Here those horsemen entered for the fancy riding galloped out into the open space. To a man they were Indians, in all the bravery of paint and plumes.
“Not a single one of you!” exclaimed the fat master of ceremonies, reproachfully, his gaze going from the array of confident savages to the circle of lolling young whites. “Not a single one; not a thing do you know about riding but to get into the saddle and sit there like an old dame in a rocking-chair. Not a single——”
But there he paused, for just then there rode into the open space a round-bodied youth with a cheerful, good-natured face, and mounted upon an ambling white horse, as fat and unlike the fiery brutes bestridden by the Shawnees as could well be imagined. A roar went up at sight of this unexpected entry; even the stoical savages grinned in ironic enjoyment of the situation.
Gravely the master of ceremonies shook the newcomer’s hand.
“Young man,” said he, gratefully, “you may not have much chance, but you have got pluck. What’s your name and the name of that young animal you’re a-riding?”
“I’m Sandy Campbell,” replied that good-natured youth, “and this,” patting the fat white horse on the neck, “is Soldier, a plow horse, fifteen years old, belonging to the man I work for.”
Another shout went up from the by-standers; but the master of ceremonies held up his hand.
“It’s not your turn to laugh,” stated he. “He’s making a try; and that’s something more than any of you have the enterprise to do.”
The word was given; one after another the young braves set their horses into a gallop; when at full speed they leaped from the backs of their mounts and, clinging to the streaming manes, ran a dozen or more yards by their sides; then with agile swings they were astride them once more. Then with a rush they approached the starting point, bringing up sharply and in picturesque fashion, the front hoofs of the horses pawing the air.
All eyes now turned upon Sandy Campbell and the sleek sided Soldier. Quietly Sandy gave the white horse the word and calmly the placid beast obeyed. At a stoical gallop he began circling the clearing; his movements were as regular as those of a rocking-horse; and Sandy sat him in total unconcern while shouts and laughter greeted them on every hand. Then Sandy threw his right leg across the horse’s broad back, sitting him sideways; it looked like an uncouth beginning of the feat performed by the Shawnees and a titter of expectancy began. This changed to a roar of derision as the fat boy slid from his perch to the ground.