"It's sure one hell of a ride down there," remarked McNally with a sigh.

"Good deal like the foothills of th' Snake Range, pop," put in President
Tyler Pine.

"We been riding purty nigh every minute sence we left here," agreed
Bagsby. "That rancheree was hard to find."

Little by little the tale developed. No one man, in the presence of all
the others, felt like telling us the whole story. We gathered that they
had ridden the canon for several hours, past our first camping grounds,
and finally out into the lower ranges. Here they lost the trail left by
the Indians when they had first visited our camp; but in casting in
circles for it had come on fresher pony tracks. These they had followed
persistently for many miles.

"_I_ couldn't see the sign of a track for a mile at a time, on that
hard ground," interpolated Johnny.

At length the tracks had struck into a beaten trail.

"And then we knew we were on the way to the rancheree," said Bagsby.

The village they found located in a flat by the side of a stream, and
they halted to determine just what to do. It was finally decided that
while an attack on horseback would undoubtedly strike more instant
terror, yet the difficulty of shooting accurately from a gallop would
more than offset this effect. Therefore nine of the party crept up
afoot, leaving three to lead forward the horses some distance in the
rear.

"I was one of them," said Johnny. "They evidently have seen me shoot. I
seem to be always out of it."

The men had wormed their way to within a hundred yards of the flimsy
huts, or tepees, when they were discovered by the dogs. The Indians
immediately rushed out pell-mell, in a crowd, and were met by a deadly
volley from the white men's rifles. Caught absolutely by surprise, they
turned and fled. Some few loosed random arrows. Their horses coming up
at a run in convoy of the rear guard, each man threw himself into his
saddle and started in pursuit, shooting right and left with the Colt's
revolvers whenever they caught up with the fugitives. Johnny told
admiringly how the backwoodsmen had reloaded their rifles while
galloping.

"All I could do to shoot mine off, let alone loading!" he confessed.

There was no resistance, and little mortality after the first volley.
The Indians bolted like rabbits into the brush. The white men then
returned leisurely to the village, which they proceeded to burn to the
ground.

"It made a grand bonfire," interrupted Johnn