“Tamdoka 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 Tamdoka. 
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 Tamdoka 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 Tamdoka,
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 Tamdoka
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 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;
Tamdoka 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.