After distributing the powder there was more talk, and still more talk with Standing Bear. Francis almost went to sleep on the sorrel just listening to him. By this time all of the women had disappeared, the children had backed out of the circle of men, and Mr. Grimes seemed to be the only one listening to Standing Bear. The sun set while he was talking, the evening chill seeped into Francis’s back, fires began to flare up around camp, the smell of buffalo cooking touched his nostrils, and still Standing Bear talked on.

Finally the Indian’s voice stopped.

Mr. Grimes said something briefly in Sioux. The Indian replied, just as briefly. Mr. Grimes nodded, and turned to Francis. “Better get down and stretch a bit. Footloose is probably tired, too.”

Francis slid off to the left and fell flat on his face. Both his legs were asleep.

Mr. Grimes muttered something in Sioux and all the warriors laughed.

“What did you say?” Francis asked.

“I told them you were saving your legs for the match.”

“Well, if it hadn’t been for old, old chief windbag there, my legs probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Francis said grumpily, flexing his knees. “What was he talking about, anyway?”

“Well, he said that his lands reach to where it is always cold in the North, to where great waters end the land in the East, as far as all the ducks and geese and small birds fly in the cold of the end of the time of the sun—”

“Couldn’t you cut it down a bit?” Francis asked. “I’m hungry.”

“He said I could trap beaver on Sioux land. I thanked him. Then he said I was welcome. Then you fell off the horse—”

“All right. I understood that part. Now do I get a chance to eat before I lose my rifle?”

“Sure do, Mr. Tucket, prime buffalo. But I don’t know as I like this negative thinking you’re doing. Cheer up a mite. They probably won’t have but a midget against you. Why not think instead of owning a pony and some good buckskins?”

“I told you. I’m too good at losing.”

Many things were stacked up against Francis’s chances of winning the pony and buckskins. First, he was so hungry that when food was finally offered him, in the form of a large slab of hot buffalo meat, he ate until he could barely stand.

Then, too, two days hadn’t completely worn out the stiffness in his legs, hips, and arms. And riding all day on the rounded haunch of the sorrel was hardly good training for wrestling. But the main obstacle was the Indian boy Standing Bear had picked to fight him. He was not a midget, he wasn’t even small.