DOCAS PLAYING “TEEKEL”
“OH, Docas, I am so tired of working! Let’s play something,” said Heema one evening.
“Help me get the boys together and we will play teekel. Father and the other men played it last night,” answered Docas.
Docas and Heema ran through the rancheria shouting, “Come play teekel! Come play teekel!” as loud as they could.
Before five minutes had passed, a crowd of boys were gathered in an open space at one side of the rancheria. Each boy brought with him a long, slender stick about as tall as himself.
“I will get the ball, if you will make the lines,” shouted Docas, running toward the hut.
In a minute Docas came back carrying the ball, which was made of deerskin and looked like a small dumb-bell. While he was gone, the boys had scratched two long lines in the ground about ten feet apart. The lines were in the middle of the open space.
“You haven’t made the hole for the ball yet,” said Docas. He dug out a little hole midway between the two lines and laid the ball in it.
“We’ll give you first hit, and then we’ll get the ball back over your goal,” said Heema, tossing the ball up into the air for Docas to strike at with his stick.
But Docas hit the ball and sent it flying toward Heema’s goal.
“After it, boys!” shouted Heema.
In an instant the whole mass of boys were rushing toward the ball. Then such a running to and fro as there was! Back and forth went the ball, first toward one goal, then toward the other.
Such wild blows as were aimed at the ball! Sometimes they hit it, but more often the sticks beat the air wildly, or else fell on some boy’s head or shoulders. Not a boy cried even if the blows did hurt, because, they thought, “Our fathers did not cry when they played last night, and we must not be less brave.” But they shouted and laughed so much that Massea came out to see what was going on.
“Run, Docas, run!” shouted Massea, as one of the boys on Docas’s side sent the ball flying far over the heads of the other boys, and down toward where Docas was standing near his goal.
And Docas did run. He knew that the boys on the other side were coming as fast as they could. He knew that he was the only boy on his side who was near the ball, and that unless he reached it first they would send it back over to their goal. He knew that Massea and the other men were watching him.
On came the crowd of boys. Now they were so near that their sticks were raised to strike the ball back. But Docas slipped in just ahead, hit the ball and sent it flying over his goal. Docas had fallen, but the other boys could not stop. They tumbled over Docas, and then in an instant there was a mixture of boys and sticks in a heap on the ground, with Docas at the bottom.
In a minute more, however, they were on their feet. Docas got up and laughed, although he had a big lump on his forehead. He was happy, for he had won the game. And more than that, Massea’s hand lay on his head for an instant, as he said, “My oldest son. He will be a man like his father some day.”
And sent it flying over his goal.