As he swung the second time round the fires, his young voice
arose, in a thin, wild, wonderful barking tone, so weird and wolf-like
that half the spectators leaped up to their knees, or feet, the better
to watch and listen. Another moment, and he was putting his chant into
words.
"They call me Ta-la-pus, the prairie-wolf,
And wild and free am I.
I cannot swim like Eh-ko-lie, the whale,
Nor like the eagle, Chack-chack, can I fly.
"I cannot talk as does the great Ty-ee,
Nor like the o-tel-agh* shine in the sky.
I am but Ta-la-pus, the prairie-wolf,
And wild and free am I."
[*Sun.]
With every word, every step, he became more like the wolf he was
describing. Across his chanting and his "padding" in the sand came
murmurs from the crowd. He could hear "Tenas, tenas," "To-ke-tie Tenas"
(pretty boy), "Skookum-tanse," (good strong dance). Then at last, "Ow,"
"Ow," meaning "Our young brother." On and on went Ta-la-pus. The wolf
feeling crept into his legs, his soft young feet, his clutching fingers,
his wonderful dark eyes that now gleamed red and lustrous in the
firelight.
Pages:
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175