Later not even Mr. Grimes could tell how Francis got out of the hold. But get out of the hold he did, and within thirty seconds it was pretty clear to the crowd that one angry white boy was going to be a pony and a set of buckskins richer. His twist to get out of the hold knocked the Indian boy on his back in the dirt, and Francis, acting more from instinct than logic, made what Mr. Grimes later called a “goat leap.” He jumped high in the air and, in an almost perfect swan dive, landed headfirst in the center of the Indian’s stomach. Before the boy could regain his breath, Francis had flopped down and wrapped a scissors hold around his chest. Five seconds passed, then ten, and on the fifteenth second—Mr. Grimes had been counting—the Indian boy gasped his defeat. “That’s enough, Mr. Tucket,” Mr. Grimes called.

Francis released the boy immediately, no longer angry. He stood, and was surprised to see the Indian boy smiling up at him. On the spur of the moment, he leaned down and helped the still-gasping boy to get up. Around the circle there were many grunts of approval.

The Indian, as soon as his breathing settled down, began jabbering and laughing right away. Francis turned to Mr. Grimes.

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s saying it was well worth a pony to learn that new trick—he means that business of butting.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s happy,” Francis said, laughing also. “And you can tell him that I learned something myself.” He rubbed his back. “I may have won a pony, but I don’t think I’ll be riding it right away …”

———— Chapter Ten ————

FRANCIS COULDN’T FIGURE OUT what to do. First he decided he wanted to stay on at Standing Bear’s village, but then he found that he wanted to go on with Mr. Grimes. He had announced that he wouldn’t be able to ride the pony for a while, but even so Mr. Grimes shook him awake at dawn the next morning.

“Come on, Mr. Tucket. There’s a horse to be picked out, and we have to be on our way today. I swear, you sleep like a bear in winter.”

Actually, there wasn’t “a horse to be picked out.” Standing Bear had already done the picking—and true to Indian form, he had chosen the best pony in the corral.

She was a mare, and except for a white splotch of hair across her rump in the shape of a bird’s wing, she was as black as the night. Standing Bear pointed to her with pride, smiled, and talked in Sioux to Mr. Grimes, who reported to Francis:

“He says he picked the pony for two reasons. One, she is good. Two, he hears you have a special liking for black mares. That’s a joke and you should laugh.”

Francis laughed.