“The duel is set for an hour before sundown,” a soldier told Ben and Tom.
As the fatal hour approached, the two brothers headed inland toward the designated scene of encounter. They found a turbulent concourse of several hundred Indians and whites banked around the place, a sandy flat dotted with a few clumps of hazel brush, about a mile beyond the swamps that rimmed the lake.
There wasn’t long to wait.
“Here they come!” sang out Tom excitedly, some five minutes after their own arrival.
The two young gladiators cantered out, astride nimble Indian ponies, one black and the other a spotted little beast. Their leather saddles were gayly decked in beads, silver brooches, colored quills, and gaudy trinkets such as the traders bartered with the savages. Bright ribbons streamed from the ponies’ manes.
“Say! that one on the spotted pony is a mighty trim-looking young brave,” spoke up Ben, in open admiration.
“That’s Bright Star, son of Shaubena,” a bystander advised them.
Young Bright Star was, indeed, a lad of handsome face and lithe, graceful figure. He had a gay kerchief on his head; and further sported a shirt of lemon-colored calico, decked with many glistening ornaments. The deerskin leggings, which came up to his thighs, were very fancy, one legging being of blue and the other of deep scarlet.
“But zowie! look at the other Injun, on the black pony!” cried Tom.
“Sure is a tough-looking cookie!” Ben replied, with a low whistle of consternation.