Hearts and minds

"Thank you, Mr. Matthews. I… I'm very grateful!" Rain Falls rasped, his voice thick with emotion, his gnarled hands gripping Hosea's with a surprising ferocity. A rare, almost imperceptible tremor of raw feeling flickered across his usually stoic face. He was truly, deeply moved.

The Indians had struggled, had suffered, had been systematically broken for so many agonizing years. They were desperate, fragmented, on the verge of utter collapse.

Every other American, it seemed, wished to be rid of them, to simply sweep them under the rug of history as quickly and conveniently as possible. And then, there was this man, this Hosea, and his peculiar, benevolent gang, showing them a warmth, a consideration, a care they had never, in their entire brutal existence, experienced before.

"You're welcome, Mr. Rain," Hosea replied, his smile easy and genuine as he gently patted Rain Falls's hands. He shook his head, a faint, almost wistful chuckle escaping him.

"You are also people, after all, and you, too, should have the right to survive. Dutch… Dutch has said it more times than I can count on this ranch: everyone has the right to pursue happiness. And you, Chieftain, you, of course, absolutely have that right!"

He paused, then looked at Rain Falls and Flying Eagle, a hint of genuine surprise, a flash of recognition, appearing in his eyes. "Oh, Chieftain Rain, have we… met before?"

"Yes, Mr. Matthews," Rain Falls replied, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips. "On that mountaintop, long ago. Your carriage… had some trouble back then." Who could have possibly imagined that a mere, fleeting glance back then, a chance encounter, would ultimately lead them to this moment, to their paths converging in such an unexpected, desperate way? Isn't this, he mused, a strange, beautiful twist of fate?

"Hahahahaha, perhaps indeed this is fate!" Hosea boomed, his laughter warm and hearty, echoing slightly in the vastness of the ranch. He gestured expansively towards the bustling factory. "Alright, Chieftain, let's go inside first. I imagine you haven't eaten in quite some time, have you? So why don't you and your people come in and have something to eat. Don't you worry, not one bit. Dutch has already arranged everything, down to the last detail."

"Don't call me Chief, Mr. Matthews," Rain Falls said, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy and a profound sadness, as he followed Hosea towards the warmth and promise of the factory. "I can no longer be considered a Chief, not truly." He knew that once they stepped into this factory, they would be laborers, factory workers, and the identity of Chief would only needlessly complicate things, perhaps even create resentment.

He couldn't, wouldn't, let Mr. Van der Linde make any special arrangements for him simply because of his old title. They had come seeking refuge, to survive, and naturally, they wouldn't, couldn't, wish to make things difficult for Mr. Van der Linde. Moreover, if Mr. Van der Linde were to constantly look after him, constantly give him special treatment because of his identity, that very identity would, in the long run, become a disadvantage, a bitter source of resentment among his own people, perhaps even amongst the other workers.

However, how could Dutch Van der Linde be so narrow-minded? Hosea merely smiled, a slight, knowing shake of his head. "No, Chieftain Rain, you are still the Chief. This is what Dutch himself requested. As Chieftain, you inherently possess invaluable management skills and abilities. So who, indeed, would dare to strip you of that identity? In fact, according to Dutch's grand idea, he wants you all to live together, in one location.

Everyone will work together during shifts, but you, Chieftain Rain, will still be in charge of the daily management of your people, your customs, your way of life." Hosea leaned in, his voice dropping slightly, imbued with a profound sincerity. "We respect your culture, your customs, your ancestral system. You are not anyone's subordinates, Chieftain Rain, nor are you anyone's slaves.

Our relationship with you is solely that of worker and employer. We do not wish to interfere with your daily management or the division of your power. Your lives are still your lives; you are simply working for us at the moment. So, Chieftain Rain, you are still the Chieftain. You still need to manage your tribe. And you can leave with your tribesmen anytime you wish to leave. We will not have any impact on your daily life or your tribe."

He then added, with a twinkle in his eye and a lighthearted chuckle, "Oh, of course, the living quarters do need to be kept clean. That, my friend, is a strict factory rule. Hahahaha."

Hosea, beaming with genuine warmth, relayed the meticulously crafted 'rules' that Dutch had already discussed with him. Dutch, ever the master of soft power, always favored a warm, subtly persuasive approach with his own people.

He would never forcefully strip Rain Falls of his leadership, nor would he demand the Indians' absolute submission. In Dutch's expansive, all-encompassing vision, whether they were Indians, Black people, or even poor, downtroroden Americans, everyone who came here came to work, all for a living.

So Dutch, with cunning generosity, tried his absolute best to ensure that everyone's lives were not just good, but exceptionally good. So good, in fact, that they themselves would be utterly reluctant to leave this miraculous factory. So good that they would spontaneously, willingly, desire to follow Dutch, to believe in his every word.

So good that they would truly, deeply consider this place their one, true home. This, he knew, was his ultimate persuasive approach, and, by far, the most profoundly effective method.

Listening to Hosea's words, Rain Falls and Flying Eagle were simply dumbfounded, utterly incredulous. The very reason they had hesitated about coming here before, the reason for their month-long agonizing debate, was precisely their crippling fear of being forced to submit, of being forcibly divided, of being slowly assimilated into the white man's world and eventually disappearing, wasn't it?

They had wavered for over a month, finally, desperately, made up their minds to come, already prepared for their tribe to slowly, painfully, vanish into history. But then, they were suddenly told, with an almost comical nonchalance, that there was no intention of submission, no assimilation, no division at all! They were simply being asked to come and work!

If they had known this earlier, why the hell would they have hesitated?! They would have come running, screaming with joy, ages ago! As for the issue of their original gathering place being occupied, that was even less of a problem now.

According to Dutch's original, incredibly generous statement, the money earned by these four hundred-plus Indians in just one month would be enough to buy a large, respectable ranch. Wouldn't selling their old, miserable gathering place simply turn it into a legal, thriving ranch, and bring them back to a much better, more strategic location?!

Just as Rain Falls and Flying Eagle stood there, suspended in their profound shock, Dutch's familiar, charismatic voice boomed from just behind the three of them.

"Well said, Hosea!"

The three men quickly spun their heads, startled, only to see two fast horses already stopped at the factory entrance, Dutch and Charles seated proudly upon them, a triumphant air about them.

"Mr. Van der Linde!" Seeing Dutch's undeniable arrival, Rain Falls and Flying Eagle, despite their inner turmoil, quickly stepped forward, bowing their heads in respectful greeting.

Although Hosea had just reassured them of their autonomy, they were, after all, now relying on others, and humility was a natural, instinctive response. Of course, they were indeed quite, quite humble.

"Oh ho ho, hello, Mr. Rain Falls, Mr. Flying Eagle!" Dutch exclaimed, dismounting with a flourish, a beaming, infectious smile plastered across his face. He quickly strode forward, tightly clasping Rain Falls's and Flying Eagle's hands, the warmth of his smile not diminishing in the slightest. He radiated an almost divine benevolence.

Charles, meanwhile, followed closely behind Dutch, his gaze fixed on the two Indians before him, a hint of profound excitement, almost wonder, on his usually stoic face. Rain Falls, who was shaking Dutch's hand, noticed this tall, dark-skinned young man. He scrutinized Charles's face, a bit uncertain, and then, a dawning realization, a spark of hope, entered his eyes. "Child," Rain Falls murmured, his voice soft, a questioning inflection, "are you…?"

"My mother is Indian, my father is Black," Charles stated, his voice steady, yet imbued with a rare, deep emotion. He extended a hand towards Rain Falls, a gesture of kinship.

"I grew up with my mother in an Indian tribe. Later, our tribe… our tribe was occupied by Americans…"

Dutch, watching from a short distance, had to admit that this was the first time he had ever seen Charles speak so much, to reveal so much of his past. It showed just how profoundly emotional Charles was in this moment.

As for Charles's childhood experiences, the game hadn't truly delved into them with much detail, but it was generally known that he had moved with his parents and tribe when he was young.

Later, the tribe disbanded, and he hunted with his parents to survive. Then, tragically, his parents died, and he began his long, solitary wandering. So, upon seeing fellow Indians at this moment, a powerful sense of familiarity, a deep, aching sense of belonging, naturally welled up within him.

"Good child!" Rain Falls exclaimed, his eyes welling up with emotion. He reached out and tightly clasped Charles's hands, his own eyes brimming with emotion and a deep, shared melancholy. He looked at Charles, and a sudden, profound sadness welled up in his heart, a familiar ache. Perhaps, he mused, the Indians would ultimately, inevitably, only meet such an end, scattered and diluted.

Of course, if Dutch knew his current, pessimistic thoughts, he would definitely refute him with a theatrical flourish. "He's thinking too much!" Dutch would undoubtedly declare. "They've been confined for two hundred years, up to this very day!"