Chapter VI: The Circus-Rider Magician

The large council-lodge was filled with Comanche chiefs.

Red Buffalo being at the head of the tribe, and the most renowned Indian present, was given the post of honor.

The White Wizard was ushered into the lodge, dressed as a circus-rider, and given a seat near the head chief and medicine man. Soon after the three captives were brought in, with their hands still bound behind them. Their eyes rested with wonder upon Barry, for they did not know what to make of him.

A sly wink which he managed to give them unperceived by the reds, told them that, whoever he was, Barry was a friend to them.

One of the chiefs, an old man, opened the council, and with a short, fiery speech, set the blood rushing through the veins of the Comanches like fire.

A tall, wiry fellow jumped up when the old chief had finished, and spoke for some time upon the cruelty of the whites and their evident desire to exterminate the Indians.

Several more followed, and then Red Buffalo arose from his seat, letting his blanket fall from his shoulders to the ground as he did so. This chief was well known upon the border, as had also been his father, Spotted Wolf, and the prisoner and chiefs leaned forward and listened to his words.

The speech of Red Buffalo was short, but being to the point, its pithiness made up for its briefness.

“Chiefs and warriors of the Comanches: the great Manitou has placed three pale-faces in our hands. Shall we torture them or let them go?

“It is the will of the Great Spirit that the prisoners should be tortured by being burned at the stake. A singing-bird whispers it in the ear of Red Buffalo. The prairie-wind brings the word ‘_torture_’ with it. Shall the pale-faces go free when eight warriors fell beneath their arms? No; the Manitou wills that they should die, and the Great Medicine-man shall decide upon their fate. Three moons ago Red Buffalo had a father and brother. Where now is the chief Spotted Wolf and the Snake-head? Both have gone to the happy hunting-grounds, sent on their long journey by the bullets of the pale-face trappers. Let the medicine-man speak.”

The Red Wizard looked around the council-lodge with his terrible eyes until they fell upon the prisoners.

Here they rested, and a horrible grin came upon his face, as he slowly arose to his feet and spoke:

“My brothers have spoken well. The death of the pale-faces has been sealed. Muchanaigo had a dream last night. The Manitou spoke to him and said the pale-faces must die unless there came a man who could outride the Comanches. If such came, then all but the young man were to go free. But where is the man?

“Where, chiefs and warriors, is the man that is to outride the ‘children of the plains?’ Let him be found.”

The medicine-man liked to speak about his dreams, for the superstitious Indians believed them, and what is more, thought him all the greater on account of them. The cunning Wizard always liked to put in that he had spoken to the Manitou, and this made the Comanches respect him more.

He had taken a dislike to Chauncy, probably because one of the men slain by the young man was a grand-son of his, and he left him out purposely when he mentioned that should a man come who could outride the “prairie kings,” the prisoners would be saved. He had not the least idea in the world that the man spoken of would appear, or that when he did come, he could even equal the Comanches at riding. He was somewhat surprised, therefore, when Barry got up and said he was the man. The circus-rider made a very fine speech, telling about a dream he had had, and how the Manitou had chosen him to ride with the Comanches.

The medicine-man was greatly astonished at this.

He had no idea in the world that the man he spoke of would appear, and yet he pretended that he knew he was coming.

The medicine-man of a tribe of Indians is generally some sharp fellow, who knows a few tricks which, though plain enough to a white man, he easily manages to gull the red-men completely with.

The Red Wizard, on this occasion, was greatly surprised when Barry got up and spoke, offering to ride against the best Comanche in the village, and a smile came to his lips.

He was glad, now, that the white man had offered to ride.

Now he should have one triumph over his rival, for the latter would be sure to get beat.

There was no chance for him at all. The Comanches live on the backs of their horses; but it did not occur to the mind of the red-man that Barry Le Clare had been reared on a horse—had been a celebrated rider at the early age of fifteen.

The red-skin felt sure of a victory over his fellow-wizard.

He would show the Comanches that the latter was not unconquerable. So when Barry seated himself again, the Red Wizard arose, and said that the Manitou had spoken the truth, the man had made his appearance, and now the next thing for the Comanches to do, was to watch the trial of skill.

This was accepted with yells of applause by the Comanches.

They knew that they were reckoned the best riders of the plains, and that they had no equals among the red-men.

What then had they to fear from a white man who had lived in the cities and towns all his life?

The council was broken up, and the whole village hurried over to the plain just beyond the village.

The three prisoners guarded by several warriors were brought along to witness the performance. The man selected by the Comanches to compete with the White Wizard was a medium-sized, athletic fellow, with long arms and supple joints.

He had a very fast and strong mustang, and it was a pretty large one, too. He was stripped, except a piece of cloth around his loins, and as he sprung upon his steed a shout arose from his admiring comrades. They had seen him ride before, and as he was the champion of the village, they expected to see the pale-face beaten all to nothing. The horse was an iron-gray, and was quite celebrated on the plains on account of its speed.

The man that owned and rode it knew it well, and would have bet his bottom dollar (if he ever had one) that he would come out of a trial of skill or a race with the pale-face first best.

The three prisoners watched the white man, and they felt their courage rise when they saw the smile on his firm countenance.

The man knew his own powers.

Had he looked scared, the whites would have given up all hope, for they knew that if the Indian frightened him there would be no chance for him to win.

But the confident and “devil-may-care” look upon his face reassured them, and they had confidence in him.

The white looked to the girdle which was around his horse, and as the Indian had no bridle on his horse, Barry took _his_ off.

The Indian was to show lead, now.

He was mounted on his horse, and at a signal from the head chief he dashed out upon the plain.

The mane of his horse was long, and had been plaited.

One of these plaits served to rest his arm in, and he performed all sorts of tricks, sliding around his horse and coming up on the other side, and picking up things from the ground.

At length he put on the bridle and went through the last thing on his programme. This consisted of standing up on the horse bare-back, holding on with the bridle and jumping up and down. The Comanche did all of these things with a great deal of skill, and when he rode into the crowd he was greeted by a chorus of savage yells. The Indians were delighted.

Of course the pale-face could do nothing like this.

Imagine their surprise and chagrin when they saw him dash out and go through the same thing as easily as the Indian had done, and with extremely aggravating _nonchalance_.

It was now his turn to lead.

The medicine-man was not beaten yet.

If his man could equal the White Wizard when the latter led, the prisoners would not be free after all. And even if the white man did beat his red rival, the Red Wizard did not intend to give them up. He was sharp enough for that. _He would have another dream._