mbed to this slow method of
butchering, and the squaws, with horrible cries, rushed into the field,
every one to the steer which her lord and master had killed, and the
hideous rites of skinning and cutting up the animals was begun by the
women, who were even more bloodthirsty than the men.

"Come, we don't want to see this," said Ted, and led the way from the
field.

"It is time for dinner," said Miss Croffut. "Then we must get ready for
the trail. We will get a wagon from the storekeeper--a regular camp
wagon with beds and a tent. Papa will arrange it all, and he will detail
an orderly to drive it for us, and care for our things."

"That will be fine for you and aunt, but for me--the saddle and the camp
fire," said Stella.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A SLAP ON THE FACE.

As they were riding toward the post they were joined by Ben, Bud, Kit,
Clay, and Carl, who came riding up like Cossacks, and were presented to
Miss Croffut, on either side of whom they fell into place, and began to
talk animatedly and enthusiastically about the coming trail.

Ben expanded mightily in the presence of a new girl, while quiet Kit
contented himself by slipping in a witty remark that was pointed enough
to puncture Ben's gas bag of grand talk once in a while, to the great
amusement of the army girl, who had never before met such fine, free,
and easy, yet gentlemanly, fellows.

Ted and Stella were riding together behind them.

"Did you see him?" asked Stella at last, looking up at Ted.

"See who?" asked Ted.

"The man who shot at you, trying to murder you, and cast the blame on
the Indians," she replied directly.

"Oh, that was an accident," said Ted. "I saw a flash of a blue coat over
where the shot came from, but it was probably an Indian with a blue
shirt on."

"And you didn't see who it was?" she asked again wonderingly.

"No."

"Don't you even suspect?"

"Hadn't thought of it."

"Suppose it was not an accident, who do you think would be most likely
to try to shoot you from ambush, and make it appear an accident?"

Ted thought a moment. Could it be possible that it was not an accident?
For a few minutes after the ball had plowed its way through their little
party he had thought perhaps it might have been sent at them
accidentally, as the Indians were doing some pretty wild shooting, and
then again he almost believed it to be an intentional shot. It could not
have come closer to him from such a distance, and yet so n