason you white men, who live near the reservation, like my land and want to get it? You must not think so. You are not going to get it. I am telling you this as a friend. I am not telling it with a bad heart. I want to know, if I was to go away from here, where I could find as good a piece of land as large as this is? My friends, I tell you now, I wish you would not talk too strong about getting my land. I like my land; will not let it go. That is what makes me talk so. I am showing you my heart about this reservation. You have been asking me for my heart. This is my heart."
"Wat-che-te-mane. . . . I want you to listen to what I have to say. Here is the way my
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