had on each ankle a string of sleigh-bells that jingled at each
prancing step. A very goblin of a horse! His jockey was, as before,
Chaska, the Indian boy, stripped to the breechclout, with an eagle
feather in his hair and a quirt hung on his wrist.

Never, perhaps, was a more grotesque race entry in all the West; and the
difference between the burnished form of Red Rover in his perfect trim,
and this demon-painted Pinto gave rise to an ever-growing chorus of
shouting, laughter, rough jibes, and hoots of joy.

Jim took in the Indian horse with the keenest of eyes. "Well, boys, he
may be only a pinto cayuse, but he's way ahead of their Buckskin. Look
at that action. Bedad, they've got him shod!"

The Pinto seemed as tall as Red Rover and, so far as trappings allowed
one to see, he was nearly as fine in build. Diverse feelings now surged
in the crowd. Many of the whites said, "Well, it was true after all, Red
Cloud, the old fox, he sent to Omaha, or maybe Illinois and bought a
racer. The shoeing of the Buckskin was a blind. Or maybe, at that time,
their racer had not been secured."

Old Red Cloud slowly rode by with his square jaw set, his eyes a little
tight, observing all; but he gave no sign of special interest.

With two such keen and nervous racers it was no easy matter to get a
fair start; but at length they were man[oe]uvred into line, side by
side. The pistol cracked and away they went, while all the crowd held
still, so very still for a moment that you could have heard for a
hundred yards the medicine song of the Indian boy:

"Huya! Huya! Shungdeshka, Shungdeshka! (Fly! Fly! my Eagle! Fly! my
Pinto Eagle!)" And that wild-eyed Indian pony sprang away as fast as the
blooded horse beside him. So far as any one could tell it was an even
match.

The white man had won the inside track again; and remembering how the
Indian boy had got that advantage in the last race, he was on the watch.
But nothing happened; the horses led off side by side, shoulder to
shoulder. At the turning post was a waiting throng that received them
with a cheer, to follow again in their wake, like madmen let loose on
hoofs. The horses seemed to thrill to the sound and bent to it faster.

Around the post they had swung, perforce in a large circle, and the
Pinto lost a good half length. Now Little Breeches saw his chance and,
leaning forward well, he smote with the quirt and pricked those bronzy
flanks, while Rover bounded--bounded to his