"It was hard thinking. He had only seen white men on a few occasions, and like Kicking Bird, he could not fathom their behavior. Because of their reputed numbers they would have to be watched and somehow controlled, but until now, they had been nothing beyond a persistent nuisance to the mind.
Ten Beard never liked thinking about them.
How could any race be so mixed-up? he thought.
But he was drifting from the point, and inwardly Ten Bears chastised himself for his messy thinking. What did he really know about the white people? He knew next to nothing... That he had to admit.
This strange being at the fort. Perhaps it was a spirit. Perhaps it was a different type of white man. It was possible, Ten Bears, that the being Kicking Bird had seen was the first of a whole new race of people.
The old headman sighed to himself as his brain filled to overflowing. There was already so much to do, with the summer hunting. And now this.
He could not come to a conclusion.
Ten Beard decided to call a council."
From Dances With Wolves
"That scalp at Wind In His Hair's... no one likes it. But who is to blame? Not Wind In His Hair. Not the Comanches. The Comanches didn't fire first. The white woman had a gun that shoots twice. She shot out Wind In His Hair's eye. He took her scalp and brought it back and hung it in his lodge. That's his right. He's a warrior.
Kicking Bird doesn't like it. He doesn't go to Wind In His Hair's home anymore. He wants peace. How can there be peace? If I got up now... I won't get up now, I'm happy on the Kicking Bird doesn't like it. He doesn't go to Wind In His Hair's home anymore. He wants peace. How can there be peace? If I got up now... I won't get up now, I'm happy on the ground. If I were on my feet at this moment, if I looked in the four
directions, perhaps I would see them. If I were on my feet at this moment, if I looked in the four
directions, perhaps I would see them. No, I wouldn't see them, not here.
But they are out there somewhere. They are in the east and the west, in
the north and south. They are all around us. They are closer every day.
This country is good. It gives us everything we need. It will last all summer. But where will we go when the leaves die? Where will we go that doesn't carry us closer to them? How could you forget, old man! The great hole in the earth. You were born there. The Comanches will go down into the earth this winter as they always have. The Kiowa will be there, and the Cheyenne too. And the buffalo. Food and water and space for everyone in a place where no white person has ever walked. We will sleep as the snow banks up against the lodges. Hunting For Something will bring me treats and tend my fire...
Those hawks circling in the sky... perhaps they are vultures. Maybe they are two vultures trying to decide to come down. If they fly down here I'll close my eyes and lie still. I'll wait while they land, wait until I hear the rustle of their wings coming closer. Then I'll sit up and give them a shock... ha!
I can't see them anymore. Must have been hawks. No white person has walked this country either. Oh, I hope they never will. But Wind In His Hair's scalp says they will. What is to be done? A whirlwind might come and carry that scalp beyond the stars. Maybe there is a whirlwind big enough to carry all the white people there too. I have never seen one that big. Maybe there is a song that could be sung, a dance that could be danced. There must be something. The Kiowa always want us to join their sun dance; maybe we should dance with them this summer. They are good people, good friends. But they are too superstitious. How can their ceremonies be trusted?
The earth feels warm on my back. I love the earth. Nothing is better. It is soft on my back. My arms and legs are like feathers on the skin of the earth. Am I floating? Am I rising? Am I dreaming now? Am I dying? Does it matter?... What am I doing?"
Ten Bears from The Holy Road