The boys went back on the opposite side of the river from which they had come until the camp was reached.
They found the Indian village all agog with excitement, and for a time could not get any of the braves to answer their inquiries about the missing mules. A horse race was to be held, and the usually stoical bucks could for the time being think of nothing else.
The whereabouts of the missing animals was learned before long, however, and an Indian went with them to see that they really belonged to the Worth outfit. On their way they had to pass straight through the village of several hundred tepees, and many were the greetings of "How!" that were shouted to them.
On the outskirts of the camp many braves were standing around, making bets, grooming their horses, and comparing notes. Little redskins darted everywhere in and out between their elders' legs and shouted shrilly to each other. The boys found it hard to go on to attend to their errand, and though neither said anything for a while, they looked appealingly at each other. "If we find the mules belong to us," said John, finally, in answer to Ben's questioning look, "we'll take 'em part way back, tie 'em, and then come here and see the races." So they went on reluctantly, leaving the gesticulating, grunting crowd behind them.
The captive animals were, as they hoped, the ones they had been seeking, and if the guide had any doubts of their ownership the big W branded on the shoulder of each beast soon dispelled them. "Lucky there's a fort near by," said John. "We'd never have seen those critters again if there hadn't been." The mules were driven back to a point convenient of access on the trip back to the mine and tied securely. Then both boys rushed over to the course as fast as their ponies could go.
Nothing had changed; the men still talked excitedly, and on either side of the level space where the horses were to run lay little heaps of personal belongings that had been bet on this or that horse—saddles, blankets, gay bead-embroidered moccasins, and belts, rifles, and cartridges.
As the boys drew near, old Wolf Voice started toward them with greater speed than befitted a chief of his dignity and years.
"You got white-faced horse?" he shouted as he came near. "You run race? Me bet you now, me beat you." The grave old buck was almost childish at the prospect of racing a running horse.
Before answering, John looked over the horses that were to compete, and then consulted with his brother. "What do you think?" said he. "Wolf Voice is crazy for a race, and I think Baldy can beat anything here."
"But we haven't any money," said Ben.