drive in the remuda, feeling certain that his father would move
swiftly to save his cattle that ranged back in the foothills, and that
the saddle horses would be wanted at a moment's notice.

Also, he reasoned, the range horses (mares and colts and the unbroken
geldings) would not be left to the mercy of the Indians. He did not
quite know how his father would manage it, but he decided that he would
corral the REMUDA first, and then drive in the other horses, that fed
scattered in undisturbed possession of a favorite grassy creek-bottom
farther up the Platte.

The saddle horses, accustomed to Buddy's driving, were easily corralled.
The other horses were fat and "sassy" and resented his coming among them
with the shrill whoop of authority. They gave him a hot hour's riding
before they finally bunched and went tearing down the river bottom
toward the ranch. Even so, Buddy left two of the wildest careening up
a narrow gulch. He had not attempted to ride after them; not because he
was afraid of Indians, for he was not. The war-dance held every young
buck and every old one in camp beyond the Pass. But the margin of safety
might be narrow, and Buddy was taking no chances that day.

When he was convinced that it was impossible for one boy to be in half a
dozen places at once, and that the cowboys would be needed to corral the
range bunch, Buddy whooped them all down the creek below the home ranch
and let them go just as his father came riding up to the corral.

"They're war-dancing, father," Buddy shouted eagerly, slipping off his
horse and wiping away the trickles of perspiration with a handkerchief
not much redder than his face. "I drove all the horses down, so they'd
be handy. Them range horses are pretty wild. There was two I couldn't
get. What'll I do now?"

Bob Birnie looked at his youngest rider and smoothed his beard with one
hand. "You're an ambitious lad, Buddy. It's the Utes you're meaning--or
is it the horses?"

Buddy lifted his head and stared at his father disapprovingly.

"Colorou is going to break out. I know. They've got their war paint all
on and they're dancing. I saw them myself. I was going after the gloves
Colorou s squaw was making for me,--but I didn't get 'em. I laid in the
brush and watched 'em dance." He stopped and looked again doubtfully at
his father. "I thought you might want to get the cattle outa the way," he
added. "I thought I could save some time--"

"You're sure about the paint?"