“You know, father, my thoughts became so confused when I saw the crowd of boys that I forgot to ask Beartooth for the thongs. I will go down now before he goes to sleep so that I may work a little more on my bow tonight before I go to sleep.”
Naltan left his home and walked quickly to Beartooth’s home. As he neared Beartooth’s wigwam he heard voices. Beartooth was talking to one of the other young braves. “Yes, that’s right,” he was saying, “make sure that you are next to Naltan at the start of the race tomorrow. When the signal is given, pretend to trip so that you will fall against Naltan and tumble him to the ground. I will do the same to Ceysoda. Then we can be sure that someone else will win the race.”
Naltan decided that he did not need the extra thong that night, but hurried to see his friend, Ceysoda. Reaching the wigwam where he lived, he called until Ceysoda came to the entrance.
“What do you want, Naltan? It is late and I am tired. I was just about to go to bed.”
“Ceysoda, I have discovered what our friends plan for us tomorrow.” Naltan repeated what he had heard at Beartooth’s wigwam. When he had finished, he waited to see how Ceysoda would take the news. He did not have to wait long, for suddenly Ceysoda’s face took on an angry look. “Those crawling mud worms,” he cried. “Have they become so jealous because they cannot win at the games and contests that they have to use trickery against us? I knew that the feeling I had was a true one. Now we know exactly what they are going to do. But how can we prevent this from happening tomorrow, Naltan?”
“I have a plan,” said Naltan. “Tomorrow when we line up for the race we will ask that the others be given a slight lead over us because we have won so many races. We should be able to tell by what they say to that whether or not they would still try to carry out such a plan.”
“That is a very good idea, Naltan,” said Ceysoda, yawning. “Now I must say goodnight, for I am tired, and we have some hard running ahead of us tomorrow.”
The boys said goodnight. Ceysoda turned back into his wigwam and Naltan started to go home to his own bed. On the way, he wondered whether he should tell his father what had happened. He decided to handle this in his own way, without the help of any adults.
The following day was very crisp and cool. Off to the northwest clouds warned that a snowstorm might be building up. But everyone was too excited to take much notice of anything besides the preparations going on all around for the big foot race. Fathers and sons together made the final inspection of the boys’ clothing for the big race. The boys’ moccasins especially were looked over carefully for any weak spots where the leather might break. A torn moccasin could mean lost time and a lost race.
At last, the call went up through the village for all who were entering the race to gather at the starting line just outside the village on the border of a great meadow. The young boys gathered, joined by their proud fathers, each of whom hoped that his son would cross the finish line first and win the beautiful bone-handled hunting knife which the tribe’s medicine man had offered as the first prize.