The white man does not understand America.
He is too far removed from its formative process.
The roots of the tree of his life have not yet grasped the rock and the soil
The white man is still troubled by primitive fears; he still has in his consciousness the perils of this frontier continent, some of it not yet having yielded to his questing footsteps and inquiring eyes.
He shudders still with the memory of the loss of his forefathers upon its scorching deserts and forbidding mountaintops.
The man from Europe is still a foreigner and an alien.
And he still hates the man who questioned his path across the continent.
But in the Indian the spirit of the land is still vested; it will be a long time until other man are able to divine and meet its rhythm. Men must be born and reborn to belong.
Their bodies must be formed of the dust of their forefathers' bones.