sts, when the Indians
had "broken out",--and the aim then was generally directed toward his
vicinity rather than his person.

An Indian on a horse presently appeared cautiously from cover, and
Buddy, trembling with excitement, shot wild; but not so wild that the
Indian could afford to scoff and ride closer. After another ineffectual
shot at Buddy, he whipped his horse down the ridge, and made for Bannock
creek.

Buddy at thirteen knew more of the wiles of Indians than does the
hardiest Indian fighter on the screen to-day. Father had warned him
never to chase an Indian into cover, where others would probably be
waiting for him. So he stayed where he was, pretty well hidden in the
rocks, and let the bullets he himself had "run" in father's bullet-mold
follow the enemy to the fringe of bushes. His last shot knocked the
Indian off his horse--or so it looked to Buddy. He waited for a long
time, watching the brush and thinking what a fool that Indian was to
imagine Buddy would follow him down there. After a while he saw the
Indian's horse climbing the slope across the creek. There was no rider.

Buddy rode home without the missing horses, and did not tell anyone
about the Indian, though his thoughts would not leave the subject.

He wondered what mother would think of it. Mother's interests seemed
mostly confined to teaching Buddy and Dulcie what they were deprived of
learning in schools, and to play the piano--a wonderful old square piano
that had come all the way from Scotland to the Tomahawk ranch, the very
frontier of the West.

Mother was a wonderful woman, with a soft voice and a slight Scotch
accent, and wit; and a knowledge of things which were little known in
the wilderness. Buddy never dreamed then how strangely culture was mixed
with pure savagery in his life. To him the secret regret that he had not
dared ride into the bushes to scalp the Indian he believed he had shot,
and the fact that his hands were straining at the full chords of
the ANVIL CHORUS on that very evening, was not even to be considered
unusual. Still, certain strains of that classic were always afterward
associated in his mind with the shooting of the Indian--if he had really
shot him.

While he counted the time with a conscientious regard for the rests, he
debated the wisdom of telling mother, and decided that perhaps he had
better keep that matter to himself, like a man.

CHAPTER FOUR: BUDDY GIVES WARNING

Buddy swung down from his h