limit.

But the Indian boy's magic song rang out again: "Huya Huya, Huya deshka!
Huya, Huya, Huya deshka! (Oh, Eagle, fly, fly Eagle, my Pinto fly!)" And
the Pinto seemed to unchain himself, as a hawk when he sails no more,
but flaps for higher speed. With thunderous hoofs the wild horse
splashed through a pool, came crawling, crawling up, till once again he
was neck and neck with the wonderful flying steed in the coat of gold.

Little Breeches shouted, "Hi! Hi! Hi!" and spurred and smote. Chaska
glanced at him and smiled, such a soft little smile. The eagle feather
in his hair was fluttering, and the smile was still on his lips as they
reached the last half mile. Then, in weird and mouthing tone, Chaska
sang of wind and wings:

"Ho, Huya, Huya deshka,
Huya, Huya, Huya deshka,
Woo hiya, Woo hiya, Woo hiya,
Unkitawa, Unkitawa, Ho!"

Strong medicine it must have been, for the Pinto thrilled, and bounded
double strong. The white man yelled and spared not lash nor spur. Red
Rover flinched, then sprang as he had never sprung before. But the demon
pony in the motley coat swung faster, faster, faster yet; his nostrils
flared; his breath was rushing--snorting--his mighty heart was pounding,
the song of the wind and the flying wings seemed to enter into his soul.
He double-timed his hoofbeats and, slowly forging on, was half a length
ahead. The white man screamed and madly spurred. Red Rover was at
topmost notch. The demon pony forged--yes, now a length ahead, and in
the rising, rumbling roar, passed on, a double length, and _in_. _The
race was won, lost, won lost_--the Pinto pony crowned; and the awful
blow had struck!

CHAPTER XLII

The Aftertime

The crack of doom will never hit Fort Ryan harder. When the thousand
painted Sioux came riding, yelling, wild with joy, shooting their rifles
in the air, racing in a vast, appalling hoof tornado down the long track
and then to the lodge of all the stakes, they went as men who are
rushing to save their own from some swift flood that threatens. But they
got an unexpected shock. The red sentry and the white sentry were
standing--sullen, for they were forced to miss the race. Still, the
result was clear.

The Sioux were each for claiming the bundle with his name. But the
soldier on guard, with fixed bayonet, ordered all the frenzied rabble
back.

"I don't know anything about your darned race, and here I stand till I
get orders from my officer."

It