As Jack finished his story of "Happy Jack" a shout announced the beginning of the trials of strength, endurance and courage, which would probably proclaim the victor for the hand of Susan. Standing erect with arms folded over his breast, Red Plume watched with seeming indifference the trials. Susan, seated upon her blanket, appeared even more so; in fact when it became apparent that Antelope was not to be one of the contestants she shook her head and disconsolately continued her beadwork.
The braves vied with each other in feats of running, wrestling, jumping, swinging from one tree to another, riding in all manner of positions on bareback, bridleless ponies; throwing knives at each other's heads, arms and necks in endeavors to pinion the victim to a tree without doing him any bodily harm; torturing themselves with cruel whips; gashing and lacerating the flesh; being suspended from a pole or bar by means of thongs thrust under the muscles of the shoulders, and other blood-curdling deeds original with the savage.
Old chiefs watched the young bucks, and as the games proceeded these old ones shook their heads or nodded in assent as success or failure rewarded the contestants.
All were in gala dress. War bonnets of elaborate manufacture bedecked some, while single feathers adorned others. Small hoops fastened to long sticks were held aloft displaying portions of a human scalp, the hair floating naturally from one side while the other side of the scalp was painted a bright red. Every Indian lovingly carried his pipe, the red slender bowl made from pipestone mined from quarries hundreds of miles away and guarded carefully from reckless souvenir and market hunters.
As a successful contestant received his reward and led his bride away, the onlookers rent the air with piercing yells; rattle-boxes split the ear with their characteristic din, and tom-toms bellowed their dull intonations with a certain amount of regularity which produced that same agonizing monotony of sound found in a healthy foghorn.
In a group not far from the racing strip was Yamanatz, and thither Jack and Cal bent their way. Charley Rogers and his companions were making bets with anyone who would risk ammunition, money, clothes, ponies, blankets, guns, pistols or knives; and even war bonnets were staked. Yamanatz was about the only Ute who did not bet against "Brown Dick." Few of the white gamblers, who had come to fleece the Indians with their special style of confidence games, cared to risk their coin against Indian ponies or wampum. They wanted cash, and as the Indians had plenty to do to meet all the demands of Jack and his friends and Charley Rogers and his following, the gamblers saw little prospect of a coup.
The level, well-beaten, straight-away course stretched along between rows of tents, tepees and lodges out into the plain beyond. Indian races are not upon oval tracks and are not confined entirely to one dash over the course, but include a certain distance and back over the same ground, the finish being at the starting point. Other races are run where the contestant must lean from the pony's back and pick up a quirt or hat as the animal dashes past.
But the time for the great race on which the bets are made has arrived, and the restless, anxious animals have to be guided to the starting place by their riders and arranged in line with heads opposite the direction in which the race is to be run. Bare-skinned warriors on bridleless, saddleless ponies, a small, finely-braided lariat attached to the horse's jaw, sit like graven images upon their favorite steeds. "Brown Dick," whose rider is his owner, steps along jauntily, champing in eager fashion the silver-ringed bit supported by a silver ornamented Mexican braided-leather bridle, the loose reins held almost listlessly by the man in blue shirt and buckskin trousers seated on an English racing saddle. A little moisture around the roots of the delicately pointed ears shows that "Brown Dick" has been exercised. The muscles of the forelegs play beneath the skin as step by step he approaches the line; the veins in his arched neck stand out like small ropes, and the dilated nostrils reveal the pink membranes as each deep breath is inhaled. Charley has maneuvered for position, timing his arrival to such a nicety that the last slow step of his well-trained racer falls exactly as the pistol belches forth the signal to start. Simultaneously he utters a shrill "Go" and presses his knees violently into his horse's sides, leaning far out in the saddle and throwing his weight against the reins on the faithful horse's neck, who rears aloft, pivots in beautiful fashion and leaps in one bound clear of the line of frantic ponies, and amid the warwhoops of Indians, the yells of the frenzied and the fear of defeat piercing his ears he dashes on to victory. The struggle is not long, and the spoils won from the vanquished nearly bankrupt the entire tribe until the next annuities replace their losses.
There are no imprecations nor villainous mutterings. An Indian is a good loser and bears defeat in a philosophical, stoical manner. Immediately after the exciting races come the feasts given to the successful competitors, and the following day finds the erstwhile holiday-arrayed village desolate and uninteresting.
Yamanatz, Jack and Chiquita began preparations for the trip to "Blazing-Eye-by-the-Big-Water," and soon followed the crowd of visitors making their way to the nearest railroad.