"It is a trick!" Chiun objected.
"It's the way of Ko Jong Oh, who legends say used to steal the milk from she-foxes on the run."
"This is not Sinanju."
"No, it's different. Your ways are killing ways. A Sunny Joe knows he doesn't have to kill to conquer a foe. Not when trickery and cunning can get the job done."
"You would make a terrible assassin," Chiun spat.
"Maybe. But as long as there have been Sunny Joes, the tribe has lived unmolested."
"In a desert," Chiun spat.
" People come from all over America to retire in the desert climate. In the dead of winter, Yuma's usually the warmest spot in the nation."
"If one enjoys inhaling sand."
"You're taking this somewhere, aren't you, chief?" Sunny Joe inquired.
"No, I am not."
"Sure you are. C'mon, come clean. What's eating you?"
"You have no chief. You admit this," Chiun argued.
"Right."
"I am the chief of my people."
"So you say."
"Your people are of the same blood as my people."
"We're your poor relations, I guess you could say," Sunny Joe conceded.
"Our people have been apart for too long. They should be one. United."
"We are one. The Spirit of Sun On Jo is in us all."
"The correct pronunciation is 'Sinanju,' and how can we be one when we live apart?" Chiun continued.
"I get you, chief. Your people are welcome to visit here any time at all."
"That is not where I am driving!"
"Then steer a straight path," Sunny Joe instructed.
"You must all come with me to the village of our mutual ancestors. The body of the ancestor who is properly known as Kojong must be interred among the bones of his father, Nonja, and his twin brother, Kojing."
Sunny Joe Roam was quiet for a long time. Somewhere a rattlesnake whirred in warning.
"This is the land of the Sun On Jo," Sunny Joe said quietly. "We belong here. The winds and the sun, the moon and all the stars know us. And we know them, We belong nowhere else."
"In my village there is no want."
"Unless there is no work. In which case you drown the female babies."
Chiun's hazel eyes flashed. "Who told you that—Remo?"
"Who else?"
"No Sinanju babies have been drowned since the Ming Dynasty," Chiun declared forcefully.
"And no Sun On Jo papoose has been drowned—ever."
"That is because you have no water," Chiun shrilled.
"Maybe that's another reason old Ko Jong Oh picked this place. Besides, we do have Laughing Brook."
"It is a dry riverbed unworthy of the name."
"Only in the dry season. The water always comes back. It's a tributary of the Colorado. The summer heat dries it up. We call it Crying River during the parched times."
"I know these things. I wish to know your answer."
"The answer is thanks but no thanks," Sunny Joe said.
"You are not the chief. You must put this to a vote."
"Sorry. Ko Jong Oh laid down an edict that if the chief passes on, the living Sunny Joe takes up his wisdom stick."
"This is your final decision?" Chiun persisted.
"Sorry. But this is our land."
Chiun jumped up on his feet. "No, this is your desert and you are welcome to it. Come the morrow, Remo and I are leaving. With or without you."
"You talk to him about this?"
"Of course. And do not think you can persuade my son in spirit to remain with you in your desert. For as long as I have known him, he has followed in my sandals."
"He's wearing moccasins now."
"I will break him of these redskin ways."
Sunny Joe stood up. "I'm not going to stop either of you."