quarters,
and, after a smoke, learned that they had come to accept the challenge
to race their horses. When and where should it be? It was arranged that
on the fifteenth of September they should meet at Fort Ryan, and that
the race should come off on the two-mile course at the Fort. After
smokes, compliments and the exchange of some presents, Red Cloud
withdrew to his camp.

The following day, as his trainer was putting Red Rover through his
paces around the course, there was a group of Indians on their horses at
the racetrack; silent, attentive, watching every move. At dawn, the day
after, the sentry reported that a band of mounted Indians were on the
racetrack. From his window the Colonel watched them through a telescope.
He saw them studying the ground; and then a naked youth, on a spirited
buckskin, galloped round. It was easy for the Colonel to note the time
by his stop-watch and thus have a rough idea of the pony's flat speed on
the two miles. He was not surprised one way or the other. The time was
considerably over four minutes, which merely proved it to be an
ordinarily good horse. But, of course, he knew nothing of the handling;
was this top speed? or was the driver holding the horse in? In ten
minutes the Indians were gone.

The next day, a party rode out from Cedar Mountain to see the Indian
camp; and, leading the light-hearted procession, were Belle Boyd on her
pony and the Preacher on Blazing Star. It was not easy to see Red Cloud.
He was much wrapped up in his dignity and declined to receive any one
under the rank of "Soldier High Chief" (Colonel). But they found much to
interest them in the Sioux camp, and at length, were rewarded by seeing
the war chief come forth, mount his horse, and ride, with others, toward
the Fort. Turning aside, at the racetrack, Belle and Jim saw Red Rover
come forth for his morning spin. The Red men drifted to the starting
point, and just as the racer went away an Indian boy on a buckskin
broncho dashed alongside and kept there round the track. Whether it was
a race or not no one could say, for each rider was jockeying, not
willing to win or lose, and it had the appearance of a prearranged dead
heat. One of the officers called out: "Say, boys, that's their same old
buckskin cayuse. What do you make of it?"

It was the white jockey who replied: "If that's their speeder, it's a
cinch. I could have run away at any time."

A senior officer spoke up: "I kept tabs on it, and it's