They charge on the riders and runners stanch,
And a dying steed in the snow-drift rolls,
While the rider, flung to the frozen ground
Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.
But the raging monsters are held at bay,
While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout.
With lance and arrow they slay and slay;
And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout--
To the loud Inas and the wild Ihos, [34]--
And dark and dead, on the bloody snows,
Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.

All snug in the teepee Wiwaste lay,
All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day,--
All snug and warm from the wind and snow,
While the hunters followed the buffalo.
Her dreams and her slumber their wild shouts broke;
The chase was afoot when the maid awoke;
She heard the twangs of the hunter's bows,
And the bellowing bulls and the loud Ihos,
And she murmured--"My hunter is far away
In the happy land of the tall Hohe--
My beautiful hunter, my brave Chaske;
But the robins will come and my warrior too,
And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo."

And long she lay in a reverie,
And dreamed, wide-awake, of her brave Chaske,
Till a trampling of feet on the crispy snow
She heard, and the murmur of voices low;--