And he, too, fought as if he was crazy. He was one of those
whose blood and courage go up, but never down; he could die, but never
give in till dead. Before daylight the Ghost suggested a rest, or
peace; the Indian would not hear of it, but fought on. The Ghost began
to implore mercy, but the youth just then saw in the north _Kival lo
kesso_, the break of day. Then he knew that if he could but endure
the battle a little longer he should indeed get a great victory.
Then the Ghost implored him, saying, 'Let me go, and whatever you may want
you shall get, and good luck all your life.' Yet for all this he would not
yield, for he knew that by conquering he would win all the Spirit had to
give. And as the first sun-ray shone on him he became insensible, and when
he awoke it was as from a sleep. But by his side lay a large, old, decayed
log, covered with moss. He remembered that during the fight he had seemed
once to plunge his fist, by a violent blow, completely into the enemy up
to his elbow, and there was a hole in it corresponding to this wound. He
had torn away the other's scalp-lock, stripping the skin down to the
waist; he found a long, hairy-looking piece of moss ripped from the end
of the log to the middle. And all about lay pieces of moss and locks of
his own hair, testifying to the fury of the fight.
He was terribly bruised and torn, but that he did not heed, for now he
was another man, and a terrible one.
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