Their methods

Rains Fall's brows furrowed, deep lines of ancient sorrow etched onto his face as he listened to Dutch's words. He slowly shook his head, a gesture heavy with generations of futility.

"Mr. Dutch, are you suggesting we use their methods against them? To… to rob them?" Rains Fall's voice was a low, weary rumble. "No, sir. We cannot afford another war. Our people are already broken."

"No! Mr. Rains Fall, we are not robbing them!" Dutch declared, waving a dismissive hand as if swatting away a pesky fly. He took a fresh cigar from Avril, letting her light it for him with a practiced flick of her wrist. The scent of rich tobacco filled the air.

"Please!" Dutch gestured with the cigar towards Rains Fall, offering one. When the chief gently declined, Dutch merely shrugged, then continued, his voice dropping to a somber, almost philosophical tone.

"Mr. Rains Fall, I believe you are acutely aware that the entire national structure of America is already fully formed; there is no possibility of changing it. Not through war, not through negotiation. It is a beast that simply cannot be reasoned with!"

Rains Fall nodded weakly, a profound, aching helplessness in his eyes. This was his inescapable truth. This sprawling nation, built by former bandits, had metastasized with terrifying speed over recent decades, leaving his people with no hope whatsoever.

The mere cessation of outright war was, for them, already a miraculous reprieve. He couldn't conceive of any other way to contend with such an unstoppable force.

"So, if we are to contend with them, we can only do so by standing within the larger structure of America itself!" Dutch took a long, dramatic drag from his cigar. The fragrant smoke curled around Rains Fall's ears, but the chief still looked utterly lost, his expression a mixture of confusion and despair.

"Mr. Dutch, I… I don't quite understand," Rains Fall admitted, his gaze drifting to the floor.

Dutch leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes gleaming with a manic fervor. "Mr. Rains Fall, I understand very well, sir, I understand very well!" He gestured wildly.

"Capital is the very foundation of America's operation! And capitalists are its true, undeniable decision-makers! There are only two paths to contend with America, my friend: the first is to embark on a crusade to kill all the capitalists. But that, alas, is a temporary solution, a futile exercise, for new ones will always, always emerge like hydra heads! It's a fool's errand, chasing shadows!" Dutch practically spat the words, then leaned back, a triumphant glint in his eye.

"The second way, Mr. Rains Fall," he continued, his voice rising in dramatic cadence, "is to become a capitalist yourself! When you become the biggest capitalist, every single word you utter will carry immense, crushing weight in America! You will not be driven away like a stray dog, forced to wag your tail and beg for pity! You will not be ignored! You will be respected!" Dutch thumped the table for emphasis.

"Mr. Rains Fall, I lack the brute force to flatten America, nor can I hunt down and kill every single capitalist. So, I have chosen the second path: to become an American capitalist myself!"

Dutch gestured around the elegant store, then pointed vaguely towards the vast, unforgiving wilderness outside. "As my influence expands, step by glorious step, I will be able to bring my family the peaceful life they only dream of. Their lives will be happy and fulfilling, their futures bright and promising. They will not be oppressed by anyone; they will suffer no hardships!" He gave a theatrical sigh, then swept his hand across the air, encompassing the entire store.

"Look around, Mr. Rains Fall. I am already on my way. My members have already begun to integrate into high society; they no longer have to hide with me, no longer have to wander the wilderness. And you," Dutch's voice dropped, laced with a pity so saccharine it was almost insulting, "or rather, all of your people, can only continue to eke out an existence in a forgotten corner, praying to a silent God every single day, hoping that those capitalists and congressmen won't deign to focus their attention on you."

Dutch's words, delivered with the precision of a guillotine, silenced Rains Fall. But Flying Eagle, his young face contorted with fury, would not tolerate such an insult to their existence. He shot up from his seat, his eyes blazing. "If it weren't for you bandits coming here, our lives would still be happy and fulfilling!"

But before he could utter another furious word, Rains Fall's hand, heavy and knowing, was already on his shoulder, pressing him back down. "No, child. There's no point in saying those things now. Mr. Dutch, you are right." Rains Fall's voice was barely a whisper, thick with resignation. "America cannot be resisted. We have no way to contend with it."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if in pain. "Perhaps the method you described is useful for you, but for us, it is still a pipe dream. American society cannot integrate us, and we have no ability, no means, to become American capitalists."

Rains Fall spoke these words heavily, each syllable weighted with the crushing despair of a dying man. Before speaking with Dutch, they had merely been worried about the immediate threat of Cornwall's oil eviction.

Now, after Dutch's eloquent, insidious monologue, Rains Fall felt that his tribe had lost all hope. Those few sentences had almost driven him to total depression, for Dutch's words made too much sense, a devastatingly logical blow that laid bare their utter powerlessness. It made him painfully clear that America could no longer be resisted, and they were truly, utterly out of options. Even Dutch's grand pronouncements about becoming "capital" were impossible for them to even attempt.

It was, after all, still a world of White supremacy. The status of these Indian people was no different from that of Black people; they were so thoroughly marginalized that if they dared shovel manure on a farm, others would fear they'd contaminate the very cows.

Let alone the ludicrous notion of "integrating into high society" to become capitalists. This was their insurmountable wall. In the untamed jungle, they could still maintain a basic existence. Outside, in this "civilized" world, even basic sustenance was a daily miracle.

Just as Rains Fall felt utterly hopeless, and Flying Eagle yearned to slaughter America with his bare hands, Dutch spoke again. His voice was soft, deceptively gentle, like a serpent's whisper.

"So what" Dutch said, a triumphant gleam in his eye, "I said I can help you, Mr. Rains Fall."

Hmm? Rains Fall looked at Dutch, utterly bewildered. He couldn't conceive how this man, this stranger, could possibly offer salvation now.

"Mr. Rains Fall," Dutch continued, his voice adopting a tone of profound, undeniable truth, "if civilization is a major trend, then a major trend simply cannot be resisted. I think you've already felt this, after so many years of arduous struggle."

"Yes," Rains Fall nodded, a slight tremor in his voice.

"So," Dutch leaned in, his voice hardening, "whether you integrate into civilization sooner or later, the final outcome for you will be precisely the same. The only difference is the amount of blood spilled, the amount of suffering endured." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "So, why not integrate into civilization earlier? Do you truly wish to see your people continually oppressed, driven away, living a precarious and impoverished existence? Or," Dutch's voice rose, filled with a theatrical, burning hatred, his eyes fixed on Rains Fall's, "do you wish to become a capitalist, using your status and influence to ensure the very survival of your people, to resist those former invaders?"

Arthur, sitting beside him, nodded vigorously, utterly convinced by Dutch's rhetoric. "Yes, Mr. Rains Fall," Arthur chimed in, a genuine enthusiasm in his voice, "do you know? We used to be hated and driven away wherever we went. But now, thanks to Dutch's efforts, we've swaggered into the high society of Saint Denis! The Sheriff of Valentine, he helps me with my horse! I don't even need to buy a ticket to ride a train! Oh, you don't know, they used to only dream of putting me on the gallows when they saw me, but now, even I... my wife, she's come back to me!"

Arthur's eyes glistened, a genuine, raw emotion in his voice. "Oh, if I used to think all rich people were stone-hearted scoundrels, now I think it's quite good to be rich myself!" He finished with a sheepish, self-deprecating chuckle.

Listening to Arthur's earnest lament, Rains Fall felt as if his heart was being slowly, painfully twisted. How desperately he wished his people could live such a life, instead of being forced to hide in the rainforest like rats in a sewer.

"Oh, Mr. Dutch, we… we are not accepted by society, even if…" Rains Fall's voice grew more sorrowful, trailing off into a whisper. His words, however, were cut off mid-sentence by Dutch.

"I accept you! Mr. Rains Fall!" Dutch declared, his voice ringing with a powerful, almost divine authority. He jabbed a finger dramatically at his chest. "We are all resisters of the times, all enemies of these damned bandits! That is precisely why I want to help you! Mr. Rains Fall, I just said it: learn the enemy's methods, use the enemy's methods, to defeat the enemy, and then shape society into the way we want it! This is currently the only possible means of resistance that can truly succeed!" Dutch's eyes burned with a messianic zeal.

"And now, I am already on this path! But I am still weak, I still feel a bit powerless against them. I need allies! I need help!" Dutch stretched out a hand towards Rains Fall, a grand, theatrical gesture of supplication. "So, Mr. Rains Fall, we are both resisters of fate; we need to help each other! And for your current predicament, I will also extend a helping hand!"

Dutch paused, letting the tension build, then delivered his final, devastating offer. "How about this, Mr. Rains Fall: you can bring all your people to my factory. The women will learn sewing skills with my factory workers and serve as seamstresses, and I will pay each of them twenty-five dollars a month. The men will serve as gunmen and cargo handlers, and I will pay each of them fifty or even one hundred dollars a month! Everyone, regardless of adult or child, I will provide food and lodging! You will still retain your culture, your customs, and your ethnic group!" Dutch took a deep, dramatic breath, then delivered the killing blow.

"I know my method is too abrupt, and I know it must be difficult for you to accept leaving your ancestral land, but 'learn the barbarians' superior techniques to control the barbarians'—this is our, and your, only chance for survival! Mr. Rains Fall, in reality, every inch, every square foot of the land beneath our very feet, was originally your ancestral land! So even if you come here, you are still on your own ancestral land!"

Dutch unleashed a final, devastating barrage of carefully constructed lies, a classic montage of distorted truths, delivering a fatal blow to Rains Fall and Flying Eagle's last vestiges of resistance. Especially that last sentence—it was the most insidious, the most fatally appealing.

Why had Rains Fall and Flying Eagle steadfastly resisted Cornwall's plan? Being driven out was merely the smallest reason; they had been displaced countless times before. They could always find another patch of wilderness to hunt and survive. And yes, many Indian people had integrated into society, and none had claimed it was impossible.

No, their unwavering resistance stemmed from a single, unshakeable belief: these people were encroaching on their sacred land, destroying and occupying their ancestral heritage. That was intolerable! And now, Dutch, with a wicked gleam in his eye, had once again employed his classic, manipulative rhetoric, subtly shifting the main contradiction to a secondary one, cleverly resolving it with a single, elegant lie.

You say they are encroaching on your land? he seemed to ask. But if you think about it carefully, every inch of this entire continent is actually your land! You are simply moving to a different spot on your own land!

Hey, Dutch mused to himself, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips, doesn't that suddenly make it feel perfectly acceptable?

Damn, Dutch praised himself silently, almost giggling with delight. It's no wonder you're so utterly awesome, Dutch. Who could possibly resist such perfectly crafted, undeniably persuasive words?