The notion that Indians were barred from leaving their reservations was, to Dutch, an irrelevance. Their new "enterprise" was already a haven for outlaws; a few more law-breakers simply tightened the knot.
At this very moment, Rains Fall, his ancient face a tableau of bewildered thought, listened to Dutch's relentless barrage. He stared, utterly dumbfounded. Yes, he thought, a frantic echo in his mind, why had they never considered that?
Originally, the sprawling expanse of North America had been their ancestral land. Now, it had been brutally carved up, trampled underfoot by the encroaching Americans who had driven them into the desolate wilderness. But if one adopted Dutch's twisted, yet eerily logical, perspective, they hadn't truly lost their ancestral land.Yes! It was constantly beneath their feet! As long as they remained within the country's arbitrary borders, wherever they walked was, technically, still their ancestral soil.
Rains Fall's mind buzzed, a confused swarm of thoughts. Flying Eagle, too, rubbed his temples, a faint groan escaping him. Dutch's "crooked remarks" felt intrinsically wrong, a violation of deep-seated truth, yet after careful, agonizing consideration, they found no logical flaw. The more they tried to dissect it, the more their minds spun into a dizzying vortex of confusion.
No. How could anyone possibly possess such a thought process?
"Mr. Dutch, this…" Rains Fall stammered, his voice trailing off into speechless disbelief. He wanted to refute, to uphold the sacrifices of his ancestors, to defend the very essence of his Indian identity, but Dutch's words, in their unsettling, undeniable logic, left him disarmed. And then, a second thought, equally insidious, began to worm its way into his mind: his own tribe hadn't claimed the entire continent either, had they? So, perhaps…
Rains Fall fell silent, his arguments utterly dismantled by Dutch's chillingly persuasive rhetoric.
But Dutch, a master of psychological warfare, was not finished. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with an almost messianic zeal, and with a flourish, he gripped Rains Fall's hand, then Flying Eagle's, pulling them both slightly closer.
His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, radiating an intense, manufactured earnestness. "Actually, Mr. Chief, why don't we indulge in a little thought experiment? Let us, for a moment, step into their shoes and reconsider."
"Did your ancestral land, in its primeval state, boast so many sprawling houses, such advanced social strata, such breathtaking technology?" Dutch asked, his eyes sweeping around the elegant store. He shook his head, a gesture of almost theatrical pity. "Obviously not. Your ancestral land, while noble, was, by modern standards, backward and… ignorant."
He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, then surged forward. "And now, Mr. Chief, if you were to become capitalists, you could acquire land on a truly colossal scale, reclaim the territory you lost—and this time, the recovered land would not only contain a vast population, countless urban buildings, but also the crowning technological achievements of modern human society! In other words, you would have exchanged some primitive, undeveloped land for entire, ready-made cities! And you could command countless laborers to work for you!" Dutch's smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"That is to say," Dutch leaned in, his voice laced with unholy glee, "these so-called 'American bandits' have actually been toiling, all this time, to build your new empire! Oh, Mr. Rains Fall, Mr. Flying Eagle, your vision is too narrow! Anything you desire can actually return to your hands in another way, with an entirely different, far more beneficial result! You cannot simply focus on immediate gains, or on rigid ancestral teachings, for that will limit your thinking! It will prevent you from seeing the grand tapestry!"
Dutch straightened, his gaze piercing. "In other words, Mr. Rains Fall, if under your visionary leadership, your Indians fought tenaciously, not with arrows, but with ledgers, slowly developing into the upper echelons of America over decades, or even a century, and then," Dutch paused for dramatic effect, leaning in, his voice a triumphant whisper, "you successfully ran for American President… then wouldn't all your ancestral land, the entire damned continent, become your land once more? So why," he scoffed, "why cling to this tiny, insignificant patch of dirt and engage in bloody, futile struggles? The consequences will only lead to greater hardship, perhaps even complete annihilation! Is this the result of the struggle you desire?"
He threw his hands up in a gesture of exaggerated bewilderment. "In the distant East, there was once a an emperor who rose from rags and almost dominated the entire Europe, So why," Dutch reasoned, his voice softening, becoming almost soothing, "why not change your way of thinking when you know that current methods are utterly impossible? Use other methods to solve your current predicament, and then move, step by calculated step, towards your ultimate goal!"
Dutch's expression turned solemn, almost mournful. "As long as your tribe is united enough, as long as your goal is firm enough, all methods will eventually lead to the same result! Your fighting spirit, Mr. Chief, is indeed moving, even admirable! Your spirit is commendable! But your tribe is shrinking, step by agonizing step, in this process, becoming weaker, and eventually, it will completely disappear in the relentless march of time. So, it's time to think in a different way, Mr. Chief! A smarter way!"
Dutch, a true master of insidious persuasion, was systematically dismantling Rains Fall's core beliefs. He meticulously packaged the brutal reality of surrendering resistance into a seductive, empowering narrative, embedding it deep within the minds of the two Indians.
There was, admittedly, nothing factually incorrect in Dutch's twisted logic. But the backbone of a nation, the very spirit that allows it to stand tall, is its unwavering defiance. Yet, only a select few nations possessed such an unyielding spirit. The rest either lacked the inherent tenacity, or their populations were too small, too scattered, to forge such an indomitable will.
So, in this context, Dutch's audacious pronouncements weren't "wrong." The Indians had, after all, tried to stand tall, only to see 13 million of their people perish in Spanish territories, another 10 million in Brazil. Their resistance had been utterly crushed. Now, only Dutch's cunning, insidious method offered a path.
Dutch's words hit their mark. For Rains Fall, his only remaining hope was to minimize needless sacrifices, to find a way for his people to simply live in safety.
The notion of becoming American President was absurd to him, but Dutch's promise of a stable life, a safe haven, resonated deep within his weary heart.
Flying Eagle, still young and brimming with untamed passion, only understood the language of battle. Dutch's "concept of struggle" was alien to him, yet its ingenious linguistic packaging—stripped of messy human nature or ethics—made it sound like a far smarter, more effective way to fight. He was deeply, profoundly moved by Dutch's words.
For a moment, both Rains Fall and Flying Eagle were visibly swayed, a dangerous flicker of hope in their eyes.
"Oh." Rains Fall sighed deeply, a sound of profound exhaustion. He turned his head, his gaze meeting Flying Eagle's, which was already shining with desperate hope and a nascent excitement. Then, he spoke. "Mr. Dutch, thank you for your… help. But I think we need to return and discuss this. This… this is too important for our tribe."
Flying Eagle, a restless energy building in him, began to rise, eager to speak. But Rains Fall's hand, a silent, firm command, pressed down on his thigh, forcing him back into his seat.
Dutch, however, merely beamed, his satisfaction palpable. He didn't care about their immediate departure. He had successfully planted a virulent seed in their minds, a concept he slyly referred to as "buyer's tactics."
Whether driven by the tribe's survival or their simmering hatred, that seed, Dutch knew, would inevitably sprout and grow into a harvest of his own design.
Dutch's face was all smiles, a picture of benevolent understanding. He nodded in agreement. "Of course, Mr. Rains Fall, of course. The location of our factory is in Hope Ranch, between Valentine and Strawberry. If you decide to embrace this… opportunity… you will find me there." He rose, extending a hand to Rains Fall, his eyes gleaming.
"I always welcome your arrival, my friend!"