or.

"Can you spare some of your Injuns for an hour?" asked Cowboy Jack.
"There's a little girl lost, and I reckon an Injun can find her trail
better than any of my cholos or punchers. How about Black Bear?"

The young Indian whose name he had mentioned came towards the group at
once. Mr. Habback looked up at Chief Black Bear.

"Hear what this Texas longhorn says, Chief?" he said to the Indian. "A
little girl lost somewhere."

"I can show you about where she left the trail," explained the ranchman
earnestly.

"Was she over at my wikiup the other evening?" asked Black Bear, with
interest.

"She--she's my sister," broke in Russ anxiously. "And she was scared by
your Indian play, and the pony must have run away with her."

"Hullo!" said Chief Black Bear. "I remember you, too, youngster. So your
sister is lost?"

"Well, we can't find her," said Russ Bunker.

"I will go along with them, Mr. Habback," said the Indian chief,
glancing down at the director. "I'll take Little Elk with me. You won't
need us for a couple of hours, will you?"

"It's all right," said the director. "Go ahead. We can't afford to lose
a little girl around here, that is sure."

"You bet we can't," put in Cowboy Jack. "Little girls are scarce in this
part of the country."

Black Bear spoke to one of his men, who hurried to get two ponies. The
Indians leaped upon the bare backs of the ponies and rode them just as
safely as the white people rode in their saddles. This interested Russ a
great deal, and he wondered if Black Bear would teach him how to ride
Indian style.

But this was not the time to speak of such a thing. Rose must be found.
For all they knew the little girl might be in serious trouble--she
might be needing them right then!

The two Indians and the ranchman and Daddy Bunker started back through
the ravine. None of them was more worried over Rose's disappearance than
was Russ. He urged his pinto pony after the older people at the very
fastest pace he could ride.

CHAPTER XXII

A PICNIC

Rose had now been so long alone that she was beginning to fear she never
would see Mother Bunker and daddy and her brothers and sisters again.
And this was an awful thought.

But she had already cried so much that it was an effort for her to
squeeze out another tear. So she just sat on a stump and sniffed,
watching the lame coyote.

Rose pitied that coyote. If he was as thirsty as she was hungry, the
little girl feared the poo