g hoofs of the running mustangs, he knew that Tad was chasing
someone.

"Everybody stay here and watch the camp!" he roared, running for his
own pinto, which he mounted in the same way as had the Indian and Tad
Butler.

Tad, in getting on Silver Face, had fumbled and dropped his rifle.
There was no time to stop to recover it if he expected to catch the
fleeing Indian. Under ordinary circumstances the boy knew that Silver
Face was considerably faster than Buckey. But pursuit was not so easy,
though the Indian, for the present, could go in but one direction.

The spirited mustang on which Tad Butler was mounted, appearing to
understand what was expected of him, swept on with the speed of the
wind. Small branches cut the face of the Pony Rider like knife-blades
as he split through a clump of junipers, then tore ahead, fairly
sailing over logs, boulders and other obstructions.

The Pony Rider boy uttered a series of earsplitting yells. His object
was to guide Jim Nance, who, he felt sure, would be not far behind
him. The yells brought the guide straight as an arrow. Tad could
plainly hear the foot beats of Buckey as the two riders tore down the
Canyon, each at the imminent risk of his life.

"If he has a loaded gun, I'm a goner," groaned the lad. "But the
ones he stole are empty, thank goodness! There he goes!"

The Indian had made a turn to the left into a smaller canyon. By
this time the light was getting stronger. Tad was able to make out his
man with more distinctness. The boy urged his pony forward with short,
sharp yelps. The Indian was doing the same, but Tad was gaining on him
every second. Now the boy uttered a perfect volley of shouts, hoping
that Nance would understand when he got to the junction of the smaller
canyon, that both pursued and pursuer had gone that way.

Nance not only understood, but he could hear Tad's yells up the canyon
upon arriving at the junction.

"Stop or I'll shoot!" cried the boy.

The Indian turned and looked back. Then he urged Buckey on faster.
That one act convinced Tad that the redskin had no loaded rifle, else
he would have used it at that moment.

With a yell of triumph the boy touched the pony with the rowels of his
spurs. Silver Face shot ahead like a projectile. He was a tough
little pony, and besides, his mettle was up. Now Tad gained foot by
foot. He was almost up to the Indian, yelling like an Indian himself.

The redskin tried dodging tactics,