A wild, barbaric shout arose from the crowd as he spoke. The spears of the rival duelists were at once leveled. Their moccasined heels dug sharply into the ponies’ flanks, and the high-strung little animals darted forward like arrows from the bow. “They’re off!” Ben yelled hoarsely. Across the hard, sandy flat came the flying hoofs, the fleet ponies traveling at express speed. The intrepid young warriors were rushing upon each other at full gallop. The intervening space narrowed with lightning swiftness, and in a trice the pair met full-tilt in the middle of the ring with a shock the sound of which was plainly heard in the distant village. Crash! the two contestants were violently dismounted by the fearful impact. “They’re both done for!” said Tom, in a low, tense whisper. “No!” Ben shook his head in quick denial. “Look! one is getting up! he seems unhurt!” “It’s Bright Star!” arose the cry among the straining onlookers. True enough! young Bright Star sprang briskly to his feet, untouched by the deadly lance. The hulking Prairie Wolf, however, lay inert among the sand and dry leaves, knocked senseless by the fall, and with a spear wound in his shoulder. The doughty young victor now whistled to his pony, leaped gracefully to the animal’s back, and then swooped down toward the Indian girl who still stood like a statue, at the outskirts of the circle of spectators. As the boy chief neared the maiden, he leaned from the saddle with practiced skill, passed his sinewy arm around the girl’s waist, and deftly lifted her to a place on the pony’s back before him. Then, with a fling of his arm and a last, exultant whoop toward the onlookers, he shot away across the barren plain toward the wigwams of his tribesmen. CHAPTER 2 Bill Brown, Border Scout After the finish of the Indian duel, Tom and Ben Gordon started back toward the village by the fort. The fresh, perfumed air of early spring was blowing out of the west, sweeping in from the hundreds of miles of wide, clean prairie lands that stretched away to the distant Mississippi and beyond. Redbud trees were putting forth their first pink blossoms, and the butter-colored dandelions were here and there beginning to fleck the grass. A sunset of an extraordinary brilliance made the western sky glorious. “Well, if it ain’t my young friends, the twins!” suddenly boomed a cheery voice from behind them. The two boys turned abruptly. What with the soft earth path they were following, they had not noticed the approach of anyone, but now they quickly saw that the newcomer was the tall frontiersman whom they had talked with briefly at the Indian council that morning.