, the Black Cloud is some heated ag'in the Lance
an' looks on him with baleful eye as a rival. Still, Black Cloud has
his nerve with him constant, an' tharfore one day when the Osages an'
Creeks has been dispootin' touchin' the reespective powers of him an'
the Lance, an' this latter Injun offers to come over to Greyhoss an'
make medicine ag'in him, Black Cloud never hesitates or hangs back like
a dog tied onder a waggon, but calls the bluff a heap prompt an' tells
the Lance to come.

"Which the day is set an' the Lance shows in the door, as monte sharps
would say. Black Cloud an' the Lance tharupon expands themse'fs, an'
delights the assembled Creeks an' Osages with their whole box of
tricks, an' each side is braggin' an' boastin' an' puttin' it up that
their gent is most likely the soonest medicine man who ever buys black
paint. It's about hoss an' hoss between the two.

"Black Cloud accompanies himse'f to this contest with a pure white pony
which has eyes red as roobies--a kind o' albino pony--an' he gives it
forth that this milk-coloured bronco is his 'big medicine' or familiar
sperit. The Lance observes that the little red-eyed hoss is mighty
impressive to the savages, be they Creeks or Osages. At last he says
to Black Cloud:

"'To show how my medicine is stronger than yours, to-morry I'll make
your red-eyed big medicine bronco go lame in his off hind laig.'

"Black Cloud grins scornful at this; he allows that no sport can make
his white pony go lame.

"He's plumb wrong; the next mornin' the white pony is limpin' an'
draggin' his off hind hoof, an' when he's standin' still he p'ints the
toe down like something's fetched loose. Black Cloud is sore; but he
can't find no cactus thorn nor nothin' to bring about the lameness an'
he don't know what to make of the racket. Black Cloud's up ag'inst it,
an' the audience begins to figger that the Lance's' medicine is too
strong for Black Cloud.

"What's the trouble with the red-eyed pony? That's simple enough, son.
The Lance done creeps over in the night an' ties a hossha'r tight about
the pony's laig jest above the fetlock. Black Cloud ain't up to no
sech move, the same bein' a trade secret of the Lance's an' bein' the
hossha'r is hid in the ha'r on the pony's laig, no one notes its
presence.

"After Black Cloud looks his red-eyed big medicine pony all over an'
can't onderstand its lameness, the Lance asks him will he cure it.
Black Cloud, who's sc'owlin' l