For the first few years of Swift Elk's life he was spoken of as the son of Fleet Deer. When he was quite small, he stood, one evening, watching the older boys race. They ran in couples, their companions standing on either side of the race course. There were yells of joy for the victors, and jeers and howls for those who were so unlucky as to trip or stumble in the way.
A young hunter standing near noticed the shining eyes of the little watcher and shouted, "Give the younger boys a chance!" And so the son of Fleet Deer was started in the race with a boy of his own size.
Once, twice, thrice, did the eager child outrun his playmate amid shouts and laughter. His little feet seemed to fly over the ground.
"He is as swift as a young elk," said the bystanders. And before the racing was ended, the child was called again to the trial of speed, this time with an older lad. Again he was first at the goal.
"He will be a runner like his father," said the warriors who had come near to watch the sports of their children.
Fleet Deer, when a young man, was the fastest runner in his tribe. And now his little son had won a race and the father was proud. He walked slowly toward his lodge and entered the curtained opening.
"Prepare a feast in honor of our son," he said to Good Bird, his wife.
Standing in front of his wigwam, he called in a loud voice the names of his brothers and kinsmen in the camp.