This flattery greatly pleased the Indians.
“The Wizard is a great man. He knows every thing. He is a great rider, and would make a big Comanche brave,” said one.
“Is not the warrior thirsty? Would he like a little fire-water to make him glad?” asked the cunning circus-rider.
The eyes of the two Comanches snapped at the very thought.
“Pale-face great man, he gib Injun drink.”
“Yes; here, take a good sup apiece. There’s plenty more where that came from,” said Barry, taking out his bottle.
It was a medium-sized black one, and was two-thirds full of brandy.
The circus-rider just after dark had gone out to the clump of trees in which he had hidden his clothes, and had got the bottle of brandy from them. It was not pure brandy, however.
He had taken a little vial from his coat-pocket and poured a little of the contents into the black bottle.
It was a subtile drug which would produce a feeling which for drowsiness could not be equaled.