It is Magpie, my pony. There isn't another like him
in the world. We must get him back, Ted. Think of letting a dirty Indian
outlaw ride and abuse the splendid fellow."

"All right, Stella," replied Ted. "Show us how to do it successfully,
and we'll go down and tackle the whole mess."

"See, there's an Indian throwing his filthy blanket on Magpie's back. I
can't stand that."

Stella put her rifle to her shoulder, and was about to pull the trigger
when Ted's hand closed down over the lock of the weapon.

"Not on your life," he said. "This is not the time for anything like
that. If we were to get them after us right now we'd last about as long
as a snowball on a hot stove. Wait a while."

While Stella said nothing she was angry clear through. It hurt her like
a blow to have her pony ridden by another.

The Indian, having fastened his blanket on the pony's back to his
satisfaction, sprang upon his back, and began to lash him with a quirt.

"Oh, the brute!" exclaimed Stella. "I hope Magpie throws and kills him
for his cruelty."

Magpie wheeled and bucked under the unusual punishment, and the Indian
continued to beat him.

"I can't stand it any longer," cried Stella, gnashing her pretty, small,
white teeth.

This time she got her rifle to her shoulder, and, before she could be
restrained, had fired a shot. Perhaps Ted knew that the provocation was
great, for he did not interfere this time.

At any rate, the ball flew close enough to knock the hat from the
Indian's head, and cause him to dismount and scurry to the shelter of
the rock wall.

But it caused the greatest excitement in the camp.

The man with the silver mask rushed forward, rapidly scanning the cliff
for whoever had fired the shot.

He did not have long to search, for the smoke hovering over the spot
where Stella was lying on the top of the cliff was advertisement enough.

A man by his side handed him a rifle, which he sighted, then took down
as a puff of smoke rose above him.

Then there followed the smash of a bullet on the rock, a foot below
where Stella was lying.

"Pretty close work," said Ted. "That fellow is a corking good shot.
Look, he's coming to shoot again. Duck! I'll bet he gets the range this
time."

Every head went out of sight. Then came the sharp report of the rifle,
and the ball from it shattered the edge of the rock not far from
Stella's head.

"That'll be about enough of that," said Ted, picking up his own
Winchester.