Finally, however, a stalwart redskin uttered a piercing yell that rolled out across the flat like thunder.
“The starting signal!” cried Tom Gordon, his voice fairly throbbing with excitement.
A wild, barbaric shout arose from the crowd as he spoke. The spears of the rival duelists were at once leveled. Their moccasined heels dug sharply into the ponies’ flanks, and the high-strung little animals darted forward like arrows from the bow.
“They’re off!” Ben yelled hoarsely.
Across the hard, sandy flat came the flying hoofs, the fleet ponies traveling at express speed. The intrepid young warriors were rushing upon each other at full gallop. The intervening space narrowed with lightning swiftness, and in a trice the pair met full-tilt in the middle of the ring with a shock the sound of which was plainly heard in the distant village.
Crash! the two contestants were violently dismounted by the fearful impact.
“They’re both done for!” said Tom, in a low, tense whisper.
“No!” Ben shook his head in quick denial. “Look! one is getting up! he seems unhurt!”
“It’s Bright Star!” arose the cry among the straining onlookers.
True enough! young Bright Star sprang briskly to his feet, untouched by the deadly lance. The hulking Prairie Wolf, however, lay inert among the sand and dry leaves, knocked senseless by the fall, and with a spear wound in his shoulder.