The conventionalist would seek it in moral obliquity; the
radical, in a temperament that is irked by the superficialities
that comprise so large a part of conventional standards. The
reason for his being what he was is almost the only thing Adair
did not analyze in his book. Perhaps, to him, it was self evident.
We may let it be so to us, and see it most clearly presented in a
picture composed from some of his brief sketches: A land of grass
and green shade inset with bright waters, where deer and domestic
cattle herded together along the banks; a circling group of
houses, their white-clayed walls sparkling under the sun's rays,
and, within and without, the movement of "a friendly and
sagacious people," who "kindly treated and watchfully guarded"
their white brother in peace and war, and who conversed daily
with him in the Old Beloved Speech learned first of Nature. "Like
towers in cities beyond the common size of those of the Indians"
rose the winter and summer houses and the huge trading house
which the tribe had built for their best beloved friend in the
town's center, because there he would be safest from attack. On
the rafters hung the smoked and barbecued delicacies taken in the
hunt and prepared for him by his red servants, who were also his
comrades at home and on the dangerous trail.
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