Mingo
"Fight Daniel, fight or we both die."
Daniel holds me down. He holds my right arm, keeps my knife away from his body, while I struggle, holding his knife's arm. He has stopped fighting, he's thinking. There is no way to con your way out of this fight to the death, my friend. You have chosen a Cherokee law. You have to uphold your end of the bargain, my friend. It is my life, or yours – to hold true to my tribe's customs, my tribe's ways.
I see realization dawning in his eyes at last. There is no way you can talk, or wound me and save both our lives. I knew it as soon as the counsel gave me the honor of this fight. My heart shuddered for a moment. I saw it in your eyes. You never believed it. You would be your usual fox, Daniel. Well, this time, you have to face the truth and the reality of your actions.
Daniel, as I fight for my life, even for yours perhaps, I can't help to wonder why.
Why Daniel must you defend this white man? Why do you feel that the white man's laws are better than the red man's laws …
Why is his life so precious to you that you defile my point of view?
I can't think of all your reasons, my friend. Your knife is sharp. You and I fight for our lives. Only one of us will live!
Why Daniel?