“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.