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' like midnight by now, retorts that he
will. So he gets his pipe an' fills it with medicine tobacco an' blows
a mouthful of smoke in the red-eyed pony's nose. Sech remedies don't
work; that pony still limps on three laigs, draggin' the afflicted
member mighty pensive.

"At last the Lance gives Black Cloud a patronisin' smile an' says that
his medicine'll cure the pony sound an' well while you're crackin' off
a gun. He walks up to the pony an' looks long in its red eyes; the
pony's y'ears an' tail droops, its head hangs down, an' it goes mighty
near to sleep. Then the Lance rubs his hand two or three times up an'
down the lame laig above the fetlock an' elim'nates that hossha'r
ligature an' no one the wiser. A moment after, he wakes up the
red-eyed pony an' to the amazement of the Osages an' the onbounded
delight of the Creeks, the pony is no longer lame, an' the laig so late
afflicted is as solid an' healthy as a sod house. What's bigger
medicine still, the red-eyed pony begins to follow the Lance about like
a dog an' as if it's charmed; an' it likewise turns in to bite an' r'ar
an' pitch an' jump sideways if Black Cloud seeks to put his paw on him.
Then all the Injuns yell with one voice: 'The Lance has won the Black
Cloud's big medicine red-eyed pony away from him.'

"The Lance is shore the fashion, an' Black Cloud discovers he ain't a
four-spot by compar'son. His repootation is gone, an' the Lance is