The Indian came into the ring and Barry went out. The red-skin went through the same thing, and was greeted with shouts of approval by his dusky comrades.
The latter now began to think that the pale-face was no wizard at all, but just a good rider, so when Barry again entered the ring, seated on his horse, they greeted him with groans.
The rider smiled, however. He knew that in a few minutes the tune of the Indians would be wonderfully changed.
Again he rode around the ring, standing erect on his feet, and the Comanches began to think that this was all he could do, and they felt happy, accordingly.
They saw the rider lean over his horse and whisper a word in its ear. Then he rose up again and the white steed went around the ring like a flash. Suddenly the bridle dropped from the hand of the rider, and he stood up alone without any support.
Ah, here was something worth looking at.
The Comanches love to watch good riding, and would doubtless patronize a circus should one visit them.
Even though they knew that the rider was liberating the two prisoners, yet their admiration was unbounded.
Their eyes opened with surprise, and they were speechless when the rider went around the ring like lightning, with nothing to support him. He stood with his arms folded across his breast, and a smile of triumph upon his face.
But this was nothing. The best was yet to come.