"Until my return," I said, "let the influence of the machine draw back
until it holds helpless only a small section of land about your ship.
Only in this way will I be able to return quickly to the White Chief."
Again Lo-as-ro agreed. I took my leave of him ceremoniously, and a few
minutes later Wetzel and I were hurrying back toward the highway.
* * * * *
Four hours later I was on my way back, this time with four companions.
The plane landed us at the edge of the newly set "dead spot" and the
five of us forced our way through the forest until we reached the
clearing where the spaceship still crouched.
A silent group of Indians watched us as we crossed the open ground.
This time the two robots flanking the doorway did not leave their
posts. As I came up the ramp with my companions, Lo-as-ro appeared in
the doorway of the ship.
He eyed me and the others without expression. I said, "Noble Lo-as-ro,
I have brought with me four of my world's Orbiwah. They have come to
hear your plan for them and their people. I have told them nothing of
what you said to me, only that you have come from another world and
are of their blood."
One by one I presented my companions. Yellow Arm was Johnny Armin, an
old school friend of mine; Iron Eagle, with whom I had spent a year in
Korea, had his telephone listed under the name of Luke Riegel; Strong
Wind was Sidney Storm, whom I had met while spending a year in
Southern California; and Lone Pine, known as Lionel Patterson, lived a
few doors down the street from me in Washington and shot eighteen
holes any day in the low seventies.
The color of their skins, the unmistakable cast of their features,
made up the only passport they needed. At the chief's invitation we
squatted in a rude circle at the top of the ramp, and the peace-pipe
was brought out and passed around.
Presently Lo-as-ro began to speak. The magnificent voice rolled out in
tones like a cathedral organ, explaining how the American Indian was
to assume his rightful place in a world of his own. It was a vivid
picture, painted by an orator equal to any of the almost legendary
Indian speakers, and they don't come any better.
Unfortunately I was the only one present who could understand him.
* * * * *
When it was over and Lo-as-ro was smiling in confident expectation of
their gratified excitement, Johnny Armin gave me a baffled glance.
"What the hell was _that_ all about, Sam?"
I said, "You guys don't know how lucky you are. The chief, here, is
going to fix it up for you to go back to the good old days. Be noble
red men. No more taxes, no more taxis. Live out in the fresh air,
sleep under the star-studded sky, drink the unchlorinated spring
water."
"_What!_"
"You heard me. And he can do it, too. He's got the tools to flatten
the country."
They stared at me and at each other, horror and anger hardening their
faces. Lo-as-ro had stopped smiling and was glancing about the circle
in obvious bewilderment.
"You mean he's doing all that for _us_?" Storm demanded.
"For all Indians," I said. "Free them from the iron heel of the
oppressor, and all that."
"Nuts, brother!" Iron Eagle snapped. "Tell him I'm a graduate of
Carnegie Tech, make twenty-five grand a year with Standard Oil, and
vote the Republican ticket. If he thinks for a goddam minute I'm going
to chasing around on a pinto pony hunting buffalo, he's got rocks in
his head!"
"And that goes for me--double!" Lone Pine growled. "I never heard
anything so screwy!"
I repeated what they had said, putting it into words Lo-as-ro could
understand. He had the look of a man who couldn't believe his ears.
"They speak with stupid tongues," he cried. "Do they deny the blood of
their fathers?"
"They live as they want to live, noble chief," I said. "They are
grateful for your wish to help but they ask me to decline the offer."
He came to his feet with a bound, his lean face hardening into a
copper mask of anger. "These are not true Orbiwah!" he thundered.
"These are as women, soft with idleness and pleasure, weakened by
their white conquerors. The land is not for them; it is for those
forced to live in degradation and squalor, dying of hunger and
disease, ignored by the white chiefs. It is they who shall be given
back the ways of their fathers, that they may become a great Orbiwah
nation once more. I have spoken!"
* * * * *
"Look at these braves," I said. All of us were standing now. "Of all
the Orbiwah in this world it is such as these who could hope to
survive under the conditions you wish to establish. The Orbiwah _you_
describe would starve amid a thousand buffalo, they would fall from
their horses, they would flee in battle. Take away the protection of
the white chiefs and they would die."
The chief of the tribe of Kornesh curled his lips in a sneer. "The
protection given by the white chiefs is the protection of death. They
do not care what happens to the Orbiwah. I have seen it with my own
eyes."
"You're right," I said promptly. "The Orbiwah has been badly treated
too long. I shall return to the Great White Chief and tell him this:
unless the life of the Orbiwah is made good, unless he has fine
shelter, plenty of food, warm clothes for his back and the right to be
as other men, you will return and force the white man from this land.
It will take much time, but it shall come to pass. _I_ have spoken."
Doubt flickered in his eyes. "Perhaps your words are empty. How do I
know they are true?"
"When twenty summers have passed," I said, "come back again. Look upon
the Orbiwah and learn if they still suffer want and privation. If
their life is not better for what has happened today, then you need
never trust the white man again."
For a long moment he stood stiff as steel, staring into my eyes. Then
his hand shot up, palm out, in a gesture of farewell, and he turned
and disappeared into the spaceship.
* * * * *
I got a barrage of questions then. I held up a hand to quiet my
friends. "Some other time, gentlemen. I've got to get to Washington
just as fast as a jet plane can get me there."
"If it's that urgent," Luke said, "call him on the phone and reverse
the charges."