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into the open air and put their horses in the houses.

 I am not here for the purpose of justifying the saying of Josh Billings that all good Indians died young, or that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. It is somewhat the fashion to denounce the Indian as the author of all wrongs on the frontier. He is painted in the darkest colors unredeemed by a single noble trait. He is the embodiment of whatever is mean, treacherous, savage and brutal. His name is the synonym of cruelty and he finds his highest delight in the murder of innocent and helpless human beings

  The Indian is portrayed as the incarnation of cunning, craft, deceit and stratagem, and in him meet and blend all the baser qualities to which humanity is heir. While I do not join in this hue and cry which denounces the Indian as the hell hound of war who asks no quarter and gives no mercy, to whom pity is a stranger and in whose breast compassion has not a lodgement- yet the mention of his name recalls many a blood stained leaf in our history that thrills us with horror.

 I do not need to strengthen my argument by reference to the savage passions and ferocious deeds that come to the front in the fierce heat of war. It is only necessary that
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