He saw not, felt not, what Tecumseh did—the whirling rope, the sudden tightening of the strong cord, and the throttling that quickly followed.
He felt his hands unclasp, then came the sensation of being hurled through the air—then insensibility!
He opened his eyes amid thirty anxious Pawnee Indians, and his recovery was greeted with yells of delight and triumph.
“White boy ride hunter’s horse like young brave,” said the giant, who had lassoed Tecumseh, kneeling beside the youth he had rescued. “How he get off with the big steed?”
In a few words our hero acquainted the Pawnees with the circumstances attending his perilous ride, and they admired his pluck in sticking to the animal.
“Pale boy brave enough to be Pawnee,” the Indian, who was evidently a chief, continued. “He made White Lasso catch him, by making hunter’s horse tired. If gray horse stay at head of band, White Lasso no catch ’im and save boy.”
The youth smiled, and thanked the Pawnee for the life he had saved.
He felt that his pluck had gained him a friend among the Indians, and the thought was further strengthened by the Pawnee’s words.
“White boy sleep in White Lasso’s tent,” he said, lifting our weakened hero from the ground.
“Red Eagle got Gold Girl, Pale Pawnee keep the darker rose, and White Lasso make the young rider great chief.”