"Oh, Jim, you are a riddle; you are not one, you are two men; and they fight the whole time. But I know the wiser one is winning and I think the best friend you ever had was that big fellow that threatened you with the 'bone-rot' if ever you broke your word. I believe in you more and more," and impulsively she laid her hand on his with a warmth that provoked such instant response that she smote her horse and swung away—fearful of a situation for which she was not ready.
At three o'clock, an officer from the Fort rode over to Red Cloud's lodge and notified him that in one hour the race was to begin. The War-chief grunted.
At four, the crowd was dense around the track, and the country near seemed quite deserted. Near the starting post, which was also the finish, were a huge crowd and a small army of mounted men. Suddenly shots were heard, and a great shout went up from the Indian camp; then forth came Red Cloud, in all his war paint and eagle feathers, followed by other warriors; and carefully led in the middle of the procession was the famous buckskin cayuse, sleek, clean-limbed, but decorated with eagle feathers in mane and tail, with furry danglers on his fetlocks and a large red hand painted on each shoulder and hip. He had no saddle and was led with an ordinary hackima of hair rope around his lower jaw. He walked alertly and proudly, but showed no unusual evidence of pace or fire.
Then a cannon boomed at the Fort, and from the gate there issued another procession, soldiers chiefly, following their Colonel. First among them came a bugler, the officers, then next a trooper, leading the white hope—the precious Red Rover. His groomed and glossy coat was shining in the sun; his life and power were shown in every movement as he pranced at times, in spite of the continual restraint of his trainer, who was leading him. On the other side, rode Peaches, the little English jockey. It was a bitter pill to the Americans that they should have to trust their fortunes to an English rider, but all their men were too heavy, except Little Breeches, and, he, alas, had fallen into the hands of the whiskey mongers. The ladies of the garrison rode close behind; and last, came the regimental band, in full thump and blare. As they neared the starting post, the band was hushed and the bugle blew a fanfare; then, with the Colonel leading, the racer was taken to the starting post.
Red Cloud was there calmly waiting with his counsellors and braves and the buckskin cayuse.
"Are you ready?" shouted Colonel Waller.
"Ho," said Red Cloud, and with an imperious wave of his hand he indicated "Go ahead!"
The light racing pad was put on Red Rover, the jockey mounted and rode him at a canter for a hundred yards and back, amid an outburst of applause as the splendid creature showed his pace. Then the groom approached and tightened the cinch.
The buckskin cayuse was brought to the front. Red Cloud made a gesture. A sixteen-year-old boy, armed with a quirt, appeared; an Indian gave him a leg up, and, naked to the breech clout on the naked horse, he sat like a statue. Jim got a strange thrill as he recognized him for the vigil-keeper of Cedar Mountain.
"Well," grumbled the Colonel, as he noted the jockey, "that's a twenty-five pound handicap on us, but I guess we can stand it." Yet, when they saw the two horses together, there was less disparity in size than they had supposed. But there was something about the buckskin that caught Hartigan's eye and made him remark: "It isn't going to be such a walk-over as our fellows think." And the trainer of Red Rover, as he noted the round barrel, clean limbs, and flaring nostrils of the buckskin, had for a moment just a guilty twinge as he recalled how lax he had been in the training after that run at Yellowbank Canyon.