Chapter IV: The Two Wizards

Chauncy swept the prairie with his eyes in the direction the Donna had gone, but she was not in sight. A feeling of joy went through him, for he knew that she had escaped.

The Indians made straight for their village, but had not gone many miles before darkness came on.

The moon did not rise until late, but when she did, it was to light up the earth almost as well as the sun would have done. The Indians halted and ate their supper when it was dark and let their horses rest for several hours.

When the moon put in an appearance in the East, they mounted their horses and set out for the village.

Hour after hour passed away and it was nearly daybreak before they at length reached the village of the Comanches.

The tired horses knew by instinct that they were near home, and they whinnied their approbation and delight.

The Comanches themselves were not less glad, for they had been absent two days and two nights, and the greater part of that time had been spent in riding.

The village was quiet when they reached it, but it did not remain so long. Horses neighed, dogs barked, warriors yelled, pappooses screamed and women did any thing and every thing.

The prisoner was immediately thrust into a lodge and a guard set over him. Chauncy had had no sleep that night, and yet he could not shut his eyes now. So restless was he that he could not lay down, but with scheming brain he walked across his narrow prison, time after time.

Many plans for his escape suggested themselves, but he could do nothing with his hands tied behind him, and, notwithstanding all of his desperate efforts, he could not get them loose.

Then his mind turned to the Donna.

He wondered if she would get any aid. Chauncy knew that her father the Don was a property owner, and that he had peons and vaqueroes under him. The Donna had told him that her father had undoubtedly come after her with his men.

She might meet them on her way and bring them to his rescue. And again the chances were about equal that she might miss them, and even if she did get them, would they attack the Indian village on account of a man whom they had never seen?

Chauncy had heard his father speak of the Mexicans so often and in such disparaging terms that the young man had come to think them all first-class cowards.

He did not know that, though taken as a class, they are cowards, yet among them are many brave men.

Every nation has its defects, and in some this one is greater than in others. The young man managed to think of a good deal in the short time that intervened between his being thrust into the lodge and daybreak.

The Comanches did not know that in the grove about half a mile from the village, a man mounted on a beautiful snow-white horse, was watching them as they entered the village with their prisoner. The man was not a bad-looking fellow, and was about thirty years old. The horse would have excited the envy of any man, especially a Comanche, who can judge horses so well.

Faultless in the shape and symmetry of its limbs, with a full, broad chest, arched neck, perfect head, large eyes, long mane and tail, the animal presented a splendid sight to the beholder.

There was no saddle on its back, only a broad band of dark-blue cloth, about four inches wide.

The bridle was a strong and beautiful one, silver-mounted and evidently worth a good deal of money.

On the horse, back of the band, was a bundle of what seemed to be clothes. The man carried a rifle in his hand, and in his belt were two revolvers, the accouterments to the former being in their places.

The man was muttering to himself as he watched the Indians go past.

“The poor fellow,” said he, “he’s doomed to the stake. I came out here for adventures and fun, and now I have a chance for both and to do a good deed at the same time. As sure as my name is Barry Le Clare, the champion bareback rider, jumper, et cetera, I’ll do it. What d’ye say, Snow Cloud, shall we put up our posters announcing that we will give an exhibition free to-morrow?” turning as he spoke, to his horse. The intelligent animal seemed to understand every word that was spoken, and gave a low whinny as it rubbed its velvety muzzle against the cheek of its master.

His words explained the strange appearance of the horse, and also the bundle on its back. The man had been a circus actor all his life, and having made lots of money and saved it too, he had with his celebrated horse left the circus life and come out West to enjoy himself. He could not bear a saddle even if the horse would have one on, which it certainly would not, having an antipathy against them. Just at break of day, while Barry, as we must call him, was still cogitating, leaning on his beautiful steed, he heard more yells in the village and knew that one or more new prisoners had been brought in. Who they were he knew not, for he could not see them, as they had entered the village from the opposite side.

He resolved, however, to try and save them all, and after making this resolve he left his horse’s side, taking the bundle from his back, and began to change his clothes.

Fifteen minutes passed away and then a horseman emerged from the grove of trees and began to ride toward the village.

He was at once discovered by the Comanches and the whole village was soon staring at him.

And indeed he did present a curious sight.

He was attired in regular circus costume, tights of flesh-colored stuff being on his body and limbs, and the blue cloth covered with spangles about his loins. He wore a jaunty cap, and his curly black hair was put back behind his ears.

The white horse was the same as before, only it carried no bundle.

The clothes of the circus-rider had been left in the woods, together with his rifle, revolvers and knife.

On his feet, in place of the fashionable boots he had on before, were a pair of pumps, such as the bareback riders use.

The Indians were greatly astonished at this sight.

As the horseman came nearer and nearer they thought he looked like a maniac, and yet again the smile which, notwithstanding all his efforts to repress it, came to his face when he saw the startled looks of the Indians, went far to convince them that he was sane. He rode slowly into the village until he came to the center.

Here he stopped his horse and sat upon him, looking around him at the crowd of dusky faces that were upturned in wonder.

At length the chief, Red Buffalo, came up, and not knowing whether the new-comer was a crazy man whom he must respect, or some pale-face making fun of him and his warriors whom he must capture, he asked him what he meant by coming into the village.

“What has come upon the Comanches, that they recognize not the agent of the Manitou? I am the White Wizard, and am in communication with the Great Manitou,” said the other, in deep tones.

The Indians were about to believe this, and it would have been an easy thing for them to do so, as the curious garb of the rider made them feel sure that he was no common man, but at this instant the magician of the village, a tall, bony man, dressed in skins and having a terribly ugly face, stepped out.

“The pale-face lies. He is an impostor. None but Muchanaigo can hold communication with the Manitou. Last night I had a dream: I dreamt that a lying pale-face came into the village to try and rescue the prisoners, and he was burned at the stake with them. Warriors, seize the coward. It is Muchanaigo that speaks. _He_ must be obeyed or a curse will fall upon the Comanches.”

With a yell the warriors sprung forward to obey the Wizard.

“Hold,” cried a voice, which seemed to come from the blue sky above. “Let not a warrior lay a hand upon the White Wizard. He who but touches him dies by the lightning. Beware. Let Muchanaigo kneel or he will be taken away by the wind and cast into the den of snakes which is kept for false wizards.”

Horror-stricken the Red Wizard fell upon his knees. Here was one who was greater than himself, and to whom he must bend his knee. Many of the Indians followed his example, for they thought that when their Wizard was scared, it was time for them to be humble.