ery tired
little, pony.

The boy was pale and tired from hunger and his long hours in the saddle,
and it was all the pony could do to stagger in.

"It's little Dick," shouted Bud. "Well, jumpin' sand hills, whar
you-all been all night? Takin' a leetle pleasure pasear?"

"Oh, Bud, I'm so tired and hungry," said Dick, as Bud lifted him from
the saddle.

"Here you, Bill, git busy in a hurry. This kid ain't hed nothin' ter eat
in a week. He's 'most starved. Bile yer coffee double-quick, an' git up
a mess o' bacon an' flapjacks pretty dern pronto, if yer don't want me
ter git inter yer wool."

Bud was rubbing the cold and chafed wrists of the boy beside the fire,
which one of the boys had replenished. The boys surrounded little Dick
with many inquiries, but Bud shooed them away.

"Don't yer answer a bloomin' question until yer gits yer system packed
with cooky's best grub. I reckon, now, yer could eat erbout eighteen o'
them twelve-inch flapjacks what Bill makes, an' drink somethin' like a
gallon o' ther fust coffee what comes out o' ther pot."

Little Dick smiled, as he watched with glistening eyes the rapid
movements of Bill McCall as he hustled over his fire, the air redolent
with the odors of coffee and bacon and griddle cakes, so that his mouth
fairly watered.

When Bill shouted breakfast, Ted and Bud sat Dick down and loaded his
plate with good things, which he caused to disappear in a hurry.

But after a while he was stuffed like a Christmas turkey, and put his
tin plate away with a sigh, and absolutely cleaned.

"Now," said Ted, when he saw this good sign, "where have you been all
day and all night? We've been scared about you. Thought we had lost you,
too."

Dick went ahead with his story from the very beginning, and told of the
downfall of Pokopokowo, and his escape, and of his all-night ride into
the west, to accidentally stumble, at daylight, into camp.

The boys listened in amazement to this record of courage on the part of
its youngest member, and some seemed to doubt the Indian part of it.

"Sho, yer dreamin', kid," said Sol Flatbush, the cow-puncher. "Thar
ain't no Injuns like that in this yere part o' ther country. Why, an
Injun wouldn't dare carry off a kid like that."

"You don't believe it, eh?" exclaimed Dick hotly.

"I believe yer," said Bud soothingly, for the boy was very nervous from
being up all night and his hard ride, which would have taxed the
energies of a grown man. "Don't ye