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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
WINONA 
 
 THE STORY TOLD BY THE 
 OLDEST SON OF CHIEF 
 WABASHA. A DAKOTAH 
 WRITTEN FOR THOSE 
 WHO READ ENGLISH 
 B Y RYML. TERWILLIGER 
 

 Copyright, 19 10 
 
 Y R. L. TERWILLIGER 
 
 printed by 
 Veeder Company 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 1909 
 
 ©CI.A2710G8 
 
r 
 
 PART 1 
 
WINONA 
 
 There is a good country, 
 
 New, yet old, 
 New, yet old as the garments of nature; 
 Of bright sun and broader skies to the northward; 
 
 Of meadow and wood; 
 Lakes where the mingled life of a thousand 
 
 Of forest springs 
 Running south in the sight of a thousand 
 
 Of pleasant hills 
 Forever expended, 
 Forever replenished; 
 
 Clean born of the wind of unknown skies- 
 Here the white man with endless contrivance 
 Comes striving with painful toil, 
 Vainly flying before his own kind 
 And a rest from the long labor; 
 Rudely marring with culture 
 
 The boundless ways where the wild man finds joy, 
 And free life in the grace of the Spirit of Ages.* 
 High the star of the northland 
 
 Hangs in the night, 
 The light shining lies on still water 
 In a camp pitched beside a green meadow 
 Where the wild people dwell— 
 A simple man I live in the way of the wilderness; 
 
 Old, with no record of years 
 Save in jesture and speech, 
 Broken scenes departed 
 
 *The (M«nitou) or great spirit. 
 
Of a life long measured. 
 
 In word such as spoken by fathers before me, 
 
 My face and my form all gray and lean, 
 
 I speaking like October wind; 
 
 While the camp fire burns high and bright, 
 
 The dull chill of Autumn 
 
 Waiting surely and watchful, 
 Scents with impatience the failing breath 
 While I tell my strong youth and days gone forever. 
 My name, Narratoba, 
 
 Dakotah born, 
 My father's word is last in the council, 
 For Wabasha's deeds are of honor — 
 Tall Wabasha, the chief, 
 Has grown hard in the long hunts 
 And days on the hollow trail — 
 Scarred has he come from danger 
 
 In the closest of rights 
 When our band one Summer 
 In war paint and feathers 
 Attack and destroy in the Keopa 
 A war-faring village of Foxes. 
 Brothers two have they slain of his 
 While they fish in the river by night; 
 
 And boastful are they. 
 Quickly their joy and boasting is silenced 
 
 For mud fills their wicked mouths, 
 And their painted scalps hang by the doors of our tee- 
 pees. 
 A prisoner they capture, 
 
 A boy my age — 
 Naked is he brought to the camp of my father. 
 We make the youth a place by our camp fire, 
 Where years bring him strength. 
 Together he and I do hunt by day in the burnt wood 
 
Where thick grow the young stalks the deer come to 
 feast upon. 
 
 And his bow is true 
 And game is plenty; 
 In skill and craft he rivals me; 
 Yet his worth brings no help to my people, 
 For the women like him not, and when 
 He has slaughtered a beast or fowl, 
 No part will he offer 
 Hungry old ones or children; 
 
 He some will take, 
 Casting to dogs the rest, 
 And for pride he is known by the name "Odaga." 
 
 My sister, Winona, 
 
 Alone among 
 Four brothers grown tall since her birth in the Summer, 
 When heavy heat and loss of the buffalo 
 Had prepared bad times; 
 
 The fear of war and many woes yet to come on our peo- 
 ple; 
 Fears to the maiden born in the grief of a mother ill fed. 
 Yet for her ill fortune 
 
 Brings rarest beauty; 
 Her voice and her step charm every brave! 
 They, desiring of favor and honors by the maidens of 
 
 the villages, 
 Do often sing before her door 
 The proud chant of war and hunt 
 Their brave deeds relating; 
 Madly Odaga loves her, 
 A haughty love never by her returned; 
 With displeasure I behold the intent of Odaga. 
 In the warm Takiyura * 
 
 Ere Winter comes; 
 
 *Indian Summer. 
 
While russet leaves lie in drifts in the forest ; 
 
 And mating deer answer our mimic call; 
 
 Odaga and I, 
 
 A handsome buck in the prime of his autumn strength 
 
 Running wildly, 
 Shoot nigh to death with our arrows. 
 Down a steep rock he falls; 
 Drags his shaggy horns 
 In a tangle of brush-wood, 
 His life with his blood running fast away. 
 In his loud voice Odaga does call me, 
 "He is fallen by my better aim I" 
 And to hear him my wrath rises up, 
 Reply I, in likewise, 
 "Surely boasting and big words 
 Can better fit one who proves what he says!" 
 Then we grapple and fight on the edge of the mountain. 
 The ledge of the hill-top 
 While thus we strive 
 
 Breaks, tumbling down with loud noise to the bottom. 
 I falling, catch upon a gnarled spruce tree 
 
 On the bare slant of rock. 
 Far below where the willow thickets grow, the river 
 
 flows, 
 While far above me Odaga safe on the firm stone 
 
 In bitter words mocks me, 
 His black hate showing. 
 
 "Your skill and your strength are of little worth. 
 You did call me a dog to Winona; 
 You will never see her lodge again 
 Nor with pleasure behold her come 
 
 The hunter to welcome. 
 Ere then eagles and crow birds 
 Shall feed on your meat till the bones hang white, 
 And I shall take her to love in my new-made teepee.*' 
 
 8 
 
With this he forsakes me — 
 
 I hang in pain, 
 The ragged stump sinking sharp in my shoulder ; 
 A growing thirst burning my raw bruises; 
 The great river below 
 Seems mocking me in the deep of its cooling stream ever 
 
 passing. 
 High on his broad wings an eagle 
 
 In blue heaven I see 
 And the sun above him 
 Shines hot and cloudless, 
 My strength and my sight fast failing me. 
 There the noon heated forest all silent 
 Gives no promise of a rescuer; 
 While I linger in pain for death, 
 My ears from the distance 
 Surely nearer and sweeter 
 Hear singing, then paddles in chanting time, 
 The voyage song of a crew coming down the river. 
 Ho! Ho!| Ho! Ho! 
 
 Good hand! Good bow! 
 Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! 
 
 Nearer the voices and clearer; 
 Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! 
 
 Sun high! Sun low! 
 Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! 
 
 The singing is now but a little way off; 
 Ho! Ho| Ho! Ho! 
 
 South wind! Blow slow! 
 Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! 
 
 Loud the chorus swells upward; 
 Then swiftly down with the current 
 
 Around the rocky point 
 A canoe of six paddles comes speeding. 
 With my last breath I cry out 
 
 9 
 
And shouting hear 
 
 The song suddenly die into echoes; 
 
 And then 
 Blackness comes over the sun and the sky; 
 
 Black death and night; 
 I am ready to die ! 
 
 While the woods are in chill mist 
 
 Before sunrise, Odaga and I find the trail. 
 
 While the sun is rising we watch hiding. 
 
 While the sun is highest the proud buck lies 
 
 Pierced with our arrows. 
 
 Now we fight on the bluff. 
 
 Now the woods are in chill mist 
 
 After sunset and daylight gone. 
 
 My weak eyes are opened. 
 
 And cold with sweat, 
 With throbbing head lying soft in the long grass, 
 I wake to see a white man stand by me, 
 His cold light eyes on me — 
 
 He gladly smiles to see new life and my vigor return. 
 And he speaks Dakotah. 
 With joy I hear him. 
 Hot broth and baked flesh are given me; 
 And he tells me the way of my rescue 
 
 By the help of his good voyagers; 
 Dakotahs and friends of my house, 
 
 While the fire blazes hot ; 
 Quickly his words and kindness 
 Restore me to all my hope and strength. 
 To my father's camp do we go together. 
 
 Woe unto the man 
 Whose crime is known in the council 
 Of the Dakotahs; 
 
 10 
 
The camp fire shines among the teepees 
 
 With the old men and wise of the village; 
 
 And 'tis thus they hold debate in our land. 
 
 And in their mind do they sort the evil way from good, 
 
 And Odaga stands as a prisoner, 
 
 Pride alone on his features. 
 Like a bare cliff all hard and uncovered 
 And naked as he came thither, 
 And of pity he asks and receives none. 
 
 My father speaks to him — 
 "Odaga, 
 
 Named by our people 
 In the pride of your youth, 
 With Dakotah groves you rest 
 And their cheer your own; 
 Well could you say, 
 "There is no right held from me." 
 Then the food 
 And the fire 
 
 And the tents of our camp 
 Were your refuge ; 
 
 Nor was aught denied there for your birth ; 
 But the ways of your people are the ways of Foxes ; 
 And the rank tree shall bear a rank fruit ; 
 And the snake brings forth but after his kind; 
 And the bad water-hole by no rain can be sweetened. 
 You have left a young hunter to die; 
 You have mocked and derided his pain; 
 But he escaped from dark death at your hand 
 And all your long hidden hatred is now known. 
 Also do we know why you left him alone to die; 
 We know you unworthy in love ; 
 And no word of good is for you ; 
 And no warrior will be your sponsor; 
 Your bad deeds surely merit pain and death ; 
 
 11 
 
But our custom spares your evil life. 
 Hear the will of the elders in council. 
 No longer among the Dakotahs 
 
 Is your face to be seen; 
 For our teepees know you not 
 And our brave young men to all shall say 
 We do not see or know him. 
 While the leaves 
 And the fruits 
 And the beasts 
 
 And the fowls fill the forest; 
 May the hunter in hunger return. 
 In the time when the storm cloud from the West is 
 
 raging 
 And the tall trees are broken flat; 
 While the fury smites may his lance find you 
 With no kind one looking to wail your departure — 
 And no fire shall be found in your lodge 
 When the Winter ice booms on the lake, 
 And may you roam forth with the heart of the wolf 
 Whose life is a fear of the hunter and all men. 
 In slumber, henceforth, O beware of wrath which is nigh. 
 And waking fear for the day. 
 Hear Dakotahs — 
 He shall perish 
 
 And his painted scalp hang by our teepees. 
 For his life shall pay 
 Comes he again into this country, 
 In the land of the Dakotahs — 
 Dakotahs, you have heard; 
 Odaga, you have heard; 
 
 Behold! 
 I break your bow beneath my feet. 
 The earth you stand on spurns unwelcome weight, 
 
 12 
 
The hollow trail lies open — 
 Go your way." 
 
 Odaga replies, 
 "Men and chiefs 
 
 Of the Dakotahs, 
 You have broken my good weapon; 
 Yet the man whose hand could draw it 
 Shall not lack for meat to feed him — 
 Though I journey far and lonely 
 I but wait my time to strike you. 
 Well you say I am not of you — 
 I hate the smell of a Dakotah, 
 My ears hate their songs and boastings, 
 My eyes despise their stakes and totems, 
 My shoulders cannot wear their blankets, 
 My mouth cannot taste their food, 
 But my weapons love their blood. 
 I am one and you are many; 
 Behold my bow lies broken in my sight, 
 The earth I stand on fears Odaga's weight, 
 The hollow trail lies open — 
 
 I am gone." 
 
 The white man, my friend, 
 
 Stays in our camp. 
 
 I find for him a rest in our warm teepee. 
 
 And Winona comes to serve the good stranger, 
 
 And the tongues of fat deer she brings for him 
 
 In the husks of new corn from the Wasaton;* 
 
 Served while he sits 
 
 On the rabbit rug of soft knotted fur. 
 
 And his eyes are kindly 
 
 And his manner pleasing. 
 
 His cloth and his stores are freely ours, 
 
 ♦Harvest Field. 
 
 13 
 
Kis steel traps catch many a beaver by night 
 
 While the rivers lie thick under ice. 
 
 Together we oft lie for geese. 
 
 He proves a true hunter, 
 
 Truly, a valiant spirit has guided him 
 
 From the rising sun 
 And he is known by the name of Good Hand with my 
 people. 
 
 14 
 
PART II 
 
 In the warm Takayura 
 
 Ere Winter comes; 
 And the russet leaves lie in drifts in the forest; 
 And buffaloes feed by the water side 
 Athirst with ripe grass. 
 Our camp we set in the grove of maples by the broad 
 
 lake; 
 High to the East stands the mountain of the great 
 Wakon* rock 
 
 Rising bare and yellow 
 Across the river 
 
 Of lake and of shore a signal ground. 
 Here we sojourn to hunt in the Autumn 
 In the pleasant grove by the water side — 
 And our shelters are filled with food 
 
 Of wood and of river. 
 Softly sunshine and warm wind come blowing a mildness 
 
 Over the open lake 
 And all is peace and content in this camp 
 
 By the water. 
 In the gray of the morning 
 
 Alone I come 
 From my teepee to hunt the grouse in the brush-wood 
 
 And taking two return in the midday. 
 And the sun shining warm 
 
 I linger in the yellow maple grove by a clear spring 
 Screened where I stand by the hazels and bloody-red 
 sumacs 
 
 *Wakon; Abode of a spirit usually an evil influence. The Indians had a superstitious dread 
 of certain localities particularly rocks and the ground about them. Rock referred to 
 here is the high cliff on the east shore of Lake Pepin. 
 
 17 
 
I see Good Hand come; 
 
 Nor is he alone — 
 His hand holds the hand of Winona; 
 He prepares them a soft couch of dry leaves 
 Where the Autumn sun shines dry and warm; 
 
 There together they sit and smile, 
 He half sadly 'twould seem, 
 As he would to a young child 
 
 Speaks soft and low. 
 While crouched down at his feet 
 I can hear the clear voice of Winona answer. 
 The wind in the maples 
 
 Seems louder now, 
 Kis words are few but Winona's many. 
 A lizard comes from his rock cavern 
 
 Beside the cold pool, 
 There pausing lies on the sun-warm ledge 
 Moving slow with his breath; 
 Bright shines his skin while the sun flickers down on 
 
 the gray stones; 
 Winona sees it. 
 She shudders saying, 
 ''Bad spirits of rock are watching me."* 
 But to see her thus shrinking and trembling 
 Then does Good Hand take her up to him — 
 "The lone lizard loves the sun," 
 
 He says smiling fondly. 
 'Tis the sun warms and brightens. 
 And answering, Winona says smiling — 
 "I am a lizard and you are my sun," 
 
 And ever — 
 As beaver or otter 
 Down to their pool 
 
 Slip noiselessly to escape the near hunter 
 Whose hapless step discloses his coming: 
 
 *The lizard was the token of Wabasha's Clan. 
 
 18 
 
So turn I away 
 
 And seek in haste concealment in the thick wood with 
 
 my secret — 
 Yet though I walk in the sunlight and shadow till eve- 
 ning 
 I return and see them 
 Still by the spring side. 
 The tree tops all red with sunset light — 
 Then I throw out a loud call before me 
 Through the stillness of the darkening wood; 
 A hunting call well known by him; 
 A cry like the wild loon; 
 Loudly clear and resounding; 
 
 While following through the thick of the brush, 
 As though perchance I approach on the spot unknowing, 
 Good Hand hears my signal. 
 
 He rises up. 
 Winona hears and like some timid rabbit 
 She starts off among the tall fern leaves; 
 But Good Hand draws her forth; 
 
 And answering in the call known so well he awaits me. 
 Quickly I come from the shadow of the slumbering trees ; 
 He meets me frankly 
 Winona with him; 
 
 And holding her hand he says to me, 
 "Narratoba, 'tis well you are come here 
 A first witness to my happiness, 
 You must speak with your men for me 
 
 For Winona is mine; 
 Truly loving and well loved she follows me into the thick 
 
 of the wood 
 And by law of your people is mine forever, 
 
 Honored is the man whose heart is bold in the councils 
 of the Dakotahs. 
 
 19 
 
The camp fire shines among the teepees ; 
 
 With the old men and wise of the village. 
 
 For 'tis thus they hold debate in our land 
 
 And in their mind do they sort the evil way from good. 
 
 Silent Good Hand stands in the council; 
 
 Hears me speak to my father; 
 
 Like a wise chief does Wabasha listen 
 
 And calmly with one countenance; 
 
 While I plead for the cause of the white man. 
 
 "Hear me, men and Dakotahs: 
 Twelve moons have gone. 
 
 The Winter snow has blown deep in the woodland 
 And growing thin has passed to join the great water — 
 And the new grass has come; 
 The growing trees with new leaves and fragrant 
 
 Shade of cool greenness have turned, 
 And again the yellow Takiyura is here. 
 Well do I remember 
 That hunt and battle; 
 The rock; 
 The sharp spruce; 
 The hopeless pain; 
 Ere death comes to take me 
 A white man 
 
 In the goodness of his manly strength 
 With his kindness brings back my life. 
 I speak in his favor, 
 
 For my sister Winona has followed him 
 Into the thick of the wood; 
 She is his by the law of the free Dakotah — 
 In your hearing, men and chiefs, I speak; 
 You know my heart is well pleased. 
 I desire the good will of my father — 
 Can any here say nay? let him speak." 
 
 20 
 
Then follows a silence 
 
 But Wabasha holds his decision 
 
 Till rising to answer 
 
 Old Leaning Oak stands in the council; 
 
 His Winters he counts like trees in a forest 
 
 Stretching numberless far out of mind in the distance 
 
 And waiting till all eyes are on him, he speaks. 
 
 "I am an old man. 
 
 Long have I lived 
 
 In the land of my fathers, 
 
 Proud to be called a brave and Dakotah. 
 
 A white man comes hungry, 
 
 Give him food freely; 
 
 Let him delay not, 
 
 Comes he a friend; 
 
 Welcome the good guest 
 
 And let him depart 
 
 To the land of his people. 
 
 Tall is the forest; 
 
 And the grassy plain wide; 
 
 River and water, 
 
 Who knows the far end; 
 
 Far in the southway — 
 
 Yet in the forest 
 
 Live thrush and jay birds — 
 
 On the wide prairie, 
 
 Gray wolves and foxes. 
 
 Or deep in the wide lake 
 
 Lie gar-pike and cat-fish 
 
 All with their own kind. 
 
 Thrushes with thrushes 
 
 And never with jay birds, 
 
 Wolf finds the wolf 
 
 But never the fox, 
 
 21 
 
And the lonely gar-fish 
 
 Looks for his own — 
 
 And the white man is wise; 
 
 Let him stay with his people 
 
 Our friendship remembered 
 
 Unshaken by misdeeds. 
 
 In your hearing, Dakotahs, 
 
 Old Oak tree has spoken." 
 So saying 
 
 The old chief sits down 
 And a silence holds each in his place 
 Till my father is spoken. 
 So speaks Wabasha while he stands in the council. 
 
 "A white man comes into our village; 
 
 He was good to my son. 
 
 While he chooses let him stay; 
 
 Nor deny his right 
 
 For who can say 
 
 We have no welcome for him. 
 
 The white man comes in as a stranger; 
 
 He sojourns with us as a brother; 
 
 We call him Good Hand for his kindness — 
 
 My son Narratoba has spoken, 
 
 The wise Leaning Oak too has spoken, 
 
 I wait for the words of the white man 
 
 'Tis Good Hand must speak his desire 
 
 For his words are well liked by Dakotahs." 
 
 Good Hand speaks — 
 
 "Chief Wabasha, 
 
 Men and elders of the Dakotahs : — 
 
 Well do I know how honored is the man 
 
 Who receives of Chief Wabasha 
 
 His only daughter in marriage. 
 
 22 
 
I will not dwell on the speech of my brother Narratoba. 
 
 You all know his truth; 
 
 Yet the venerable Leaning Oak 
 
 Has called me a stranger. 
 
 Jay birds do not mate with thrushes, 
 
 Nor do they save them from their enemies. 
 
 What matters the color of a man's skin 
 
 Could Narratoba and myself 
 
 Pluck out our hearts? 'Tis you must know 
 
 There is no one could pick my heart from his — 
 
 I would I had the tongue of the Old Leaning Oak; 
 
 But could I speak with a hundred tongues 
 
 And every one more potent 
 
 Than the venerable chief 
 
 Yet would I fail to tell my love 
 
 For Winona. 
 
 Yet as a white man you shall hear me speak. 
 
 Far to the East and beyond, 
 
 Beyond the farthest sunrise ever seen by Dakotah, 
 
 On the shore of the great salt water 
 
 Is a country where the men are all white 
 
 And their women also and their children — 
 
 Two night's journey from the shore is a great town 
 
 Where dwells their king and all the great ones of their 
 
 nation. 
 And the king lives in a great house built of stone; 
 And the length of the great house 
 Is longer than the best warrior 
 In all the Dakotah's can shoot 
 With the strongest bow; 
 
 And its height is taller than the tallest trees — 
 Within its walls are covered with shining gold 
 Like this medal I wear about my neck; 
 And the floor is covered with cloth 
 Thicker and finer than a shirt of a hundred pelts, 
 
 23 
 
And its colors are like the flowers on the blossoming 
 prairie. 
 
 In this house dwells the great white king and all his com- 
 pany. 
 
 And when they are assembled by night 
 
 A swarm of candles 
 
 Make the place lighter than a clear sun at midday. 
 
 Here the great king holds court 
 
 With all the great men and women of his land 
 
 And they are arrayed in fine cloth and gems 
 
 So their hues are brighter than a tanager 
 
 And more lustrous than a new pearl shell, 
 
 But their hearts are no better than yours — 
 
 Though they shine outwardly like a rainbow. 
 
 Among the great king's company I dwelt; 
 
 I gave him my faith and my service; 
 
 He gave me his food and his liquor; 
 
 But the word of a woman has closed 
 
 The doors of my people against me. 
 
 Far over mountains and water 
 
 All lonely I come as a stranger. 
 
 Here the word of a woman has opened 
 
 The doors of the free-born Dakotah. 
 
 In your camp I would dwell with Winona, 
 
 Your way my way; 
 
 Your people my people 
 
 'Till your sky receives my last breath 
 
 And your earth my ashes — 
 
 Dakotahs you have heard me." 
 
 And a silence follows; 
 
 A new log is brought for the fire 
 
 While the flame leaps afresh in the council. 
 
 My father replies — 
 
 24 
 
"Well is it known by Dakotahs 
 
 By the broad riverside 
 
 Why tall Wabasha, the chief, 
 
 Holds his totem high. 
 
 He is a brave chief always. 
 
 In the North, 
 
 Or the South, 
 
 Or the East, 
 
 Or the West 
 
 Among warriors 
 
 Can no brave for my daughter be found, 
 
 For her choice is the flavor in the breath of Summer 
 
 And the warm sun is in her blood 
 
 And her heart is proud because of her birth 
 
 And he who would please her, 
 
 Indeed, must be winsome. 
 
 And I well now remember the time 
 
 When the big flies hung thick on the trees * 
 
 And once since that time have they come with the heat 
 
 And once since have icy winds frozen the dead ground. 
 
 Also well do I hold in mind 
 
 In that good Summer 
 The flies sang loud in the woods 
 And the hunting time was longer; 
 And the buffalo droves on the prairie 
 
 Like clouds before rain. 
 That time we hunted far from our camp; 
 From our women stayed two moons and more. 
 Child born of joy in my return ; 
 In my handsome new made teepee 
 Came Winona, the first born of Wabasha. 
 In the dry season of the great heat, 
 Born while the famine lay on the land and the streams; 
 While her mother Mamenyse lay lean and hungry. 
 You tell of things far beyond us 
 
 *Refers to the great swarm of cicada flies or locusts which comes in the northwest every 
 seventeen years. 
 
 25 
 
In the land of your birth. 
 
 We know naught of what you speak, 
 
 But the light of truth 
 
 Shines from your eyes and manner. 
 
 Let the days and the nights 
 
 And the toil on the way be forgotten, 
 
 For our camps ever welcome the man 
 
 Who in kindness a warrior of my band has rescued 
 
 From the bad crafts of enemies. 
 
 In my camp is rest for all men like you. 
 
 But here dwells my daughter, Winona, 
 
 And she turns from the braves of her land 
 
 While the white man with blue eyes is near. 
 
 And him would she have, 
 
 Heeding not other men, 
 
 While all the warrior Dakotahs are murmuring — 
 
 With good for her as my daughter. 
 
 I would see her well wed 
 
 To the warrior of my choice; 
 
 Who can hunt and fight 
 
 And bring her meat; 
 
 While I, too old, must see them 
 
 In the cold or the heat or the storm or the sun 
 
 As my keepers; 
 When the last of my winters is nigh; 
 In the time when the vigor of my flesh is failing 
 And the cold wind seems doubly cold; 
 And my aim is bad with lance and with bow; 
 Then those who I nourished must keep me in kindness. 
 By a man must Winona be wed, 
 By a man, and a man who can hold 
 The fame of his deeds with the best of our land. 
 By all the warriors of Dakotah well known. 
 And yet, must he be the choice of the maiden he weds; 
 Good, yet strong in his way, 
 
 26 
 
And Winona then shall love him 
 
 Like the wise woman shall know his wishes 
 
 And obey with joy. 
 
 Hear now — 
 We go upon a long hunt 
 For the teepees lack their Winter meat 
 And ever must Good Hand go with us 
 And his skill and craft be proven; 
 And his good name still last him on the prairie; 
 Ere the deep snow lies in the forest 
 Then shall my band return for the warrior's dance 
 And Good Hand shall return for his bride, Winona — 
 Dakotahs, you have heard; 
 Good Hand, you have heard; 
 Wabasha, the chief has spoken." 
 
 Then I light the red pipe from the big fire, 
 And Wabasha gives it to Good Hand, 
 And Good Hand in turn to the old men. 
 So all witness the word of my father. 
 
 Far from our good teepees 
 
 We ride away. 
 
 Where the buffaloes feed by the White Water 
 
 We follow close upon our swift ponies, 
 
 By the smoky river, 
 
 Then we slaughter them in the fields of long grass. 
 
 Quickly we take a great plenty for our camp's Winter 
 
 meat 
 In the shady hillside 
 In cold clay cover it ; 
 
 Here frost and deep snow shall sweeten it, 
 When we return in the Winter to claim it. 
 In a growing moon we cease to hunt, 
 At the camp fire by night we play 
 
 27 
 
The chance game with plum stones. 
 
 Never have we a moment the fierce thought of enemies 
 
 watching near, 
 Serene in the land of the brave Dakotah. 
 While far from our village 
 When the moon shines round 
 
 Then Good Hand comes while I sleep at midnight. 
 And waking me 
 With sign words, I follow 
 To a buffalo hole; 
 Here hiding us in the brush 
 We see by the pool two strange warriors. 
 They while we watch hold a council 
 In a language unknown to the East Dakotahs. 
 Nor can Good Hand say 
 What hate or what good they have for us. 
 But the warning all wild things feel in them 
 In the presence of still enemies 
 Quickly tells us to guard our camp 
 With an eye for danger; 
 Surely warriors in new paint are dangerous walking 
 
 alone by night; 
 With alarm to our camp we turn back together. 
 The moon shining clearly. 
 By the edge of the grove 
 
 A warrior stands and still warning he gives us. 
 I challenge him in our own Dakotah; 
 He answers me well; 
 Then while we wait, through his cunning and deception 
 
 I see 
 The proud Odaga. 
 He sneering calls me, 
 
 "Your skill and your strength are of little worth 
 In the bushes ten drawn bows are waiting; 
 Put your weapons down before my feet; 
 
 28 
 
Here I have you in my power; 
 Both you and your comrades." 
 Boldly standing I answer, 
 "Not till I see and you prove what you say.'* 
 At his signal ten warriors with drawn bows come for- 
 ward. 
 We have but our short knives, 
 Our death stands near; 
 But Good Hand cries, 
 
 "Shout for war, 
 Brave Dakotahs!" 
 But with numbers and power 
 They trample us to the ground 
 And quickly take our good knives away, 
 Bound hand and foot, 
 
 Gagged and bleeding by our camp ground we see 
 My father and people all taken likewise 
 Surprised and assailed, roused out of sleep, 
 And Odaga stands mocking and smiling 
 While we helpless lie upon the ground. 
 For my father he has no word 
 But draws his bonds tighter, 
 Silent, boldly and fearless — 
 Our proud and vile enemies we will show 
 All how to die 
 Like brave men of the free Dakotahs. 
 
 Woe unto the brave whom failure casts to the bad way 
 of his enemies. 
 
 'Twere better he could die in battle, 
 
 But bravely he can bear all their tortures. 
 
 Now day and light is in the sky of the East. 
 
 And with the light do we separate friend and foe. 
 
 For ours shall be a death honored in the way of our na- 
 tion; 
 
 29 
 
A proud defy and dare to Odaga. 
 
 Our hearts never shall be weakened 
 
 Till death and darkness forever do take us. 
 
 "lis Odaga who now comes 
 Dancing to the stakes 
 Where we stand bound and tied; 
 Bound with the green hide strips ere the fire has been 
 
 lighted. 
 As leader in the band of warriors takes his victim. 
 And he straight chooses the stake of my father — 
 While he sings of the big killing and terror. 
 
 Great is Odaga; 
 
 He is a chief 
 
 In the land of the Pawnees. 
 
 Brave is his heart; 
 
 He dares with his hunters 
 
 The haughty Dakotahs. 
 
 Homeless he wanders, 
 
 Lies in the deep snow 
 
 Of a long storm. 
 
 Frozen and hungry 
 
 He journeys alone. 
 
 Then he comes to the Pawnees 
 
 Camped in the bad land. 
 
 Now a big chief he comes 
 
 With paint and feathers; 
 
 Lance in his strong hand; 
 
 All through this wide land 
 
 Brings death and terror. 
 
 On his swift ponies 
 
 Tramples the grass. 
 
 The clear streams turn muddy 
 
 In the land of Dakotah. 
 
 With his brave warriors 
 
 30 
 
Fierce with the hunting 
 
 Of scalps and rich plunder; 
 
 Before him the sunrise; 
 
 Behind him the crows. . 
 
 In a pleasant country 
 
 Roams like the wolf. 
 
 With the strength of the storm 
 
 Coming out of the westward; 
 
 Hear his big thunder 
 
 The tall trees are broken. 
 
 Once the Dakotahs 
 
 Hold him a coward, 
 
 Now in his triumph 
 
 Wabasha fears him. 
 
 Now we shall see 
 
 Who is the brave one. 
 
 He feels the fire burning; 
 
 His bare flesh is smoking; 
 
 He whimpers for mercy ; 
 
 Cries like a squaw; 
 
 While the fire grows round him; 
 
 Thus he shall pa> 
 
 For the pain to Odaga; 
 
 Beg for his life 
 
 While his sons and warriors 
 
 Roast in the fire. 
 Their bad end awaits him 
 The last to die. 
 For the valiant Odaga, 
 Chief of the Pawnees, 
 
 Never forgets. 
 So he sings and my father replies, 
 
 "Odaga, named by my people 
 In the pride of your youth. 
 
 31 
 
Well I know your heart is hard, 
 
 And your eyes are mean 
 
 Like some wolf man 
 
 Whose mother bore him strangely. 
 
 While the day or the night 
 
 Or the last man of earth 
 
 Be to watch me 
 
 Will old Wabasha hold up his head. 
 
 If he dies all the people of his land remember 
 
 How a brave man can meet his end; 
 
 And my children tell how they came of me — 
 
 Odaga, make sure of Chief Wabasha's courage.' 
 
 Odaga replies; 
 
 "Great is Odaga! 
 He is a chief. 
 In the land of Dakotah 
 Lives one alone, 
 The maiden, Winona, 
 Chief Wabasha's daughter; 
 Bright as the spring bird, 
 Lithe as a young deer, 
 She would I wed. 
 Why must Odaga 
 Go sad through the land? 
 Walk alone by the water? 
 Waste like a cedar? 
 In a hillside alone? 
 Wabasha, hear me, 
 Give me the maiden, 
 I would not kill you. 
 Who doubts your courage? 
 Open your teepee, 
 Make me your son 
 Again by your camp fire 
 
 32 
 
With free-born Dakotahs. 
 
 Strong with your people. 
 
 Honored by mine." And Wabasha answers — 
 
 "Ah traitor! 
 
 Craft is your nature; 
 To the women your words 
 Find no favor day or night; 
 Would you talk to men? 
 My ears are deaf. 
 I cannot hear your boastings." 
 
 Then Odaga cries loudly: 
 
 "Great is Odaga! 
 
 He is a chief 
 
 In the land of the Pawnees. 
 
 Harden your heart, 
 
 chief of Dakotahs, 
 A torture awaits you ; 
 You and your people; 
 For by the river 
 
 1 will find them, 
 Open, defenseless, 
 Old ones we will slay 
 
 In their camp by the river; 
 
 Cut off their scalp locks 
 
 For a fringe on my skirt ; 
 
 All the young women 
 
 Prisoners shall serve us, 
 
 All but Winona. 
 
 She shall be lying 
 
 In my new teepee 
 
 Till all her pride 
 
 Is kept for Odaga. 
 
 He is stronger than ever 
 
 33 
 
Loving Winona — 
 
 Wabasha hears me; 
 
 He listens with wide ears; 
 
 Choose now he must; 
 
 Give me the maiden 
 
 For your death is waiting; 
 
 Here in my hand." 
 
 Wabasha answers — 
 
 S 'I hear a wolf howl on the prairie. 
 
 He talks to his kind. 
 
 Let him howl all day till night 
 
 And all night till day; 
 
 Then I will say, 
 
 He cannot speak Dakotah!" 
 
 But hear! 
 
 The son of my father's brave brother; 
 
 Son of him who was slain by the Foxes 
 
 While they fished in the river by night; 
 
 The son's name is Walk by the Water. 
 
 He speaks to my father — 
 
 "Hear, Wabasha, 
 
 How the women will wail in our village, 
 
 Woe to the children ; 
 
 Where is their meat, 
 
 For the hunters return not; 
 
 Far from the camp 
 
 They feed wolves and crow birds; 
 
 Chief Wabasha dies ; 
 
 With him his warriors 
 
 Woe to Dakotahs, 
 
 Why need he die?" 
 
 Then Wabasha says — 
 "Keep silent, boy, till your father 
 
 34 
 
Himself bids you speak!" 
 
 So the Walk by the Water is silent. 
 
 But hear! 
 
 My father's brother, 
 
 Him we call the Hawk, 
 
 Speaks ; 
 
 "Wabasha, your pride alone 
 
 Must bring our clan down to the slaughter. 
 
 You are an old man, 
 
 But women and young men must perish." 
 
 And Wabasha answers, 
 
 "And will the bold Hawk live dishonored?" 
 
 Hear Odaga say, 
 
 "The Chief Wabasha is well honored; 
 
 His word is enough; 
 
 Speak the word and your hands shall be free." 
 
 But my father replies, 
 
 "I am bound; 
 
 My word has been given; 
 
 I scorn you to break 
 
 "What my word has bound and tied." 
 
 Now hear! 
 
 Good Hand in his clear voice is saying, 
 
 "Chief Wabasha, bound, helpless as we are 
 
 My death is certain; but your life is worth 
 
 Ten like me to your people. Speak the word, 
 
 Let no faith sworn to me stand in the way." 
 
 But Wabasha replies, 
 
 "My heart is stone to Odaga. 
 
 Can I live by your death 
 
 With Winona price of peace? 
 
 There is no heart left in me." 
 
 But Good Hand says, 
 
 "I come a stranger to your land and home; 
 
 I stay a friend I cannot have it said; 
 
 35 
 
Your pledge to me brought such unlooked-for woe 
 Upon your people and those dear to them." 
 
 The wind in the tree tops blows softly now 
 
 For rising sun in the sky wakes the day breeze. 
 
 And Wabasha has given his answer; 
 
 Yet must have he in turn 
 
 The white man's life ; 
 
 For the pledge he hardly gave for his tribe's sake. 
 
 Thus does Odaga 
 
 In hatred of the white man, my friend, 
 
 To my father return. 
 
 This answer sullen, 
 
 With hate and bad eyes Odaga says, 
 
 "A white man do I see here before me 
 
 With the yellow hair upon his face ; 
 
 Like the devil beast his eyes are blue; 
 
 Go ! — Out of my sight ! 
 
 Never come where Odaga is standing near 
 
 If you care to live ; 
 
 For I will kill you 
 
 When again I see you; 
 
 Your hair shall make fringe for my leggings; 
 
 There is no meat here for the sneak wolf 
 
 Who follows the path of the hunters. 
 
 Leave this place ere the night comes, 
 
 And ever I see you again 
 
 You shall die!" 
 
 Then he lights the red pipe from the big fire 
 And smoking he gives it to Wabasha 
 So all witness the word of my father. 
 
 36 
 
PART III 
 
 Far, far from our country 
 
 Good Hand and I 
 
 Take our way East till we come to green forests 
 
 Full of deep snow beside the great water; 
 
 All the Winter we stay 
 
 Here, living well in the fold of silent woods by the great 
 
 lake. 
 Yet did we fly 
 
 From the hunter and close to our death, 
 For two Pawnees seek us. 
 Odaga sent them. 
 
 Concealed by our camp they watch for us. 
 They are waiting the night time to kill us. 
 Like two cougars hidden in the brush, 
 While one watches behind I come. 
 My club kills the Pawnee; 
 Then the other in terror runs from me 
 To a stream filled with ice ; 
 
 There 'mid the cold and the strength of the waves 
 I lose him. 
 
 But now 'tis the Summer. 
 Good Hand and I 
 
 With longing turn to the land of my fathers ; 
 To the rocky hills beside the great river 
 All fresh with warm showers — 
 See the mountains smoke with the storms of sunny rain 
 
 in the thunder time. 
 Still bright we find the great river in the valley below. 
 
Broad and full as ever 
 
 With pleasant islands. 
 
 The banks and the groves with flowers and vines 
 
 Give a fragrance refreshing to cheer us. 
 
 On the Wakon mountain by the lake 
 
 Where my people have pitched their camp 
 
 We hide us till evening — 
 
 Waiting sunset and starlight 
 
 For morning brings in the day of the feast — 
 
 Odaga comes to receive my sister Winona. 
 
 To Winona's teepee by night we come 
 And listening stand in the dark of the shadow- 
 Hear now a voice inside the thick covers. 
 Mamenyse now speaks, 
 "He never failed to bring in the fresh killed meat for his 
 
 teepee- 
 Glad you should be with Odaga 
 For the white man is dead." 
 But Winona answers, 
 Her sad voice thrills me — 
 "My brave Good Hand will return for me. 
 In my softest white doeskin I'll dress me. 
 In my newest dress with the ermine tails. 
 And my tresses I'll braid with beads 
 To welcome my lover; 
 
 Surely Good Hand will return and carry me 
 Far away to his land 
 
 Where I will serve him alone till my life is over." 
 Good Hand lifts the covers; 
 He steps inside; 
 
 I wait without keeping watch in the shadow. 
 Winona speaks inside the dark teepee — 
 "My Good Hand is come!" 
 
 40 
 
He answers her while she pleads in failing tone for her 
 
 lover — 
 "Take me away, 
 
 In the willows is a hidden canoe; 
 
 Odaga will kill you. 
 
 See, now I can walk! 
 
 His wrath and his strength are terrible!" 
 
 Then in low voice does Good Hand make answer: 
 
 "I have pledged myself to Wabasha, 
 
 He has given his word; 
 
 Would you betray him to perish?" 
 
 With the silence I thrust through the covers 
 
 The knife of the dead Pawnee, 
 
 And Good Hand takes the knife. 
 
 And we silent wait till morning; 
 
 Loudly beat the drums; 
 
 We hear the shouts in the teepees of the Dakotahs; 
 
 Odaga by the fires is dancing 
 
 And singing his brave deeds to the warriors. 
 
 For his delight is found in knives red with blood; 
 
 And with his braves does he dance and sing all night. 
 
 For he has come like a chief, 
 
 Riding on his swift spotted ponies. 
 
 And with him come a hundred young warriors. 
 
 The long eagle plumes in his bonnet 
 
 All waving boldly behind him are trailing. 
 
 On his shirt hangs the long fringe; 
 
 And he counts the scalps as he sings, 
 
 Telling of each 
 
 Taken in battle after death of his foeman; 
 
 He shows them to the gathered warriors of my people 
 
 So they well know the ways of Odaga, 
 
 While he tells of his brave battles and courage. 
 
 "Great is Odaga! 
 
 41 
 
He is a chief 
 
 In the land of the Pawnees. 
 
 Brave is his heart. 
 
 His eye seeks the eagle; 
 
 He walks like a panther. 
 
 Swift as the west wind 
 
 On his fast pony 
 
 Leading his band. 
 
 Shining with feathers; 
 
 A lance in his hand; 
 
 On his shoulder his round shield; 
 
 A knife in his waist belt 
 
 With his arrows and bow; 
 
 High stands his bonnet 
 
 The tall tails of eagles; 
 
 Wearing his dance shirt 
 
 Shaggy with fringes 
 
 And scalps he has taken. 
 
 Bravely he comes. 
 
 By the Big Muddy 
 
 Close by their camp 
 
 He kills three Minatarees — 
 
 Here hang their scalps — 
 
 He kills with two arrows 
 
 Two boastful Omahas; 
 
 Here hang their black locks. 
 
 He cuts out their hearts; 
 
 It is good meat, 
 
 Food for his courage. 
 
 No warrior can stand 
 
 The quick eye of Odaga. 
 
 He is a big chief; 
 
 Now a brave chief he comes 
 
 With paint and feathers; 
 
 All through this wide land 
 
 42 
 
Comes for Winona; 
 
 Comes for his good bride; 
 
 Comes to her teepee 
 
 Standing alone." 
 
 So boasting and singing he comes 
 
 While the morning is red in the East; 
 
 And stands before the teepee of Winona, saying: 
 
 "Winona, 
 
 A great chief comes to take you to his teepee. 
 By the v/arm fire you shall see him 
 When he comes from the hunt; 
 By the warm fire you shall welcome him 
 When victorious from war he returns 
 With new scalps; / 
 
 For all the strong men honor and fear him — 
 Winona, your lover is waiting; 
 Winona, Odaga is here." — 
 Four times he calls with no answer for him. 
 But now 
 
 Comes from within 
 The small cry of a child. 
 Black as the thunder Odaga turns 
 To my father. 
 He snarls like a bob cat: 
 "Wabasha has lied to me!" and then 
 His eyes white edged with rage, 
 He plucks the knife out of his belt — 
 "The woman is mine!" he shouts. 
 "I will kill her! Her will I kill! 
 The woman and her child!" 
 But here 
 
 Out from the covers steps Good Hand, 
 His light eyes shining like two winter stars. 
 Like some beast before a burning branch thrown 
 From the camp fire, backward springs Odaga. 
 
 43 
 
Hear the Good Hand say: 
 
 "You are wrong! 
 
 The woman is mine! 
 
 And you are to die ! 
 
 I am going to kill you!" 
 
 I rush among the warriors shouting: 
 
 "Let no man move from his place!" 
 
 The Pawnees raise a loud shout, 
 
 "Odaga is a big chief!" 
 
 But my people are silent, 
 
 For one of these men must die. 
 
 And Wabasha loves his daughter; 
 
 Good Hand is lean with fasting; 
 
 Odaga is husky with meat; 
 
 Odaga seeks the far fire, 
 
 He longs for his lance; 
 
 But he dare not turn his back — 
 
 Round and round they circle. 
 
 Closer, closer, see! they strike! 
 
 The knives flash! 
 
 Back they spring — 
 
 Round and round. 
 
 Now closer, closer, see! 
 
 Again they strike — 
 
 Back they spring. 
 
 Upon Good Hand's white shirt 
 
 The bright red blood comes out. 
 
 The Pawnees raise a loud shout: 
 
 "Odaga is a big chief!" 
 
 And now 
 
 Faster than eye can follow, 
 
 With silence, save the rapid trampling 
 
 Of their feet, closer, closer, see 
 
 The knives clash — 
 
 44 
 
That worthless weapon of the dead Pawnee- 
 Despairing I see Good Hand's steel 
 Fall, broken from the hilt; 
 I see the white teeth of Odaga 
 Grinning with his joy. 
 The Pawnees raise a loud shout: 
 "Odaga is a big chief! The white man dies!" 
 The covers of Winona's teepee tremble. 
 He must die! 
 But see — 
 
 Rushing on his foe, Good Hand has seized 
 The knife. 
 
 O furious the struggle! 
 Two panting devil men are fighting 
 For that little point of steel. 
 
 The sun is rising o'er the Wakon rock 
 
 And still they struggle, locked in steaming hold 
 
 Their bodies hot with sweat, blood dyed 
 
 To one bright red. 
 
 While thus they strive, 
 
 Backward and forward — 
 
 While all eyes upon the two, 
 
 Backward and forward — 
 
 Watch for one small sign 
 
 Of vantage gained or lost. 
 
 At last! now see— 
 
 The hold is broken! 
 
 See the knife is loose! 
 
 Odaga holds it. 
 
 Quickly now he strikes. 
 
 But Good Hand, quicker still, 
 
 Throws his long arms about his enemy; 
 
 He shivers where Odaga strikes again. 
 
 Joined in a deadly last hold 
 
 45 
 
Down they go. 
 
 Over and over, all along the ground, 
 
 Thrashing among the leaves and twigs 
 
 Again and again, vainly, Odaga strikes 
 
 Until they rest, panting. 
 
 There they lie — 
 
 Odaga with his face deep in the earth; 
 
 Good Hand has passed his arms beneath 
 
 The shoulders of his taller enemy; 
 
 His hands are locked behind Odaga's neck. 
 
 A moment passes. 
 
 Silent, save we hear 
 
 The hoarse breath of the two ; 
 
 This but a while. 
 
 And now — 
 
 The locked hands tighten, 
 
 The struggle is renewed. 
 
 Odaga's face is bending to the ground; 
 
 His rounded eyes are swelling from his head; 
 
 His purple tongue comes hanging from his mouth; 
 
 His Pawnees all are silent now. 
 
 Tighter! tighter! ah! 
 
 I hear his neck bones snap. 
 
 His bloody body suddenly turns limp — 
 
 His breath comes sighing from him, 
 
 He lies still. 
 
 Good Hand stands gasping. 
 
 Blinded with the fight 
 
 He wipes the blood out of his eyes. 
 
 He turns 
 
 To see Winona's teepee, calling her: 
 
 "Winona, 
 
 Odaga is dead." 
 
 Again he calls her 
 
 While no answer comes. Then hear! — 
 
 4« 
 
High from the Wakon rock there comes a cry. 
 
 Dizzy against the blue where snow-white clouds 
 
 Sweep past the yellow top, raised steep and bare. 
 
 O, woe to all Dakotahs 
 
 When they hear that sound; 
 
 Only a child of man can cry like that; 
 
 For they of all things know that they must die. 
 
 High to the Wakon rock all eyes are turned. 
 
 Upon that swimming edge Winona stands 
 
 In her new white dress of soft doeskin; 
 
 Her bridal dress with the ermine tails; 
 
 Her black hair hangs straight with the bright beads; 
 
 As she robed herself for her lover. 
 
 Fair with her maiden's garments 
 
 All alone she stands wailing 
 
 The death song of my people. 
 
 "Woe, woe, Great Father! 
 
 Alas, for the camp of the lizard, 
 
 Good Manitou take him away. 
 
 Take him away, for Odaga is coming; 
 
 Take him away, for his eyes are blue; 
 
 Take him away. 
 
 See how he moves; 
 
 See, he is watching me; 
 
 Good Manitou, he will grow to be strong 
 
 When Winona is old. 
 
 Woe! Woe! 
 
 Woe! Woe! Great Father. 
 
 Alas, for the camp of the lizard, 
 
 Good Manitou, take me away. 
 
 Take me away for Odaga is singing; 
 
 Take me away, hot with rage he comes; 
 
 Take me away. 
 
 Hear how he sings; 
 
 Hear how his warriors shout, 
 
 47 
 
Good Manitou, he will take me away 
 When my Good Hand is dead. 
 Woe! Woe!" 
 
 The while she sings she plucks off 
 Her necklace of pearls and bright feathers, 
 Her bracelets of silver, the ribbons of beads 
 From her hair all torn, she casts from her. 
 For the fever of her time has weakened her; 
 The bad spirit of the Wakon rock has entered her. 
 She does not hear Wabasha call her. 
 In her teepee her mother is wailing. 
 Vainly to stay I implore her, 
 For her brother the Black Bird is coming; 
 And her brother, the Red Belt, is coming. 
 The swiftest young men of Dakotah 
 Are hastening fast up the mountain. 
 See, how they race for the summit, 
 Struggling along in the loose rock; 
 Grasping the small trees and brushes. 
 They come. 
 But see, 
 
 Even while she sings with her sorrow, 
 In the midst of her song 
 From the high rock 
 She casts herself 
 Down. — 
 
 My Winters are numbered. 
 
 No more I'll see 
 
 Again the leaves budding green in the forest, 
 
 And tender flowers beside the swift water, 
 
 For an old man am I. 
 
 The white man comes for the land my fathers knew. 
 
 But his children 
 
 Still by the rock will be telling 
 
 48 
 
How the spirit of death 
 
 Is over the mountain. — 
 
 Great One, be kindly! 
 
 Black Bird and Red Belt have come too late. 
 
 There Jies only a dead child before them 
 
 With wide blue eyes staring up toward the sky. 
 
 And Winona lies dead below. — 
 
 The women are wailing; 
 
 The baked meat lies cold ; 
 
 On the fire stones are ashes; 
 
 The teepees are closed; 
 
 And Winter comes 
 
 In the land of the free Dakotahs. 
 
 49 
 
MJG 19 »*• 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 mini urn mint 
 
 018 395 346 1 •