“It was great!” cried Allan.
McConnell could hardly find his voice. “I guess it was like being in a battle!” he said, as he climbed out.
“Just like it,” laughed one of the men, “only that you haven’t got any lead in you!”
“Did you see Big Wolf?” asked Allan, as they walked, rather weak in the knees, back to their seats.
“Yes,” answered McConnell, “and I thought I saw Walking Dog, but I wasn’t sure. I suppose he was there. Wasn’t the noise awful!—and the smoke! I can see now why they can’t photograph well in a battle—unless they use that new smokeless powder I was reading about.”
There was more of the show, but nothing seemed so thrilling as that ride. In the midst of the last performance McConnell leaned forward excitedly to say, “Suppose some of them forgot and put in real cartridges!”
When the Congress of Rough Riders had drawn up in line and Buffalo Bill had swung his big hat in a final salute, the boys once more hurried around to the Indian tents, and found the Indians all very busy in preparation for departure, and the wigwams gradually disappearing.
“The wigwams gradually disappearing.”
Mr. Twink was nowhere to be seen, and nobody seemed to know where he was. It seemed for a time as if they would have to give him up.