“This attack that you saw, my brother, was not by any means the first one they have made upon me. I guard myself against them as well as I can, but I expect that some day I shall fall a victim to their poisoned arrows or be carried away a prisoner to one of their caves, and there be devoured by them in one of their hideous feasts.” Red Cloud said these last words calmly, with all the stoical philosophy of an Indian, and then folded his buffalo robe about him and sank into profound thought, gazing into the dying embers of the camp fire. The young warrior was not a man to worry over even the worst that might happen. The matter was in the hands of the Great Manitou, and when his time came he would die as bravely as he had lived. CHAPTER X. IN THE RAPIDS. In a few days Red Cloud was sufficiently recovered to travel, and Buffalo Bill was glad of the opportunity to carry out his mission at last. The Indian and the scout mounted their horses, which were very fresh and mettlesome after their long rest in camp, and each man secretly admired the great skill and horsemanship which the other showed. “You are a great rider, Red Cloud,” said Buffalo Bill, after he had watched his blood brother for a few moments, sitting his horse like a bronzed statue as it reared and bucked and cavorted in all directions. A gratified smile shone on the Indian’s face, and he replied: “Would my brother care to try to mount this horse? No other man but myself has ever ridden him. Once he kicked a brave to death who tried to ride him.” “I don’t mind trying,” said the border king, who had never yet met the horse that he could not subdue. He leaped from his own mustang as he spoke, but Red Cloud kept his place in the saddle. “No, my brother,” he exclaimed. “I did but jest. I might as well take my tomahawk and bury it in your head as let you mount this beast. He would surely kill you, for he is very savage to all but myself.” By this time Buffalo Bill’s blood was up, and he was determined to mount the Indian’s mettlesome animal. “Here is a fair offer, Red Cloud,” he exclaimed. “If your wounds are quite well, will you try to mount my mustang and ride him? He is not fierce, but he will certainly shake you off gently to the ground if I give him the word to do so. And if you cannot keep your seat on him you must let me try to mount your beast.” The Indian’s spirit was aroused by this challenge. He eagerly accepted it, feeling confident that he would be able to sit the mustang without any difficulty. Like his white companion, he was used to conquering any animal he met. He dismounted and approached the mustang, which cocked up its ears suspiciously and looked inquiringly at his master. Buffalo Bill said: “Steady, old girl!” The mare kept as quiet as a lamb while the Indian mounted her, and allowed him to ride her gently up and down.