"But he knows that you do not, and that all white people laugh at it.

He could tell you many wonderful stories of the creation of these forests and mountains and the things in them if he would.
But he knows that you would not believe, and would laugh at him afterward." In an instant Rod was upon his feet.
"Mukoki!" he called.

"Mukoki!" The old Indian turned and came back slowly.

The white youth met him half-way, his face flushed, his eyes shining.
"Mukoki," he said gently, gripping the warrior's hand, "Mukoki--I love your Great Spirit! I love the one who made these glorious forests, and that glorious moon up there, and the mountains and lakes and rivers! I Want to know more about him.

You must tell me, so that I will know when he talks about me, in the winds, in the stars, in the forests! Will you ?" Mukoki was looking at him, his thin lips parted, his grim visage relaxed, as if he were weighing the truthfulness of the white youth's words.
"And I will tell you about our Great Spirit, the white man's Great Spirit," urged Rod.