the real indian has the dead and unkempt hair of a busted buggy-cushion filled with hen feathers. he lies, he steals, he assassinates, he mutilates, he tortures. he needs persian powder long before he needs the theology which abler men cannot agree upon. we can, in fact, only retain him as we do the buffalo, so long as he complies with the statutes. but the red brother is on his way to join the cave-bear, the three-toed horse, and the ichthyosaurus in the great fossil realm of the historic past. move on, maroon brother, move on!