Then
he came, this gentle old man with his white hair and thin, pale
face. He wore a long black coat, which I now know was the sign of
his office, and he carried a black leather-covered book, which, in
all the years I have known him, I have never seen him without.
The trappers explained to my father who he was, the Great Teacher,
the heart's Medicine Man, the "Blackcoat" we had heard of, who
brought peace where there was war, and the magic of whose black book
brought greater things than all the Happy Hunting Grounds of our
ancestors.
He told us many things that day, for he could speak the Cree tongue,
and my father listened, and listened, and when at last they left us,
my father said for him to come and sit within the tepee again.
He came, all the time he came, and my father welcomed him, but my
mother always sat in silence at work with the quills; my mother
never liked the Great "Blackcoat."
His stories fascinated me. I used to listen intently to the tale of
the strange new place he called "heaven," of the gold crown, of the
white dress, of the great music; and then he would tell of that
other strange place--hell. My father and I hated it; we feared it,
we dreamt of it, we trembled at it.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164