Ernest Seton - The Preacher of Cedar Mountain

The Pinto

Under such a cloud of disaster men cared little what the weather was; the deluge of rain seemed rather appropriate. There was even a hope that it might rain hard enough to postpone the race. But at ten it stopped, and by eleven it had cleared off wholly. The race was to be at noon.

Word had been sent to Red Cloud, asking for two days' postponement, which was curtly refused. "White man heap scared maybe," was his scornful reply.

The Colonel held a hasty council of war with his officers. Their course was clear. In Red Rover they still had a winner and the race would come off as announced; such a horse as Blazing Star could not long be concealed; they would follow up the Crows and recover him in a few days. So, after all, the outlook was not so very dark.

Already the plain was surging with life. Gaily-clad Indians were riding at speed for the pleasure of speeding. Thousands of gaudy blankets—put out to air in the sun—seemed to double the density, colour, and importance of the camp. New wagons came with their loads, new life developed; now came a procession of Indians singing their racing songs, for the Indian has a song for every event in life; bodies of United States troops were paraded here and there as a precautionary and impressive measure; the number of Indians assembled, and their excitability, began to cause the authorities some apprehension.

The Boyds were there in their democrat and had brought picnic food for all day; but Hartigan was a special favourite at the Fort, and he, with Belle, was invited to join its hospitable garrison mess, where social life was in gala mood. It was an experience for Belle, for she had not realized before how absolutely overwhelming a subject the horse race could be among folk whose interests lay that way, and whose lives, otherwise, were very monotonous. She was a little shocked to note that every one of the wives at the table was betting on the race—in some cases, for considerable money. The one restraining force in the case was the absence of takers, since all were backing Red Rover.

An amusing incident occurred when, during the meal, a bead-eyed young squaw entered the mess room and stood a little inside the door.

"What does she want?" asked the Colonel.

Then the interpreter: "She wants to bet on the race. She wants to bet her baby against yours."

A pretty good proof of a sure thing, for no race loves its children more than the red folk. An Indian has no compunction whatever in staking his treaty money, which comes so easily and may as lightly go; he does not hesitate to risk all his wealth, for after all wealth is a burden; he will even wager his wife, if the game possesses him; but he is very shy of staking his children. He does it on occasion, but only when he considers it a foregone result—a certainty of winning.

The Indian Agent had many close conferences with the Colonel. He strongly disapproved the whole racing excitement and plainly indicated that he held the Colonel responsible. What would happen when these excited fifteen hundred Sioux and Cheyenne warriors—not to speak of some five thousand women and children—met defeat, was a serious problem. Had the situation been sooner realized, the whites could have organized into some sort of home defense. Red Cloud and Howling Bull, so far as could be discerned, contemplated the scene, and the coming event, with absolute composure.

Huge pools of water had blue-patched the racetrack after the downpour; but these had drained off to a great extent, leaving the track a little greasy perhaps, but quite usable; and Jim recalled with interest the shoeing of the Buckskin. "This was what it was for; how did the heathens know it was coming?" By mutual agreement, at length, the race was postponed for two hours, which, under such a sun, would bring the track back nearly to normal; and since the Indians had had the Buckskin shod, it was the same for both. It was decided that the start should be made when the sun was over Inyan Kara, the tallest of the hills in sight to the west; this meant, as nearly as possible, at four o'clock.

At two o'clock all the world seemed there. There were mounted Indians—men and women—by thousands, and at least a thousand mounted whites besides the soldiers. The plain was dotted with life and colour from far beyond the Indian camp to Fort Ryan; but the centre of all was the racetrack; and camped alongside, or riding or sitting near, was the thickest group of folk of both races, bound to lose no glimpse of the stirring contest.

The delay made for new excitement; the nerve strain became greater as each hour passed. The white soldiers did what they could to hold the crowd, and the Indians called on their own "Dog Soldiers" or camp police to do the same. Fortunately, it was a good-natured crowd; and the absconding of the Crows had removed the largest element of risk, so far as violence was concerned. Jim was ablaze with the wildest of them all. He rode away and back at a gallop to work it off. Belle was too tired to join these boisterous runs, so he rode alone at first. But another woman rider was there; from the crowd Lou-Jane Hoomer spurred her bay, and raced beside him. She was an excellent horsewoman, had a fine mount, and challenged Jim to a ride. Handsome, her colour up, her eyes sparkling, Lou-Jane could have ridden away, for she had the better mount, but she didn't; she rode beside him, and, when a little gully called for a jump, they jumped together, and found abundant cause for laughter. Twice they went careering, then back to Belle, and when next Jim's itch for speed and life sent him circling, Belle was rested enough to follow everywhere.

At a quarter to two the bugle of the Fort was blown, and there issued forth the proud procession with Red Rover in the middle, led beside his jockey, who rode a sober pony. It was Little Breeches this time. There is one thing that cannot be explained away, that is defeat. Peaches had been defeated; his chance came no more.

Red Rover was magnificent, trained to a hair, full of life and fire. Of all the beautiful things on earth, there is nothing of nobler beauty than a noble horse; and Rover, in his clean-limbed gloss and tensity, was a sight to thrill the crowds that were privileged to see him spurn the earth, and arch his graceful neck, and curvet a little for the subtle joy that comes of spending power when power is there in a very plethora. Every white man's eye grew proudly bright as he gazed and gloried in his champion and fear left all their hearts. At the starting post, they swung about, Little Breeches mounted, and a mighty cheer went up. "Ho, Red Cloud! Where's your horse? Bring on your famous Buckskin now"; and the rumbling of the crowd was rising, falling, like the sound of water in a changing wind.

Far down the valley, near the Ogallala Camp, a new commotion arose and a wilder noise was sounding. There was the shrill chant of the "Racing Ponies" with the tom-toms beating, and then Red Cloud's men came trotting in a mass. As they neared the starting point, the rabble of the painted warriors parted, and out of the opening came their horse, and from the whites went up a loud and growing burst of laughter. Such a horse as this they had never seen before; not the famous Buckskin, but the mysterious pinto pony , wonderful, if weird trappings could make him so. On his head he wore an eagle-feather war-bonnet; his mane was plaited with red flannel strips and fluttering plumes; his tail was even gaudier; around each eye was a great circle of white and another of black; his nose was crossbarred with black and red; his legs were painted in zebra stripes of yellow and black; the patches of white that were native to his coat were outlined with black and profusely decorated with red hands and horseshoes painted in vermilion; on his neck was a band of beadwork, carrying a little bundle of sacred medicine; and, last, he 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.