The Indian came in looking terribly sullen, for he would not have cared could he only take the scalp of his enemy.
He would have been content to lose his own then.
Handing over his horse to a friend, he stepped up to Barry and stood before him with open breast.
“Strike,” said he; “Red Bear has lost. His scalp is yours.”
“Never!” exclaimed Barry, moving back. “Red Bear’s scalp belongs to himself. Let him live and learn wisdom.”
“The pale-face is afraid to strike. See, Red Bear is not afraid to die. He spits at the White Wizard with his last breath.”
As the Indian spoke he drew his knife and stabbed himself to the heart.
Then with a loud yell he sunk back upon the ground, dead.
He had done well, for he could never have lived with the Comanches had he failed to make good his wager.
The relatives of the dead man took the body away to be buried after the fashion of the Comanches.