This was accepted with yells of applause by the Comanches.
They knew that they were reckoned the best riders of the plains, and that they had no equals among the red-men.
What then had they to fear from a white man who had lived in the cities and towns all his life?
The council was broken up, and the whole village hurried over to the plain just beyond the village.
The three prisoners guarded by several warriors were brought along to witness the performance. The man selected by the Comanches to compete with the White Wizard was a medium-sized, athletic fellow, with long arms and supple joints.
He had a very fast and strong mustang, and it was a pretty large one, too. He was stripped, except a piece of cloth around his loins, and as he sprung upon his steed a shout arose from his admiring comrades. They had seen him ride before, and as he was the champion of the village, they expected to see the pale-face beaten all to nothing. The horse was an iron-gray, and was quite celebrated on the plains on account of its speed.
The man that owned and rode it knew it well, and would have bet his bottom dollar (if he ever had one) that he would come out of a trial of skill or a race with the pale-face first best.
The three prisoners watched the white man, and they felt their courage rise when they saw the smile on his firm countenance.
The man knew his own powers.
Had he looked scared, the whites would have given up all hope, for they knew that if the Indian frightened him there would be no chance for him to win.