and began cursing Somerfield. She spat in his face and
called him all outrageous names that came to her vindictive tongue.
Luckily it was that he had been put next, and so, forewarned, was able
to grin and bear it. But Lord, how she did tongue-lash him. Then she
took a flat piece of wood, shaped like a laurel leaf, which was fastened
to a thin strip of hide, and showed him that. It was a kind of charm,
and on it was cut one of the running lizards. She wanted him to rub it
on his forehead. Of course with his notions of religion he wouldn't do
it. That's natural. When she passed it to me, I did what she wanted
done. I never was particular that way. Symbols mean nothing anyway and
if fools are in the majority, it's no use stirring up trouble. It's
playing a lie of course, but then that's the part of wisdom it seems to
me, sometimes. It's in a line with protective coloring. You remember
what I said about the proper mounting of your specimens don't you? Well,
it's like that. That's why persecutions have never stamped out opinions
nor prohibitions appetites. The wisest keep their counsel and go on as
usual. The martyrs are the weak fools. But let's see. Where was I? Oh,
yes. The old woman and the piece of wood.

"She began running from this one to that, kind of working herself up
into a frenzy. Then she started to chant some old nonsense. There was a
rhythm to it. She sang:

'Nao calls for the useless.'

"Then the rest of them would shout

'Nao calls. Nao calls.'

"There was a terrible lot of it. The main purport was that this Nao was
the ruling devil or god of the place. It called for the sacrifice of the
useless. Many men were needed so that the one should be born who would
lead the Tlingas to victory. That was the tone of it, and at the end of
every line she sang, the crowd joined in with the refrain.

'Nao calls. Nao calls.'

"Of course they became worked up. She handled them pretty much the same
as a skillful speaker does things at a political meeting or an
evangelist at a revival. The same spirit was there. Instead of a flag,
there was the tribal pole. There was the old gag of their nation or
tribe being the chosen one. I don't care where you go, there is always
the same thing. Every tribe and nation is cock-sure that theirs is the
best. They have the bravest and the wisest men and the best women. But I
kept nudging Somerfield. It was hard on him. He was the Judas and the
traitor and all that. 'Damn