Ebbits seemed sinking
back into his senility with the tale untold, and I demanded:
"What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why is it that you
and your old woman are without meat at the end of your years?"
He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an
effort.
"It is not good to steal," he said. "When the dog takes your meat
you beat the dog with a club. Such is the law. It is the law the
man gave to the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it
suffer the pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your
canoe, or your wife, you kill that man. That is the law, and it is
a good law. It is not good to steal, wherefore it is the law that
the man who steals must die. Whoso breaks the law must suffer
hurt. It is a great hurt to die."
"But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the dog?" I asked.
Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla sneered
openly at the absurdity of my question.
"It is the way of the white man," Ebbits mumbled with an air of
resignation.
"It is the foolishness of the white man," snapped Zilla.
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