THE CIRCUS-RIDER MAGICIAN.
The large council-lodge was filled with Comanche chiefs.
Red Buffalo being at the head of the tribe, and the most renowned Indian
present, was given the post of honor.
The White Wizard was ushered into the lodge, dressed as a circus-rider,
and given a seat near the head chief and medicine man. Soon after the
three captives were brought in, with their hands still bound behind
them. Their eyes rested with wonder upon Barry, for they did not know
what to make of him.
A sly wink which he managed to give them unperceived by the reds, told
them that, whoever he was, Barry was a friend to them.
One of the chiefs, an old man, opened the council, and with a short,
fiery speech, set the blood rushing through the veins of the Comanches
like fire.
A tall, wiry fellow jumped up when the old chief had finished, and spoke
for some time upon the cruelty of the whites and their evident desire to
exterminate the Indians.
Several more followed, and then Red Buffalo arose from his seat, letting
his blanket fall from his shoulders to the ground as he did so. This
chief was well known upon the border, as had also been his father,
Spotted Wolf, and the prisoner and chiefs leaned forward and listened to
his words.
The speech of Red Buffalo was short, but being to the point, its
pithiness made up for its briefness.
“Chiefs and warriors of the Comanches: the great Manitou has placed
three pale-faces in our hands. Shall we torture them or let them go?
“It is the will of the Great Spirit that the prisoners should be
tortured by being burned at the stake. A singing-bird whispers it in the
ear of Red Buffalo. The prairie-wind brings the word ‘_torture_’ with
it. Shall the pale-faces go free when eight warriors fell beneath their
arms? No; the Manitou wills that they should die, and the Great
Medicine-man shall decide upon their fate. Three moons ago Red Buffalo
had a father and brother. Where now is the chief Spotted Wolf and the
Snake-head? Both have gone to the happy hunting-grounds, sent on their
long journey by the bullets of the pale-face trappers. Let the
medicine-man speak.”
The Red Wizard looked around the council-lodge with his terrible eyes
until they fell upon the prisoners.
Here they rested, and a horrible grin came upon his face, as he slowly
arose to his feet and spoke:
“My brothers have spoken well. The death of the pale-faces has been
sealed. Muchanaigo had a dream last night. The Manitou spoke to him and
said the pale-faces must die unless there came a man who could outride
the Comanches. If such came, then all but the young man were to go free.
But where is the man?
“Where, chiefs and warriors, is the man that is to outride the ‘children
of the plains?’ Let him be found.”
The medicine-man liked to speak about his dreams, for the superstitious
Indians believed them, and what is more, thought him all the greater on
account of them. The cunning Wizard always liked to put in that he had
spoken to the Manitou, and this made the Comanches respect him more.
He had taken a dislike to Chauncy, probably because one of the men slain
by the young man was a grand-son of his, and he left him out purposely
when he mentioned that should a man come who could outride the “prairie
kings,” the prisoners would be saved. He had not the least idea in the
world that the man spoken of would appear, or that when he did come, he
could even equal the Comanches at riding. He was somewhat surprised,
therefore, when Barry got up and said he was the man. The circus-rider
made a very fine speech, telling about a dream he had had, and how the
Manitou had chosen him to ride with the Comanches.
The medicine-man was greatly astonished at this.
He had no idea in the world that the man he spoke of would appear, and
yet he pretended that he knew he was coming.
The medicine-man of a tribe of Indians is generally some sharp fellow,
who knows a few tricks which, though plain enough to a white man, he
easily manages to gull the red-men completely with.
The Red Wizard, on this occasion, was greatly surprised when Barry got
up and spoke, offering to ride against the best Comanche in the village,
and a smile came to his lips.
He was glad, now, that the white man had offered to ride.
Now he should have one triumph over his rival, for the latter would be
sure to get beat.
There was no chance for him at all. The Comanches live on the backs of
their horses; but it did not occur to the mind of the red-man that Barry
Le Clare had been reared on a horse—had been a celebrated rider at the
early age of fifteen.
The red-skin felt sure of a victory over his fellow-wizard.
He would show the Comanches that the latter was not unconquerable. So
when Barry seated himself again, the Red Wizard arose, and said that the
Manitou had spoken the truth, the man had made his appearance, and now
the next thing for the Comanches to do, was to watch the trial of skill.
This was accepted with yells of applause by the Comanches.
They knew that they were reckoned the best riders of the plains, and
that they had no equals among the red-men.
What then had they to fear from a white man who had lived in the cities
and towns all his life?
The council was broken up, and the whole village hurried over to the
plain just beyond the village.
The three prisoners guarded by several warriors were brought along to
witness the performance. The man selected by the Comanches to compete
with the White Wizard was a medium-sized, athletic fellow, with long
arms and supple joints.
He had a very fast and strong mustang, and it was a pretty large one,
too. He was stripped, except a piece of cloth around his loins, and as
he sprung upon his steed a shout arose from his admiring comrades. They
had seen him ride before, and as he was the champion of the village,
they expected to see the pale-face beaten all to nothing. The horse was
an iron-gray, and was quite celebrated on the plains on account of its
speed.
The man that owned and rode it knew it well, and would have bet his
bottom dollar (if he ever had one) that he would come out of a trial of
skill or a race with the pale-face first best.
The three prisoners watched the white man, and they felt their courage
rise when they saw the smile on his firm countenance.
The man knew his own powers.
Had he looked scared, the whites would have given up all hope, for they
knew that if the Indian frightened him there would be no chance for him
to win.
But the confident and “devil-may-care” look upon his face reassured
them, and they had confidence in him.
The white looked to the girdle which was around his horse, and as the
Indian had no bridle on his horse, Barry took _his_ off.
The Indian was to show lead, now.
He was mounted on his horse, and at a signal from the head chief he
dashed out upon the plain.
The mane of his horse was long, and had been plaited.
One of these plaits served to rest his arm in, and he performed all
sorts of tricks, sliding around his horse and coming up on the other
side, and picking up things from the ground.
At length he put on the bridle and went through the last thing on his
programme. This consisted of standing up on the horse bare-back, holding
on with the bridle and jumping up and down. The Comanche did all of
these things with a great deal of skill, and when he rode into the crowd
he was greeted by a chorus of savage yells. The Indians were delighted.
Of course the pale-face could do nothing like this.
Imagine their surprise and chagrin when they saw him dash out and go
through the same thing as easily as the Indian had done, and with
extremely aggravating _nonchalance_.
It was now his turn to lead.
The medicine-man was not beaten yet.
If his man could equal the White Wizard when the latter led, the
prisoners would not be free after all. And even if the white man did
beat his red rival, the Red Wizard did not intend to give them up. He
was sharp enough for that. _He would have another dream._