As he lifted his broad-brimmed hat to her and the others in the party, he sprang to the saddle with one easy swing of his leg, reined Eagle abruptly about and started swiftly away. Davis looked at Bess as she watched Henry West, feeling no little chagrin at her look. She seemed to lose interest in the dances now that he was gone, and though Davis tried to point out the especial features of the Sun dance and Medicine dance, she watched them half-interestedly.
“Come—let us see if the others have not had quite enough by this time,” said Bess, after the Indians had given two more long, fantastic dances.
As the horses were brought out for the relay race, and the party moved to be nearer the track Bess again became filled with excitement. James had explained to her that this race was ten miles, or around the half-mile track twenty times; there were three entries and each rider could have three horses. They were to change horses, re-saddle and remount unassisted, except that some one could help in holding the horses after each mile. The rider completing in the quickest time, of course, won the prize. Bess had only eyes for Henry West as he led his horses down the track to the starting point. One horse was already saddled, and walking by West’s side was the Indian who was to ride his horses.
Presently the other men with their horses and riders were ready. The three Indians mounted; the crowd was waved back out of the way; everyone grew expectant and interested. At the crack of a pistol the horses were off like a flash amid clouds of dust. Evidently they were not new at this kind of racing and were eager for the sport. As they sped around the track they were almost abreast, and as the mile was nearly run West’s horse was a length behind the other two. As they neared the wire where each horse was being held ready to receive its saddle and respective rider, each slackened his pace and now simultaneously the three riders slid from their horses, quickly unbuckled the saddles, flung them upon the waiting horses, and with quick and sure fingers girted them, remounted and were off! Swift Arrow, the Indian riding for West, had changed his saddle so quickly that his horse was ready to start when the others were. This second horse kept apace with the others and toward the end of the half mile was gaining slightly. One of the other horses suddenly bolted off the track, and by the time the rider had him under control he was at least a quarter behind. Again at the change Swift Arrow’s deft fingers had adjusted the saddle, remounted and was off before the second Indian had fairly gained his feet. On and on they rode, first one gaining, then the other ahead according to the fleetness of the horses. How the crowd cheered as the favorite horse came in ahead! How they shouted as Louie pounded his heels into the horse’s sides in vain! See, here he comes at last, a half lap behind the other two, with his shirt flopping in the wind and one of his leggings hanging down over the stirrup. As he passes the man who holds his horses the legging is caught and jerked free. Again the others have remounted and gone, as Louie comes steaming up, half falling as the other loosened legging dangles at his feet. His long braids have become untied, and now the black, straight hair with its single feather is standing straight out with the breeze. Nothing daunted, with his fleeing companions already nearly a mile ahead, he bends low over his horse and rides as only an Indian can. Seven miles are run! Swift Arrow still leading! The eighth begun! Look! What attracts West, as he runs hurriedly across the track? His keen eye caught a glimpse of the saddle as Swift Arrow sped past! See, now, it is surely loose! Will he be able to hold until the end of the mile? Here he comes dashing forward! Already he seems to be beginning to dismount! Look. The horse suddenly turns, and the loosened saddle with the rider are flung to the ground almost at West’s feet! The frightened horse plunges and is gone. Two men quickly draw the stunned Indian to one side and shouts of “West! West!” are heard coming from the excited crowd.
“Oh! Will he be able to finish the race,” cried Bess, excitedly to James, who stood near Mauchacho.
“His other two horses cannot stand it to run alternately now, surely,” replied her brother, “and already both the others are ahead! See, here comes Nedreau’s horse on the finish of the eighth, and West has still the last half of the eighth to go. He might as well give up.”
West had assured himself that Swift Arrow was not seriously injured, and then lifting his sombrero to the calling crowd, snatched the saddle from the ground, threw it upon the resisting horse, fastened it, leaped upon the horse and was off! His head fairly touched the horse’s neck as he bent over, and in a steady voice urged the animal into even greater speed! Nedreau’s rider was already mounted and off as West came up the half-mile with Louie not far behind. He re-saddled to begin the ninth mile, but the tired, restive horse did not gain a foot over the others. Bess could not sit still in her saddle. “That is not fair,” she cried, “for they have three horses and Henry only two!” She saw with trepidation that his horse was falling far behind, and knew that he could not go much farther.
Before any of her companions was aware of her purpose, Bess gave Mauchacho a quick cut with the quirt and flew across the intervening space to the man holding West’s horse ready for the remount. Bess sprang to the ground, unfastened and jerked off the saddle and thrust the reins into the man’s hands just as West came up. He had seen the girl as he neared the wire, and quickly divined her purpose. She sprang back out of the way and cried, “Take Mauchacho, take my Bird! Win the race for me!”
At first the crowd could not see what was going on, and when the girl’s purpose dawned upon them they cheered and shouted wildly. Cries of “Ride,” “Go win,” “Mount the Bird,” came to the breed’s ears, and he threw his saddle upon the anxious, eager animal and was off.
See how easily he starts; he even leans over to pat the horse’s neck; he does not seem to care nor to notice that Nedreau’s Indian is almost a half ahead! Now he is bending low over the saddle till man and horse seem one; neither hear the cries and shouts as they begin the last half of the race. On Mauchacho speeds—swiftly, steadily; nearer, nearer, nearer the other horse! Almost to the other’s tail! A leap and they are even! A stretch, and his nose is ahead! One supreme effort and daylight is between the two horses, just as they pass under the wire amid frantic cries, tossing hats and waving handkerchiefs. In a moment the cheers were changed to laughter as poor Louie came trotting under the wire, dressed only in his feather, so strenuous had been his exertions.