"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 Tamdoka 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 Tamdoka,--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;
And the crest-fallen brave turned away,
and lonely he walked by the river;
He glowered as he went
and the fire of revenge in his bosom was kindled,
But he strove to dissemble his ire,
and he whistled alone by the Ha-ha.



THE "WAKAN WACEPEE," OR SACRED DANCE. [81]