“Ugh!” grunted the watching Indians, solemnly.
“Whoop!” roared Blue Wolf, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.
Then he made another frantic attempt to cast the machine off, but it persisted in sticking to him in a wonderful manner. One of his arms was thrust through the spokes of the forward wheel to the shoulder, and as he tried to yank it out, the rear wheel spun around and one of the pedals gave him a terrific thump on the top of the head.
“Yah!” snarled the unlucky Indian.
“Two-wheel hoss kick a heap,” observed Black Feather.
Blue Wolf tried to struggle to his feet, but he was so entangled with the bicycle that it seemed to fling him down with astonishing violence.
Then as the noble red man kicked, and squirmed, and struggled, the bicycle danced and pranced upon his prostrate body like a thing of life.
“O-o-oh!” wailed Blue Wolf, in pain and fear.
Toots suddenly forgot his fears, and holding onto his side, he doubled up with a wild burst of “coon” laughter.
“Oh, land ob watermillions!” he shouted. “Dat bisuckle am knockin’ de stuffin’ out ob Mistah Injun! Yah! yah! yah! Lordy! lordy! ’Scuse meh, but I has ter laff if it costs me all de wool on mah haid!”