He won by lengths and lengths and, with Herman Basket’s aunt watching, he made Herman Basket take all the money, as though Herman Basket had won, and that evening he sent Owl-at-Night to tie the racing pony’s hackamore to the door-handle of Herman Basket’s kitchen. But that night Herman Basket’s aunt did not even warn them.
She came out the first time with Herman Basket’s dead uncle’s gun, and hardly a moment had elapsed before Ikkemotubbe found out that she meant him too. So he and David Hogganbeck left Log-in-the-Creek lying on the gallery and they stopped for a moment at my father’s house on the first trip between Ikkemotubbe’s house and the steamboat, though when my father and Owl-at-Night finally found Ikkemotubbe to tell him that Herman Basket’s aunt must have sent the racing pony far into the woods and hidden it because they had not found it yet, Ikkemotubbe and David Hogganbeck were both asleep in David Hogganbeck’s bed in the steamboat.
And the next morning the whisky-trader came, and that afternoon Ikkemotubbe and the young men invited Log-in-the-Creek into the woods and my father and Sylvester’s John returned for the whisky-trader’s buckboard and, with my father and Sylvester’s John driving the buckboard and Log-in-the-Creek lying on his face on top of the little house on the back of the buckboard where the whisky-kegs rode and Ikkemotubbe standing on top of the little house, wearing the used general’s coat which General Jackson gave Issetibbeha, with his arms folded and one foot advanced onto Log-in-the-Creek’s back, they rode slow past the gallery where David Hogganbeck played his fiddle while Herman Basket’s sister stirred something for cooking into the silver wine pitcher.
And when my father and Owl-at-Night found Ikkemotubbe that night to tell him they still had not found where Herman Basket’s aunt had hidden the pony, Ikkemotubbe and David Hogganbeck were at Ikkemotubbe’s house.
And the next afternoon Ikkemotubbe and the young men invited David Hogganbeck into the woods and it was a long time this time and when they came out, David Hogganbeck was driving the buckboard while the legs of Ikkemotubbe and the other young men dangled from the open door of the little whisky-house like so many strands of vine hay and Issetibbeha’s general’s coat was tied by its sleeves about the neck of one of the mules.
And nobody hunted for the racing pony that night, and when Ikkemotubbe waked up, he didn’t know at first even where he was. And he could already hear David Hogganbeck’s fiddle before he could move aside enough of the young men to get out of the little whisky-house, because that night neither Herman Basket’s aunt nor Herman Basket and then finally Herman Basket’s dead uncle’s gun could persuade David Hogganbeck to leave the gallery and go away or even to stop playing the fiddle.
So the next morning Ikkemotubbe and David Hogganbeck squatted in a quiet place in the woods while the young men, except Sylvester’s John and Owl-by-Night who were still hunting for the horse, stood on guard. “We could fight for her then,” David Hogganbeck said.
“We could fight for her,” Ikkemotubbe said. “But white men and the People fight differently. We fight with knives, to hurt good and to hurt quickly. That would be all right, if I were to lose. Because I would wish to be hurt good. But if I am to win, I do not wish you to be hurt good.
If I am to truly win, it will be necessary for you to be there to see it. On the day of the wedding, I wish you to be present, or at least present somewhere, not lying wrapped in a blanket on a platform in the woods, waiting to enter the earth.”
Then my father said how Ikkemotubbe put his hand on David Hogganbeck’s shoulder and smiled at him. “If that could satisfy me, we would not be squatting here discussing what to do. I think you see that.”
“I think I do,” David Hogganbeck said.
Then my father said how Ikkemotubbe removed his hand from David Hogganbeck’s shoulder. “And we have tried whisky,” he said.
“We have tried that,” David Hogganbeck said.
“Even the racing pony and the general’s coat failed me,” Ikkemotubbe said. “I had been saving them, like a man with two hole-cards.”
“I wouldn’t say that the coat completely failed,” David Hogganbeck said. “You looked fine in it.”
“Aihee,” Ikkemotubbe said. “So did the mule.” Then my father said how he was not smiling either as he squatted beside David Hogganbeck, making little marks in the earth with a twig. “So there is just one other thing,” he said. “And I am already beaten at that too before we start.”
So all that day they ate nothing. And that night when they left Log-in-the-Creek lying on Herman Basket’s gallery, instead of merely walking for a while and then running for a while back and forth between Ikkemotubbe’s house and the steamboat, they began to run as soon as they left Herman Basket’s.
And when they lay down in the woods to sleep, it was where they would not only be free of temptation to eat but of opportunity too, and from which it would take another hard run as an appetiser to reach the Plantation for the match.
Then it was morning and they ran back to where my father and the young men waited on horses to meet them and tell Ikkemotubbe that they still hadn’t found where under the sun Herman Basket’s aunt could have hidden the pony and to escort them back across the Plantation to the race-course, where the People waited around the table, with Ikkemotubbe’s rocking chair from Herman Basket’s gallery for Issetibbeha and a bench behind it for the judges.
First there was a recess while a ten-year-old boy ran once around the race-track, to let them recover breath. Then Ikkemotubbe and David Hogganbeck took their places on either side of the table, facing each other across it, and Owl-at-Night gave the word.
First, each had that quantity of stewed bird chitterlings which the other could scoop with two hands from the pot. Then each had as many wild turkey eggs as he was old, Ikkemotubbe twenty-two and David Hogganbeck twenty-three, though Ikkemotubbe refused the advantage and said he would eat twenty-three too.
Then David Hogganbeck said he was entitled to one more than Ikkemotubbe so he would eat twenty-four, until Issetibbeha told them both to hush and get on, and Owl-at-Night tallied the shells. Then there was the tongue, paws and melt of a bear, though for a little while Ikkemotubbe stood and looked at his half of it while David Hogganbeck was already eating.
And at the half-way he stopped and looked at it again while David Hogganbeck was finishing. But it was all right; there was a faint smile on his face such as the young men had seen on it at the end of a hard running when he was going from now on not on the fact that he was still alive but on the fact that he was Ikkemotubbe.
And he went on, and Owlat-Night tallied the bones, and the women set the roasted shote on the table and Ikkemotubbe and David Hogganbeck moved back to the tail of the shote and faced one another across it and Owl-at-Night had even given the word to start until he gave another word to stop.
“Give me some water,” Ikkemotubbe said. So my father handed him the gourd and he even took a swallow. But the water returned as though it had merely struck the back of his throat and bounced, and Ikkemotubbe put the gourd down and raised the tail of his shirt before his bowed face and turned and walked away as the People opened aside to let him pass.
And that afternoon they did not even go to the quiet place in the woods. They stood in Ikkemotubbe’s house while my father and the others stood quietly too in the background. My father said that Ikkemotubbe was not smiling now. “I was right yesterday,” he said.
“If I am to lose to thee, we should have used the knives. You see,” he said, and now my father said he even smiled again, as at the end of the long hard running when the young men knew that he would go on, not because he was still alive but because he was Ikkemotubbe; “ — you see, although I have lost, I still cannot reconcile.”
“I had you beat before we started,” David Hogganbeck said. “We both knew that.”
“Yes,” Ikkemotubbe said. “But I suggested it.”
“Then what do you suggest now?” David Hogganbeck said. And now my father said how they loved David Hogganbeck at that moment as they loved Ikkemotubbe; that they loved them both at that moment while Ikkemotubbe stood before David Hogganbeck with the smile on his face and his right hand flat on David Hogganbeck’s chest, because there were men in those days.
“Once more then, and then no more,” Ikkemotubbe said. “The Cave.” Then he and David Hogganbeck stripped and my father and the others oiled them, body and hair too, with bear’s grease mixed with mint, not just for speed this time but for lasting too, because the Cave was a hundred and thirty miles away, over in the country of old David Colbert — a black hole in the hill which the spoor of wild creatures merely approached and then turned away and which no dog could even be beaten
