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The Foot Races.

by Hanford Lennox Gordon

On an arm of an oak hangs the prize

for the swiftest and strongest of runners

A blanket as red as the skies,

when the flames sweep the plains in October.

And beside it a strong, polished bow,

and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows,

Which Kap'za's tall chief will bestow

on the fleet-footed second that follows.

A score of swift runners are there

from the several bands of the nation,

And now for the race they prepare,

and among them fleet-footed Tamd'ka.

With the oil of the buck and the bear

their sinewy limbs are annointed,

For fleet are the feet of the deer

and strong are the limbs of the bruin.

Hark! the shouts and the braying of drums,

and the Babel of tongues and confusion!

From his teepee the tall chieftain comes,

and DuLuth brings a prize for the runners

A keen hunting-knife from the Seine,

horn-handled and mounted with silver.

The runners are ranged on the plain,

and the Chief waves a flag as a signal,

And away like the gray wolves they fly

like the wolves on the trail of the red-deer;

O'er the hills and the prairie they vie,

and strain their strong limbs to the utmost,

While high on the hills hangs a cloud

of warriors and maidens and mothers,

To see the swift-runners, and loud

are the cheers and the shouts of the warriors.

Now swift from the lake they return

o'er the emerald hills of the prairies;

Like grey-hounds they pant and they yearn,

and the leader of all is Tamd'ka.

At his heels flies Hu-p'-hu,[AA]

the fleet the pride of the band of Ka'za,

A warrior with eagle-winged feet,

but his prize is the bow and the quiver.

Tamd'ka first reaches the post,

and his are the knife and the blanket,

By the mighty acclaim of the host

and award of the chief and the judges.

Then proud was the tall warrior's stride,

and haughty his look and demeanor;

He boasted aloud in his pride,

and he scoffed at the rest of the runners.

"Behold me, for I am a man![AB]

my feet are as swift as the West-wind.

With the coons and the beavers I ran;

but where is the elk or the cabri?[80]

Come! where is the hunter will dare

match his feet with the feet of Tamd'ka?

Let him think of Tat'[AC] and beware,

ere he stake his last robe on the trial."

"Oh'! Ho! H'-h'ca!"[AD] they jeered,

for they liked not the boast of the boaster;

But to match him no warrior appeared,

for his feet wore the wings of the west-wind.

Then forth from the side of the chief

stepped DuLuth and he looked on the boaster;

"The words of a warrior are brief,

I will run with the brave," said the Frenchman;

"But the feet of Tamd'ka are tired;

abide till the cool of the sunset."

All the hunters and maidens admired,

for strong were the limbs of the stranger.

"Hiw' Ho!"[AE] they shouted

and loud rose the cheers of the multitude mingled;

And there in the midst of the crowd

stood the glad-eyed and blushing Winona.

Now afar o'er the plains of the west

walked the sun at the end of his journey,

And forth came the brave and the guest,

at the tap of the drum, for the trial.

Like a forest of larches the hordes

were gathered to witness the contest;

As loud as the drums were their words

and they roared like the roar of the Ha-ha.

For some for Tamd'ka contend,

and some for the fair, bearded stranger,

And the betting runs high to the end,

with the skins of the bison and beaver.

A wife of tall W'z'-kut'

the mother of boastful Tamd'ka

Brought her handsomest robe from the tee

with a vaunting and loud proclamation:

She would stake her last robe on her son

who, she boasted, was fleet as the cabri,

And the tall, tawny chieftain looked on,

approving the boast of the mother.

Then fleet as the feet of a fawn

to her lodge ran the dark-eyed Winona,

She brought and she spread on the lawn,

by the side of the robe of the boaster,

The lily-red mantel DuLuth,

with his own hands, had laid on her shoulders.

"Tamd'ka is swift, but forsooth,

the tongue of his mother is swifter,"

She said, and her face was aflame

with the red of the rose and the lily,

And loud was the roar of acclaim;

but dark was the face of Tamd'ka.

They strip for the race and prepare,

DuLuth in his breeches and leggins;

And the brown, curling locks of his hair

down droop to his bare, brawny shoulders,

And his face wears a smile debonair,

as he tightens his red sash around him;

But stripped to the moccasins bare,

save the belt and the breech-clout of buckskin,

Stands the haughty Tamd'ka aware

that the eyes of the warriors admire him;

For his arms are the arms of a bear

and his legs are the legs of a panther.

The drum beats, the chief waves the flag,

and away on the course speed the runners,

And away leads the brave like a stag,

like a bound on his track flies the Frenchman;

And away haste the hunters once more

to the hills, for a view to the lakeside,

And the dark-swarming hill-tops, they roar

with the storm of loud voices commingled.

Far away o'er the prairie they fly,

and still in the lead is Tamd'ka,

But the feet of his rival are nigh,

and slowly he gains on the hunter.

Now they turn on the post at the lake,

now they run full abreast on the home-stretch:

Side by side they contend for the stake

for a long mile or more on the prairie

They strain like a stag and a hound,

when the swift river gleams through the thicket,

And the horns of the riders resound,

winding shrill through the depths of the forest.

But behold! at full length on the ground

falls the fleet-footed Frenchman abruptly,

And away with a whoop and a bound

springs the eager, exulting Tamd'ka

Long and loud on the hills is the

shout of his swarthy admirers and backers,

"But the race is not won till it's out,"

said DuLuth, to himself as he gathered,

With a frown on his face, for the foot

of the wily Tamd'ka had tripped him.

Far ahead ran the brave on the route,

and turning he boasted exultant.

Like spurs to the steed to DuLuth

were the jeers and the taunts of the boaster;

Indignant was he and red wroth

at the trick of the runner dishonest;

And away like a whirlwind he speeds

like a hurricane mad from the mountains;

He gains on Tamd'ka, he leads!

and behold, with the spring of a panther,

He leaps to the goal and succeeds,

'mid the roar of the mad acclamation.

Then glad as the robin in May

was the voice of Winona exulting;

Tamd'ka turned sullen away,

and sulking he walked by the river;

He glowered as he went and the fire

of revenge in his bosom was kindled:

Dark was his visage with ire

and his eyes were the eyes of a panther.