"Oh, Jim, you are a riddle; you are not one, you are two men; and they
fight the whole time. But I know the wiser one is winning and I think
the best friend you ever had was that big fellow that threatened you
with the 'bone-rot' if ever you broke your word. I believe in you more
and more," and impulsively she laid her hand on his with a warmth that
provoked such instant response that she smote her horse and swung
away--fearful of a situation for which she was not ready.

At three o'clock, an officer from the Fort rode over to Red Cloud's
lodge and notified him that in one hour the race was to begin. The
War-chief grunted.

At four, the crowd was dense around the track, and the country near
seemed quite deserted. Near the starting post, which was also the
finish, were a huge crowd and a small army of mounted men. Suddenly
shots were heard, and a great shout went up from the Indian camp; then
forth came Red Cloud, in all his war paint and eagle feathers, followed
by other warriors; and carefully led in the middle of the procession was
the famous buckskin cayuse, sleek, clean-limbed, but decorated with
eagle feathers in mane and tail, with furry danglers on his fetlocks and
a large red hand painted on each shoulder and hip. He had no saddle and
was led with an ordinary hackima of hair rope around his lower jaw. He
walked alertly and proudly, but showed no unusual evidence of pace or
fire.

Then a cannon boomed at the Fort, and from the gate there issued another
procession, soldiers chiefly, following their Colonel. First among them
came a bugler, the officers, then next a trooper, leading the white
hope--the precious Red Rover. His groomed and glossy coat was shining in
the sun; his life and power were shown in every movement as he pranced
at times, in spite of the continual restraint of his trainer, who was
leading him. On the other side, rode Peaches, the little English jockey.
It was a bitter pill to the Americans that they should have to trust
their fortunes to an English rider, but all their men were too heavy,
except Little Breeches, and, he, alas, had fallen into the hands of the
whiskey mongers. The ladies of the garrison rode close behind; and last,
came the regimental band, in full thump and blare. As they neared the
starting post, the band was hushed and the bugle blew a fanfare; then,
with the Colonel leading, the racer was taken to the starting post.

Red Cloud was there calmly waiting with his counsellors