Fresh from the homes so far away,
He tucked them all in his coon-skin cap
And breasted the sleet of the dreary day.
No one knew how it came about,
No man witnessed the fight for breath,
When the cruel clutch of the great black lake
Reached up and dragged him down to death.
But we always knew that his fiercest strength
Was spent in the supreme flash of life
When he, poor wanderer, thought alone