irt
elaborately beaded, and trimmed with fringe, while on his head was a
bonnet of eagle feathers, which trailed far behind him as he dashed on
far in advance of his followers.

"Here's a chance to stop that chap," said Ted, swinging around in his
saddle and throwing his forty-five over his shoulder.

The six-shooter cracked, and as the smoke floated away Ted saw that his
bullet had gone where he intended it to go.

The pony on which the young Indian was riding stumbled and staggered
forward a few feet, then dropped.

That brought the party to a halt, and Ted, turning his face forward,
galloped on.

Kit had succeeded in mastering his pony and had brought it to a halt,
and, as the report of Ted's revolver reached his ears, he turned and
rode rapidly in that direction.

As the two boys came together and found that they were unharmed and that
the war party of Indians had been halted, they dove into a coulee,
followed it a short distance, and climbed again to higher ground.

The Indians were no longer in sight, and they set off at a gallop toward
the west.

For half an hour they rode, when Ted suddenly pulled his pony to a stop.

On a rise far away he saw a black, slowly moving mass, which, at first,
he had taken to be a band of buffalo, but when it strung out he
discovered that it was a party of men on horseback.

As the sun was behind the riders, Ted could not distinguish whether or
not they were Indians or whites, as he could have done if the sun had
been shining upon them.

"If it's Indians I don't want any more of it," he said.

"I don't think they are Indians," said Kit. "Those fellows sit
straighter than Indians. I believe they are either our own boys, or
cavalry from the post."

"I believe you are right," said Ted. "Let's fire a few shots to attract
their attention, and then ride to them."

The shots were fired, and presently they heard several faint reports,
and knew that they had been heard and answered.

In a few minutes they had ridden to where the party was standing on the
ridge of a rolling hill.

They were the broncho boys under the leadership of Ben Tremont. They had
all come together on a broad trail that pointed toward the foothills in
the north, and, as they rode, had picked up one pair of scouts after
another.

"Where are Bud and Stella?" asked Ted, running his eye over the party.

"Haven't seen anything of them," said Ben, "although we have been
keeping a lookout for them. They r