"What has my brother seen?"
"The Iroquois wolf, my brother. The Iroquois wolf snapping at the
roots of this stately tree. What will the Ottawas do, Longuant? Will
they drive the wolf away?"
The chief still studied me. "When a tree is healthy," he argued, "a
wolf cannot harm it; as well dread the butterfly that lights on its
leaves or the ant that runs around its trunk. It is only when a tree
is unsound at heart that the snapping of a wolf can jar it. And an
unsound tree is dangerous. My brother will agree that it is best to
cut it down."
I rose. "The wolf can do more than snap; his fangs are poisoned.
Listen, my brother. This tree of friendship is dear to me. I have
given labor to preserve it; I have watered it; I have killed the
insects and small pests that would have nibbled at its branches. Now
that I see its roots threatened, my heart is heavy and the sun looks
dim. Can my brother brighten the world for me? Can he tell me that my
fears are light as mist?"
Longuant looked at the ground. In repose his face was very sad, as are
the faces of most savage leaders.
"I have only two eyes, two ears," he crooned monotonously. "My brother
has as many. Let him use them.
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