Bob with a bellow again charged him. Tad made a pass and missed, but covered his failure by neatly ducking under the upraised arm of the cowboy, whose surprised look when he found that he had been punching the empty air brought forth yells of delight from his companions.

Tad had cast away his hat, that it might not interfere with his movements. No sooner had he done so than his opponent renewed his attack. But Tad skillfully parried the heavy blows, delivered awkwardly and without any great amount of skill. The great danger was that his adversary with his superior strength might beat down the lad's defense and land a blow that would put a sudden end to the fray.

Tad was watching for an opening that would enable him to put in practice a plan that had formed in his brain.

"Look out for the cayuse, Bob. He ain't so big a tenderfoot as he looks," warned a cowboy. But Bob had already discovered this fact. Though his fists were beating a tattoo in the air he seemed unable to land a blow on the body of his elusive adversary, and this only served to anger him the more.

"Ki-yi!" yelled the cowboys as a short arm blow, delivered through the mountaineer's windmill movements, reached his jaw and sent him sprawling.

Tad had not been able to put the force into it that he wanted to, else the battle might have ended then and there.

Bob came back. This time he uttered no taunts. The blow hurt him. His head felt dizzy and his fists did not work with the same speed that they had done before.

All at once Tad's right hand shot out, his fist open instead of being closed. It closed over the left wrist of the cowboy with an audible slap.

Tad's left hand joined his right in closing over his adversary's wrist. He whirled sharply, bringing Bob's left arm over his adversary's shoulder. Then something happened that made the cowmen gasp with astonishment. The slender lad lifted the big mountain boy clear of the ground, hurled him over his head, and still clinging to the wrist, brought him down with a smashing jolt, flat on his back in the middle of the village street. Phil Simms narrowly escaped being struck by the heels of the mountain boy's boots as they described a half circle in the air.

Bob lay perfectly still. And for a moment the cowboys stood speechless with amazement.

"Whoopee!" yelled one. "Who-o-o-p-e-e!" chorused the others, dancing about Tad Butler and his fallen victim in wild delight.

"I'm sorry I had to do it," muttered the boy.

They helped Bob to his feet, pounded him on the back, making jeering remarks about his being whipped by a kid, until his courage gradually was urged back as his strength returned.

Suddenly Bob turned on his assailant, and throwing both arms about him, bore him to earth. The move was so unexpected that the lad had no opportunity to side step out of the way. The weight of the mountaineer was so great that Tad found himself unable to squirm from under.

Bob, with a growl of rage, raised his fist, bringing it down with the same movement that he would wield a meat axe.

Tad never flinched as he saw it coming. His eyes were fixed upon the descending fist, his every nerve centered on the task of watching it.

Just at the instant when fist and face seemed to be meeting, the lad by a mighty effort, jerked his head ever so little to the right.

"Oh!" yelled Bob.

Something snapped.

The pressure released from his body, ever so little, Tad by a supreme muscular effort, threw his opponent slightly to one side, and quickly wormed himself from under. He was on his feet in an instant.

The cowboys did not know what had happened, but they knew that the boy from the Simms ranch had done something to their companion that for the instant had taken all of the fight out of him.

Tad had been only partly responsible for Bob's present condition, however. By jerking his head to one side he had caused the mountain boy's fist to strike the hard roadbed instead of Tad's head.

Bob struggled to his feet, holding the right wrist with the left hand and moaning with pain. The right hung limp. Tad knew what had happened.

"He's broken his wrist. I'm glad I didn't have to do it for him," said the lad.

At first glowering glances were cast in Tad's direction. They were of half a mind to punish him in their own way.

"You said it was to be a fair fight," spoke up the lad. "Has it been?"

There was a momentary silence.

"The kid's right," exclaimed a cowman. "He cleaned up Bob fair and square. I reckon you kin go, now."

"Thank you."

"Hold on a minute. Not so fast, young fellow. I'm kinder curious like to know how ye put Bob over yer head like that!" asked another.

"It was a simple little Japanese wrestling trick," laughed the boy.

"Kin ye do that to me?"

"I don't know."

"Well, yer going ter try and right here and now."

"All right, come over here on the grass where the ground isn't so hard. If I succeed in doing it, though, you must agree not to get mad. I can't fight you, you know. You are too big for me."

The cowman grinned significantly, and strode over to the place indicated by Tad Butler.

"Now what d'ye want me ter do?" he demanded, leering. "Yer see I'm willing?"

"Strike at me, if you wish. I don't care how you go about it," replied Tad.

"Here goes!"

The cowman launched a terrific blow with his right. Tad sprang back laughing.

"If that had ever hit me, you never would have known how the other trick is worked," he said, while the cowboys laughed uproariously at the fellow's surprise when he found that his fist had not landed.

"Guess the kid ain't no slouch, eh, Jim?" jeered one.

Jim let go another, then a third one. The third blow proved his undoing. The next instant Jim's boots were describing a half circle in the air over Tad Butler's head. His revolvers slipping from their holsters in transit, dropped to the ground and Jim landed flat on his back with a mighty grunt.

He was up with a roar, his right hand dropping instinctively to his empty holster.

"Wh-o-o-o-e!" warned the fellow's companions. "No fair, Jim. No fair. He said as he'd do it, and he did. Kid, you'd clean out the whole outfit, give you time, I reckon."

Jim pulled himself together, restored his weapons to their places, and walked over to Tad, extending his hand.

"That was a dizzy wallop ye give me, pardner," he. said, with a sheepish grin. "If ye'll show me how it's did, I'll call it square."

Tad laughingly did so.

"I guess I couldn't get even with them any easier than by showing them the trick," he grinned, mounting his pony, and accompanied by Philip rode away. "They'll try that trick till the whole bunch of them get into a battle royal."

They did, as Tad learned next day.



CHAPTER XVII

CHUNKY RIDES THE GOAT

"There's the sheep," announced Tad, after they had ridden on for some time.

"I'm glad," said Phil, "do you know, Tad, I thought those men were going to kill you." Phil's courage had returned, when he realized that they were in sight of friends once more.

Tad laughed.

"They aren't half so bad as they would have us believe. The boy was the worst of the lot. He needed to he taught a lesson, but I wish I hadn't hurt him," he mused.

"He did it himself; you didn't."

"Yes, I know. I had to to save my own face." The lad laughed heartily at his own joke, which Philip, however, failed to catch. "Now we'll find out where the camp is," said Tad, espying a herder off to the north of them.

Having been directed to the new camp, Phil galloped away, Tad remaining to chat with the sheepman a few minutes. Yet he made no mention of his experience at Groveland Corners, not being particularly proud of it, after all. After riding slowly about with, the herder for half an hour, the lad jogged off toward camp, which his companion had reached before him.

Philip had spread the story of Tad's battle with the cowboy. Old Hicks, contrary to his usual practice, had listened with one ear, giving a grunt of satisfaction when the story had been told. As a result there were several persons eagerly awaiting him in the sheep camp when he rode up.

"Who's getting into trouble now?" demanded Stacy, with mock seriousness. "You need a guardian, I guess. I presume Mr. Simms thinks so, too."

"Heard you had two black eyes," jeered Ned Rector.

"Say, Tad, we've agreed that you shall show us how you did it, using Chunky for your model," said Walter Perkins.

Tad smiled good-naturedly, dismounting from the saddle and tethering the pony with his usual care.

"Guess I'd better leave the saddle on. There may he something doing any minute," he mused.

"Mr. Simms wants ye over to his tent," Old Hicks informed Tad.

"Oh, all right," answered the lad, walking briskly to the little tent occupied by the owner of the herd.

The foreman was there awaiting Tad's arrival as well.

"First I want to thank you for having taken Phil's part so splendidly," glowed Mr. Simms. "It is a wonder they did not do you some harm after that."

"Oh, they were not half bad," laughed Tad. "They were ashamed of what they'd done after it was all over."

"No. There's no shame in that crowd. I know them. Phil has told me about it. I know them all, and they shall suffer for roping that boy," went on the rancher angrily.

"One of them has," answered Tad, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Besides, there's going to be a big fight over there. Perhaps they are at it now."

"Fight? I should judge from what I hear that there already has been one. What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing very serious. I taught them the Japanese trick of throwing a man over my head. They were trying it on when I left. Shouldn't be surprised, after they learn how to do the trick, if they got mad and had a real fight."

Luke Larue leaned back, slapping his thighs and laughing uproariously.

"Well, you are a smart one," he exclaimed. "Couldn't lick them all yourself, so you fixed it so they'd sail in and lick each other. Funniest thing I ever heard. I'll have to tell Old Hicks about that. But I won't do it till after dinner, or he'll burn the mutton and spoil our meal. Fighting each other!" Luke indulged in more hilarity.

"You heard nothing, of course—they said nothing about our herd——"

"No, but it was plain that they had no love for you, Mr. Simms. It was the boy who roped Philip, though. I do not think the men would have done anything like that."

"It's all the same. It shows the feeling that exists. Nothing will ever wipe that out except a good whipping. It's coming to them and they are going to get it."

"You think then—you believe they have not given up their plan of attacking the sheep?" asked Tad.

"Given it up? Not they. They have been too well nagged on by your friend of the Rosebud. I wish I knew who he is. I probably never shall, though."

"I'll know him if I see him again."

"You might not. Camp-fire sight is tricky."

"I'll know his voice, sir. I presume you will continue your watch over the herd to-night?"

"Yes, and for many nights to come. We shall keep it up until we get far enough to the north so that we are sure there will be no trouble. I guess you had better go on the late trick to-night. That is the most important. We'll send your friend Chunky out early in the evening. His habit of going to sleep at unusual times is too serious to trust him with the late and dangerous watch. If they strike it will be close to morning, I imagine."

"I hope they won't, for your sake."

"So do I," answered Mr. Simms, with emphasis.

The afternoon was waning. The Pony Riders were all in camp, some reading, others writing letters home, for already much had happened that would make interesting reading to the folks off in the little Missouri town.

Steam was rising from the big kettle, into which Old Hicks was about to drop a quarter of mutton for the evening meal, and an air of perfect peace hovered over the camp of the sheepmen. Under a spreading tree the bell goat of the outfit lay stretched out sound asleep. He had been in that position most of the afternoon, there being nothing special for him to do, as the herd was grazing as it saw fit, without any effort being made to urge it along.

>From the other side of the tree the round face of Stacy Brown might have been observed peering to one side of the sleeping goat.

He listened intently. Billy was breathing short, regular breaths, with no thought of the trouble that was in store for him. From the expression of the boy's face it was evident that he was forming some mischievous plan of his own. This was verified when, after dodging back behind the tree, his head appeared once more and a stick was cautiously thrust out. Slowly it was pushed toward Billy's nose, which it gently rubbed and then was withdrawn.

Billy probably thought it was a fly, for one impatient hoof brushed the troubled nose; then the interrupted nap was continued.

Stacy tried it again with equal success. His sides were shaking with laughter, and every little while he would hide himself behind the tree to give vent to his merriment.

The others were too busy to notice what he was doing, though once Old Hicks paused in his work to cast a suspicious glance in that direction.

Stacy had been amusing himself for several minutes and with such success that he grew more bold. He had stepped from behind the tree that he might the better reach his victim. Now the tickling and the sweep of the impatient hoof became more frequent. Billy grunted as if he were having a bad dream, and this amused Stacy so much that he was obliged to retire behind the tree again to laugh.

As he emerged this time, Billy slowly opened a cautious eye, all unobserved by his tormentor. With a hand over his own mouth to keep back the laughter, the lad rubbed the stick gently over the goat's nose. Billy's chin whiskers took an almost imperceptible upward tilt and the observing eye opened a little more widely.

Next time Stacy varied the performance by giving the goat a malicious little dig in the ribs with the sharp end of the stick.

Billy rose up into the air as if hurled there by an explosion beneath him. When he landed on his four feet, it was with head pointed directly toward the foe and with fore legs sloping well back under him ready for a drive with his tough little head.

"Oh!" exclaimed Chunky, rapping the goat smartly over the nose with the stick to drive the animal off.

Billy drove all right, but it was not away from the lad. Stacy was standing with legs apart and Billy dived between them, at the same time lifting his head.

The effect was instantaneous. Chunky was neatly flipped to the goat's back, face down with his legs dangling about the animal's neck. Instinctively he took a quick grip with the legs, locking his feet on the underside of Billy's neck and his hands about the withers.

At that moment the surprised goat gave an excellent imitation of a broncho trying to throw its rider.

"Hel-p!" cried Chunky in a muffled voice.

No one save the cook heard it.

"Whoop!" bellowed Old Hicks, smiting his thigh with a mighty fist and screaming with laughter.

The Pony Riders and everyone else in camp sprang to their feet, not understanding what the commotion was about.

"The kid's riding the goat," yelled Hicks. "He's initiating himself into the order of Know Nuthins. See him buck! See him buck!"

The camp roared.

"Let go, Chunky!" shouted Walter.

"I can't, I'll fall off," answered the boy in a scarcely audible voice.

"I'll help you then. Come on, boys."

They made a concerted rush to rescue their companion. This was the signal for the goat to adopt new tactics. He probably thought it was some new form of torture that they had planned for him.

Billy headed for the tent of the owner of the herd. He went through it like a projectile, upsetting the folding table on which Mr. Simms was writing, and out through the flap at the other end.

By this time the outfit was in an uproar. Even the sheep on the range near by paused in their grazing to gaze curiously campward; the herders off in that direction shaded their eyes against the sun and tried to make out the cause of the disturbance.

"Y-e-o-w!" encouraged the cook, waving a loaf of bread above his head and dancing about with a more pronounced limp than usual.

Jerk, jerk, went Chunky's head until he feared it would be jerked from his body.

"Stay by him, stay by him, kid," encouraged a sheepman.

Mr. Simms rushing from his tent, startled and angry, instantly forgot the words of protest that were on his lips and joined heartily in laughter at the ludicrous sight.

"Look out that you don't lose your stirrups," jeered Ned as goat and rider shot by him with a bleat.

Walter made a grab for Billy with the result that he was pivoting on his own head the next second.

Once they thought Chunky was going to fall off and put a sudden end to their fun, but he soon righted himself, whereupon he tightened the grip of hands and legs.

By this time the goat was mad all through. He seemed bent now upon doing all the damage he could.

"Stop that! Want to run me down!" shouted Ned, grabbing a tree as the outfit swept by him, the goat uttering a sharp bleat and Chunky a howl of protest.

All at once Billy headed for the kitchen department. Old Hicks saw him coming and with a few quick hops got out of the way.

"Hi there, hang you, where you heading?" he roared.

The tinware had been stacked up on a bench to dry out in the sunlight. Perhaps it was the rays of the sun on the bright tin that attracted Billy's attention. At any rate he went through it with a bound, amid the crash of rattling tin and splintering wood.

Old Hicks made a swing at the animal with the long stick he had been using to prod the kettle of mutton. He missed and sat down suddenly, his lame leg refusing to bear the strain that had been put upon it.

It was astonishing the endurance the goat showed, for Chunky was no light weight in any sense of the word. Now and then he would just graze the trunk of a tree, bringing a howl from his rider as the latter's leg was scraped its full length against the bark of the tree.

By this time nearly everyone in camp had laughingly sought places of safety, some in the chuck wagon, others climbing saplings as best they could, for no man knew in what direction Billy might head next.

Old Hicks refused to take the protection that the wagon offered. He stood his ground, stick held firmly in both hands, awaiting a chance to rap the boy or the goat when they next passed.

His opportunity came soon. He had been baking pies for the sheepmen's supper and these he had placed on the tail board of the wagon, which he had removed and laid upon a frame made of sticks stuck into the ground.

Billy finished the pies in one grand charge.

The enraged cook forgot his own danger and boldly striding out into the open began throwing things at the mad goat. It mattered not what he threw. Anything he laid his hands on answered for the purpose—dishpans, small kettles, knives, loaves of bread—all went the same way, some of them reaching Chunky and bringing a howl from him. The goat, however, escaped without being hit once.

Twice more after wrecking the pies, did he charge the kitchen. It was noticed, however, that he avoided the hot stove. Hicks gladly would have lost that for the sake of seeing the goat smash against it and end his career.

After one drive more ferocious than any he had made before, Billy whirled and came back. Old Hicks stood with his back to the kettle, stick held aloft. He was going to get the goat this time, for he saw the animal would pass close to him if he held his present course.

Billy did so until within a few feet of the cook. Then he changed his direction. He changed it more suddenly than the cook had looked for.

Billy's head hit Old Hicks a powerful blow. The cook doubled up with a grunt. When he came down he landed fairly in the kettle of hot mutton. Cook and kettle toppled over, the former yelling for help and struggling desperately to extricate himself.

Chunky too had fared badly in the final charge. The shock had thrown him sideways and he crumpled up not far from the kettle and its human occupant.

They fished Old Hicks from the wreck, fuming and raging and threatening to kill the goat and to chase the "heathen kid" out of the camp.

Chunky was limp and breathless when they picked him up. They dragged the lad away from the vicinity of the cook as quickly as possible. Old Hicks' rage at that moment was a thing to avoid. The goat, Billy, galloped away, the least disturbed of the outfit, but it was observed that he prudently remained out on the range with the sheep that night.

"I didn't fall in that time, did I?" gasped Chunky, after his breath had come back sufficiently to enable him to talk.

"No, but you're going to do so when the cook gets hold of you," warned Ned.

"Hicks? Old Hicks fell into the mutton broth, didn't he?" chuckled the fat boy.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE VIGIL BY THE FOOTHILLS

Supper was late in the sheep camp that evening. Old Hicks was in a terrible rage and no one dared protest at the delay, for fear he would get no supper at all. The boys were still discussing Stacy Brown's feat, and every time the subject was referred to all during the evening, it was sure to elicit a roar of laughter.

As night came on, the sky was gradually blotted out by a thin veil of clouds, which seemed to grow more dense as the evening wore on. Chunky had been sent out with Mary Johnson on guard duty, Walter having gone out with the foreman. That left Tad Butler and Ned Rector of the Pony Rider Boys, to take their turn on the late trick.

Tad preferred to sit up rather than to try to sleep for the short time that would intervene before it came his turn to go out.

"Do you think we shall have any trouble tonight?" he asked, looking up as Mr. Simms passed his tent.

"You know as much about that as I do, my boy. Perhaps your courage over at the Corners may scare them off, eh? They may think, if we are all such fighters over here, that it will be a good place to keep away from."

Tad laughed good-naturedly.

"Guess I didn't give them any such fright as that. How is Philip this evening?"

"Sound asleep. It's doing the boy good. He hasn't slept like this since his illness last spring."

"I wish he might go on with us and spend the summer out of doors."

"H-m-m-m," mused Mr. Simms. "I am afraid he would be too great a care. No, Tad, the boy is a little too young. Where are you going next?"

"I am not sure."

"Well, let me know when you find out and we will talk it over. Fine night for a raid of any kind, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," answered Tad, glancing up at the black clouds.

"Good luck to you to-night. You and your partner must take care of yourselves. Do not take any unnecessary risk. You will have done your part in using your keen young eyes to see that no one gets near the camp."

"I should feel better if I had a gun," laughed the boy. "Somehow—but no, I guess it is not best."

"Certainly not."

Tad turned up the lantern in his tent and sat down to his book, which he had been reading most of the evening. He was not interrupted again until the camp watchmen came around to turn out the second guard.

Ned was asleep and he tumbled out rubbing his eyes, not sure just what was wanted of him.

"Wake up," laughed Tad. "You are getting to be a regular sleepy head."

"Guess I am. Is—is it time to go out?"

"It is. And it is a dark night, too."

"Whew! I should say it is," replied Ned, with an apprehensive glance out beyond the camp. "How are we ever going to find our way about to-night?"

"I don't imagine we shall be moving about much after we get on our station. Mr. Larue will place us there."

"Where are we going to be?"

"He hasn't said. I did hear him say that we were going to watch singly instead of in pairs, in order that he might cover more territory with the men at his disposal."

"Sounds shivery."

"I don't know why it should. It is night, that is the only difference. I am getting used to being out in the night and not knowing where I am," laughed Tad.

Tucking the lunches that had been wrapped for them into their pockets, the two boys walked over to the place where their ponies were tethered. The animals had been left bridled and saddled, the saddle girths having been loosened. These the boys tightened and prepared to mount when Tad happened to think of something.

"Hold my pony, Ned. I want to get something from the tent."

Tad returned a moment later with his lariat, which he coiled carefully and hung to the saddle horn, Ned Rector observing him with an amused smile.

"If you can't shoot them you're going to rope them, eh?"

"A rope is always a good thing to have with you. You don't think so, but it is. Never know what minute you are going to need it badly."

"It wouldn't do me any good, no matter how much I needed it," smiled Ned. "I couldn't lasso the side of a barn."

"You do very well. If you will practise every day you will be able to handle it as well as the average cowboy in less than a week. Come along."

As they left the camp, Luke Larue met them to conduct the boys to the places where they were to spend the last half of the night.

"After we leave the herd behind us, it's the frozen tongue for you," he said.

"You mean we are not to speak?" asked Tad.

"Not a word out loud. If you have anything you must say, whisper."

"Oh, all right."

They dropped Ned first. His station was nearer to the herd than that which had been assigned to Tad. The latter went on with the foreman until they were fairly out by the foothills.

"I've given you one of the most responsible stations, you see," whispered the foreman. "It will be lonesome out here. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Anybody near me?"

"Noisy Cooper is over there to your left about ten rods away. Bat Coyne is to your right here. You're not so close that you can rub elbows, however. Be watchful. It's just the night for a raid. Use your own judgment in case you hear anything suspicious. Above all look out for yourself. You've got a pony that will take you away from trouble pretty fast if you get in a hurry. You know the signal?"

"Yes."

"Then good night and good luck," whispered Luke, reaching out and giving Tad's hand a hearty clasp.

There was something so encouraging—so confident in the grip, that even had Tad Butler's courage been waning, it would have come back to him with a rush after that.

"Good night," he breathed. "I'll be on the spot if anything occurs."

"I know that," answered the foreman. In an instant Luke had been swallowed up in the great shadow and not even the hoof beats of his pony were audible to the listening ears of the boy.

Tad looked about him inquiringly. As his eyes became more used to the darkness he found himself able to make out objects about him, though the darkness distorted them into strange shapes.

"I think I'll get under that tree," he decided. "No one can see me there. They'd pick me out here in a minute. The cowboys have eyes as well as ears. I know that, for I've lived with them."

The lad tightened on the reins ever so little, and the pony pricking up its ears moved away with scarcely a sound, as if realizing that extreme caution were expected of it.

They pulled up under the shadow of the tree. There, Tad found that he could see what lay about him even better than before.

He patted Pink-eye on the neck and a swish of the animal's tail told him that the little attention was appreciated.

"Good boy," soothed the lad, running his fingers through the mane, straightening out a kink here and there.

He had dropped the reins as he finished with the mane, and Pink-eye's head began to droop until his nose was almost on the ground. He had settled himself for the long vigil. Perhaps he would go to sleep in a few moments. The rider hoped he would, for then there would be no movement that a stranger might hear.

It was a lonesome post. There was scarcely a sound, though now and then a bird twittered somewhere in the foliage and once he beard the mournful hoot of an owl far away to his left.

"I wonder if that could have been a signal, or was it a real bird," whispered Tad to himself. "I have heard of a certain band of outlaws that always used the hoot of the owl as their signal to each other."

After an interval of perhaps a minute another owl wailed out its weird cry off to his right.

Tad Butler pricked up his ears.

"Well, if it isn't a signal, those owls are holding a regular wireless conversation. Hark!"

Far back in the foothills there sounded another similar call.

Tad Butler was sure, by this time, that something was going on that would bear watching.

For a long time he heard nothing more, and was beginning to think that perhaps he had drawn on his imagination too far. It might be owls after all.

"I wonder if the others heard that, too? Maybe they know better than I what it means, if it means anything at all. I wish Mr. Larue would happen along now. I'd like to tell him what I think."

He knew, however, that the foreman, like himself was stationed somewhere off there in the blackness, sitting on his pony as immovable as a statue, his straining eyes peering into the night, his ears keyed to catch the slightest sound.

A gentle breeze rippled over the trees, stirring the foliage into a soft murmur. Then the breeze passed on and silence once more settled over the scene.

Tad sighed. Even a little wind was a welcome break in the monotony. He was not afraid, but his nerves were on edge by this time, and Tad made no attempt to deny it.

Something snapped to the left of him. The sound was as if some one had stepped on a dry branch which had crumpled under his weight.

The lad was all attention instantly.

"There certainly is something over there," he whispered. "It may be a man, but I'll bet it's a bear or some other animal. If it's a bear, first thing I know Pink-eye will bolt and then I'll be in a fix."

Tad cautiously gathered up the reins, using care not to disturb the pony, for it was all important that the animal remain absolutely quiet just now.

But, though the boy listened with straining ears, there was no repetition of the sound and this led him to believe that it had been an animal, which perhaps had scented them and was stalking him already.

It was not a comforting thought. Yet Tad never moved. He sat in his saddle rigidly, every nerve and muscle tense. He was determined to be calm no matter what happened.

The lad's head was thrown slightly forward, his chin protruding stubbornly, and as he listened there was borne to his ears another sound. It was as if something was approaching with a soft tread. He could hear it distinctly.

"Whatever that thing is, it has four feet," decided the lad quickly. "It's not a man, that is sure."

Instinctively he permitted his left hand to drop to the pommel of the saddle so that he might not be unseated in case Pink-eye should take sudden alarm and leap to one side. The reins were lightly bunched in the left, Tad's right hanging idly at his side.

The footsteps became more and more pronounced, Tad's curiosity increasing in proportion.

He fully expected to see a bear lumber from the shadows at any second now. If this happened he did not know what he should do. Of course he could ride away, but in doing so he might alarm the watching sheepmen and upset all their plans.

The noise after approaching for some moments, suddenly ceased. Tad's eyes were fairly boring into the shadows. All at once the particular shadow at which he was looking moved.

Tad started violently.

The shadow moved forward a few steps, then halted.

It was a man on horseback. He had ridden right out from the foothills.

"It's here," whispered Tad Butler to himself. The rider moved up a few steps again, this time halting within a few feet of the watching boy.

Tad's hand cautiously stole down to his lariat. He brought it up at arm's length, held it for one brief moment then swung it over his head.



CHAPTER XIX

A CLEVER CAPTURE

His plan had been conceived in a flash and executed almost as quickly.

The rawhide rope squirmed through the air. He could not be sure of his aim in the darkness, but the stranger was so close that Tad did not believe he could miss. He knew that if he did, he would find himself in a serious predicament.

He heard a sudden startled exclamation.

At that instant, Pink-eye, alarmed by the unusual movement on his back, awakened and leaped lightly to one side.

"I've got him," breathed the boy, feeling the line draw tight under his hand. "I've caught a man I——"

Pink-eye had discovered the presence of strangers now and with a snort he changed his position by again leaping to one side. Tad heard the man strike the ground with a grunt. He took a turn of the lariat around the saddle pommel, drawing it taut.

"Who are you!" demanded the lad.

A snarl of rage and a struggle over there on the ground was his only answer.

"Get up, if you don't want to be dragged. If you make a loud noise it will be the worse for you," announced the boy sternly.

He clucked to the pony, which started forward suddenly, throwing a strain upon the rope.

"Steady, Pink-eye. We don't want to hurt him," he cautioned, slowing the animal down to almost a walk.

"Are you on your feet back there?"

"Y-y-y-yes."

There came a sharp jerk on the line. The boy knew that the man he had roped, pinioning his arms to his side had managed to get his hands up and grasped the line. In a moment he would free himself.

Tad pressed the rowels of his spurs against Pink-eye's sides. The animal sprang forward, but the boy quickly checked him, pulling him down into a jog trot that was not beyond the endurance of a man to follow for a short distance.

"Remember if you allow yourself to fall down I'll drag you the rest of the way in," warned Tad Butler. "I won't hurt you if you behave yourself."

"Le—le—let me go. I—I—I—I—aint't done n-n-nothing."

"We'll decide that when I get you back to camp," answered Tad. "And don't let me hear you raising your voice again or I'll put spurs to the pony. Do you understand?"

"Y-y-y-e-s."

On the soft ground the footfalls of the pony made no sound that could be heard any distance away. On ahead of him the lad saw the dim light of a lantern, which he knew was at the camp and his heart leaped exultantly at the thought of what he had accomplished. He wondered if the others or any of them had done as well.

"Won't Mr. Simms be surprised?" he glowed.

"Wait, I—I—I'm going to drop," came a voice from behind him. It sounded far away and indistinct.

"You'd better not unless you want to go the rest of the way lying on your back," called back the lad. However, he slackened the speed of his pony a little, thinking that perhaps his prisoner might be in distress. Tad was too tender hearted to cause another to suffer, even if it were an enemy.

The lad kept his left hand on the rope. In this way he was able to judge how well the man was following. Now and then a violent jerk told Tad that he was experimenting to see if he could not get away. The fellow might have braced his feet and possibly snapped the line, but he evidently feared to do this lest he be thrown on his face and dragged that way, for the noose of the lariat had, by this time, so tightened about his body as to bind his arms tightly to his side.

Tad uttered a warning whistle.

Instantly he noted figures moving about the camp. His call had been heard. The camp-fire was stirred to give more light, and as its embers flared up, Tad Butler and his prisoner galloped in.

At first they did not observe that he had a man in tow.

Old Hicks hobbled forward with a growl and a demand to know what the row was about.

"What is it, boy? What is it? Are they coming!" exclaimed Mr. Simms, running toward him.

"I've got a man. I can't stop. Grab him!" cried Tad in an excited, triumphant tone.

Mr. Simms saw. The others observed at the same time. They made a concerted rush for the lad's prisoner.

"Stop!" commanded the rancher.

Tad drew up instantly. As he did so three of them grabbed the man at the other end of the lariat, throwing him on the ground flat on his back.

"All right?" sang back Tad.

"Yes."

The boy unwound the rope from his saddle pommel and casting the end from him, rode back and dismounted. Yes, he had caught a cowman, but the fellow sullenly refused to answer a question that was put to him.

The prisoner was glaring up at him with eyes so full of malignant hate that Tad instinctively shrank back.

"Know him!" asked Mr. Simms sharply.

"Not by name. He's one of the men I saw over at the Corners. He was the worst one of the lot, except the boy they called Bob."

No amount of questioning, however, would draw the fellow out. They had bound him hand and foot and straightened up to view their work.

"There's no use in wasting time," decided Mr. Simms. "Drag him over to my tent and throw him in. Did you hear anybody besides this man"

Tad told him about the owl calls. The rancher pondered a few seconds.

"That sounds to me more like an Indian trick. But I am satisfied we are going to be attacked tonight. You had better go back to your post. Can you find the way?"

"Yes, I think so," answered the lad.

"Boy, you've done a great piece of work. I'll talk with you about it when we have more time. I must hurry out and find Luke. The rest of you stick by the camp until you know that the cowmen are here; then sail in. There'll likely be some shooting."

"Any further instructions?" asked Tad, bunching the reins in his hand preparatory to mounting.

"Nothing. That is, unless you find you can rope some more of these cayuses. I'd like to have them all tied up here for a while. I've got a few things to say to them. They'd have to listen whether they wanted to or not if they were all in the same fix that fellow is," he added with a short, mirthless laugh.

Tad swung himself into the saddle, first having coiled his rope and hung it in its place.

"Good-bye," he sang out, starting out at a gallop and disappearing in the night.

As Tad drew near the scene of his recent experience, he slowed the pony down to a walk, moving on with extreme caution. He did not want to fall into the trap that the cowboy had only a short time before.

After groping about in the darkness some time, he finally came upon the very tree that had sheltered him before.

Tad uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction, once more taking up his position under its spreading branches. He had been there but a short time when the foreman rode up, giving a low whistle so that the boy would know who it was.

"Anything develop?"

"Yes."

"What?"

Tad told him briefly of the capture of the cowboy.

"Good boy," glowed Luke, reaching over and slapping Tad on the back approvingly. "I guess we made no mistake in giving you this post. But there's not likely to be any more of them come through this way. I am going to send you down nearer the center. We are going to have all the fun we want before morning. So I wish you would move down nearer the herd. When the racket begins, if it does, we shall need all the sheepmen to help drive off the raiders. You will relieve one of them and look after the sheep. I have told your friend Ned the same thing. He's down there now."

"Where are the sheep?"

"Head just a little to your left and ride straight, on till you come up with them. But be sure to give the whistle now and then so our men will know who you are if they chance to hear you coming. Did anybody know the fellow you roped?"

"No. I saw him at the store yesterday, though."

"Guess you've made no mistake then. Well, so long."

Tad missed his way in the darkness, and had roamed about for some time before finally coming up with the herd. Even then he was at a part of the line where there seemed to he no one on guard.

He whistled and waited. After a little the signal was answered It was then only a matter of a few moments before he had joined the herder and delivered his message.

The man rode away to take up his new position and Tad settled down to tending sheep. There was little for him to do, the animals being sound asleep, but he rather enjoyed the relief from the strain that he had been under while watching for intruders off yonder under the tree.

Dismounting, the boy sat down on the ground, having stripped the reins over the pony's neck so that he could keep them in his hand. Pinkeye nibbled at the grass a few seconds. It did not seem to satisfy the animal, for the sheep had worked it pretty well down ahead of him. So Pink-eye went to sleep, and Tad found himself nodding so persistently that he forced himself to get up and walk back and forth a few paces each way.

"I am getting to be as much of a sleepy head as Chunky is," he smiled. "That goat ride was the funniest thing I ever saw. I wonder where Billy took himself to. He's a wise goat. I actually believe he had more fun out of putting the camp to the bad than the rest of us experienced in watching him."

Pink-eye woke up and rubbed his nose against the boy's coat sleeve.

A shrill whistle trilled out off to the west. It was followed by another and another, until the air seemed full of them.

Tad paused abruptly in his walk and listened.

A pistol spat viciously. He caught the flash faintly in the distance.

Tad threw the reins over Pink-eye's neck and vaulted into the saddle. Boy and pony were both wide awake now.



CHAPTER XX

THRILLING RESCUE OF THE RANCHER

They're here," breathed the lad. "I wonder what's going to happen."

As if in answer to his question, a volley of pistol shots sounded to the west of him. Almost instantly following, guns began to pop to the north and south.

Shouts and yells sounded everywhere.

Startled, half a hundred sheep near him, scrambled to their feet.

"W-h-o-e-e-e," soothed Tad, turning toward them as he remembered that he had a duty to perform. "Come now, Pink-eye, never mind the shooting. Just you and I attend to our business. That's what we've got to do."

Yet Tad regretted that he was not over there in the thick of the fight. He gave a long whistle, hoping to find some one near him. The whistle was not answered, therefore he concluded that he was alone on that side of the herd. But where was Ned? He should be somewhere near by.

By this time the restless herd required his whole attention. Tad galloped up and down the line, speaking soothing words to the frightened sheep, whistling and trying to sing.

"Here, Barker," he cried, discovering that he was not alone in his efforts. One of the sheep dogs was trotting along by his side, uttering little encouraging yelps to assist in keeping the lines well formed. "That's a good dog. I guess you and I can handle this outfit, can't we, Barker?"

Barker barked as if in approval of the sentiment.

Tad called the animal to him and sent him back the other way, while he pressed on. The noise of the conflict seemed to be up that way and it was at that end that there would be more likelihood of disturbance to the sheep, he thought, urging his pony along a little faster.

All at once guns began to flash ahead of him.

"I believe they are in the flock already," he cried, putting spurs to Pink-eye and dashing on at top speed. "Yes, they are shooting into the flock. I can tell by the flashes of their guns. Oh, if I had a gun!"

The thought that they were slaughtering the innocent animals roused all the fighting blood in Tad Butler's nature.

But what could he, single-handed and unarmed, expect to do to stop the ruthless slaughter?

>From the opposite direction, he heard a body of horsemen bearing down on the sheep killers.

In a moment more they too began to shoot. He noted quickly, however, that this latter body of men were not shooting down. They were shooting over the heads of the herd at the men who were killing the stock.

"Good! Good! Give it to them!" fairly screamed the lad, rising in his stirrups, waving his hat and continuing his words of encouragement to the men of Mr. Simms's outfit. What mattered it whether they could hear him or not? A rattling fire was running along both lines of men. But the sheep killers, now content to ride down the sheep, were shooting back at their assailants.

"Somebody will be killed, I know," cried Tad. "Who's there?" he roared, as he heard the hoof beats of a running pony behind him.

"It's me, Chunky," came the answer.

"Get out of here, boy. You will be killed."

"I can't. I'm afraid to stay back there in the camp all alone. Hicks has gone too and——"

"Then get back down the line and help me to hold these sheep. Don't give anyone a chance to say a Pony Rider Boy is afraid of anything. How'd you like to be over there where those guns are going off? Now, brace up. Look cheerful and tend to those sheep the same as Barker is doing."

Thus admonished, Stacy did brace up.

"All right," he said, pulling himself together and turning his pony about.

In the meantime the shouting had increased in volume and the shooting was more rapid. Tad had all he could do to hold the sheep in place. He knew that up above him they were rushing wildly here and there, and the wave of terror rolled over those in his immediate vicinity.

"They're beating them back!" cried the boy. "The cowboys are giving way. Hooray!"

This proved to be the case. The defense of the sheepmen was a surprise to the cowboys, where they had thought to surprise the sheep herders and stampede the herd before any opposition was offered.

With a yell of triumph the forces under Mr. Simms rode right over the scurrying sheep in their effort to drive the cowmen off.

At that moment the clouds parted and the full moon shone out, lighting up the scene brightly. Tad gazed in awe on the rushing ponies as he pulled his own to a stop. The cowmen, too, seemed to take courage from the moonlight. Some had started to retreat. These whirled about and returned to the charge.

"Oh, there goes Mr. Simms!" cried the boy.

He saw the rancher waver in the saddle, throw up his hands and slip sideways with head and arms hanging down.

"He's shot! He's shot! They don't see him!" shouted Tad. He cried out at the top of his voice to attract the attention of the ranchers, but in the uproar, no one heard him. His voice in that mad melee was a puny thing.

Fortunately the rancher's feet still clung to the stirrups, but his head was hanging so low that it appeared to be bumping along the ground with every leap of his pony, which was headed straight for the lines of the enemy.

"Oh, why won't they see him!" groaned the lad. "I can't stand it to sit here doing nothing and see a man lose his life that way—if he's not dead already."

Tad, acting upon a sudden resolve, shook out his reins, gave the pony a quick pressure with the spurs.

"Hi-yi!" he snapped.

Pink-eye leaped forward, with Tad urging him to renewed efforts by sharp slaps on the animal's thigh. The boy was not shouting now. He did not wish to attract attention to himself if it could be avoided. In order to head off the rancher's pony, Tad was compelled to follow an oblique direction which, if he continued it, would land him fairly in the center of the enemy's lines.

"I must beat him out. It's the only way I can do anything. Go, Pink-eye! Go!" And

Pink-eye did go as he had never gone before since Tad Butler had owned him.

Slowly but surely he was heading off the other horse. They saw him now and a few scattering shots were sent in his direction, but the lad heeded them no more than had they been rain drops. His mind was too fully absorbed with the task he had set for himself.

At last he and the rancher's pony were converging on a single point. Mr. Simms's pony reached it first with Tad only a few feet away. They were fairly between the lines now and bullets were flying about them. Tad could hear their whut! whut! as they sped past him.

He had lost the race. But there still remained one more resource. His rope was in its place. Tad slipped it from the saddle horn and made a quick reach for the rancher.

He groaned when he saw that he had missed his aim.

Yet, instead of giving up the battle, the lad was more determined than ever to rescue the owner of the herd that he had cast his fortunes with. The rowels were dug into the sides of the pony with a firmer pressure than before, and Tad began rapidly to haul in the lariat with one hand. When once he felt the knot at his finger tips he began whirling the loop over his head, leaning well forward in his saddle, riding at a tremendous pace on the fleet-footed little pony.

He cast. This time the loop fell true.

"Steady! steady! Pink-eye," he cautioned, taking a quick turn about the pommel. To stop too suddenly might throw the other pony on its side and crush the rancher.

The lariat had dropped over the other animal's neck and was quickly drawn down. Pinkeye stopped, braced himself as he felt his fellow slowing down under the pressure of the loop on his neck.

"Whoa!" commanded Tad sharply, leaping from the saddle and taking up on the lariat as fast as he could.

A shrill yell from the cowmen told him they would be upon him in a moment. They understood now what he was trying to do.

Tad worked with feverish haste to release Mr. Simms from the stirrups. Yet when he had finally accomplished this, his work was not yet half done. He did not know whether the rancher was dead or alive, nor had he the time to satisfy himself on this point.

Grasping Mr. Simms under the arms, the lad dragged him over to Pink-eye, and with a strength born of the excitement of the moment, succeeded in throwing the rancher's body over the back of his own pony.

The lad was panting in short, quick breaths. He had barely enough strength left to crawl on Pink-eye's back. Once there, he fairly fell across Mr. Simms's body, clinging to it with one hand, the other gripped on the pommel.

Pink-eye seemed to know what was expected of him, for straightway he got under motion, trotting off toward the lines of the sheepmen.

The cowboys turned their guns on the little outfit, but the sheepmen now discovering what was going on, gave a mighty yell and swept down on their enemy.

The cowboys gave way before the resistless rush, and whirling their ponies, raced for the foothills, with the pursuers shooting and yelling as they lashed and spurred their ponies after them.

Tad was almost overwhelmed as the sheepmen rushed by him. But he had saved Mr. Simms and he did not care if the jostling ponies of his friends had almost run him down in their mad rush.

The lad now gaining in strength, pulled himself to a sitting posture and hurried Pink-eye along at a little faster gait. They were headed for the camp, which they reached in a few minutes.

Tenderly the lad lifted the rancher from the saddle, stretching him out on the grass. His first care was to determine whether the man were alive or dead.

"He's alive!" cried Tad exultingly. "He's only stunned."

A bullet had grazed the rancher's head, ploughing a little furrow as it passed, but there was nothing more. Had Tad not reached him in time no doubt he would have been killed.

Getting water from the chuck wagon, Tad bathed the wound and dashed water into the rancher's face until signs of returning consciousness were evident. After a little while Mr. Simms opened his eyes and asked what had happened.

Tad told him, leaving out his own part in the rescue entirely, save that he had brought him in.

The lad, after telling Mr. Simms that the cowboys had been driven off, helped the rancher to his tent and put him to bed, or rather induced him to lie down on his cot, for Mr. Simms's head was whirling.

No sooner had Tad done this than he heard a galloping pony rapidly approaching the camp. The lad stepped out as the horseman pulled up. It was the foreman. He threw himself from his mount and started on a run for Mr. Simms's tent.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, bringing up short. "Where's the boss? Is he hurt? What happened to him?" he demanded excitedly, without giving Tad a chance to answer between questions.

"I think he is all right, Mr. Larue. He had a close call"——

"Was he shot?"

"A bullet grazed the side of his head, and then his pony ran away. I guess that came nearer killing him than did the bullet."

"He owes his life to you, and that's no joke," answered the foreman shortly. "We didn't see that he was in trouble till one of the boys discovered you chasing his pony. Then we saw you rope the critter and pack the boss on your own cayuse."

"Was—was anybody killed?" asked Tad hesitatingly.

"No. Mary got a bullet through the calf of his right leg, and Bat Coyne lost a piece of an ear. Guess that's about all."

"Yes; but what of the others? Were any of the cowmen killed?"

"No such luck," growled the foreman. "We pinked a few of them, but they're too tough to kill. We come mighty near having a fight, however," he mused.

"Near!" exploded the boy. "I should say. you were right up to it."

"We've lost a lot of sheep, boy; that's of more consequence."

"How many?"

"No telling. Can't tell till morning. It'll take all day to round up the scattered bunches— those that were not killed."

"Where are the boys—Ned and the rest of them?" asked Tad, suddenly bethinking himself of his companions.

"Oh, that's what I came back here for—one of the things. They're all right. That is, they're out there with the bunch, except Phil. Have you seen him?"

"Phil? No. Where is he?"

"He was with me, but he got away somewhere."

"Phil gone?"

"It seems so."

"Oh, that's too bad. What shall we do?"

"Go hunt for him. Do you want to join me?" asked the foreman, with sudden energy, leaping into his saddle again.

"Of course I do," answered Tad Butler, running for his own pony and following the foreman out of camp at a quick gallop.



CHAPTER XXI

TWO BOYS STRANGELY MISSING

"No use. He's been picked up by those dastardly cowmen," growled Luke after he and Tad had searched until daybreak. "We must go back to the camp and then turn out the outfit. We've got to find him, that's all. Mr. Simms will be crazy when he hears that the boy has strayed away from us."

"What do you think he'll do?" asked Tad in a worried tone.

"Heaven only knows. If it's those cow fellows who have done it, he'll never rest till he's settled with them for good and all. I'll plan out a hunt for the kid, but it has got to be each man for himself. We must cover every inch of the territory to the north, west and south of us. He couldn't have gone the other way. Come, let's be hustling back to camp."

"Perhaps they have not taken him at all. I should not be surprised if he were only lost."

But Luke shook his head. He was convinced that the rancher's son had not strayed away of his own accord. He believed that the cowmen had picked the lad up and carried him away for sheer revenge on Mr. Simms. Having seen Philip at Groveland Comers, some of them knew him, argued the foreman.

When Mr. Simms was informed of the loss of Phil, he was well-nigh beside himself.

"Do something! Why don't you do something?" he exclaimed in agony.

"We have," answered Luke. "And we have returned to get the rest of your men started on a daylight hunt."

"Did he take his pony with him?" asked Tad, as a thought occurred to him.

"Yes," replied Luke.

"Then, if the pony has not come back, it is pretty good evidence that Philip is still on his back, it seems to me."

"Then turn out; everybody turn out!" shouted Mr. Simms. "Don't come back till you get him or bring me some tidings."

"You will want some one to round up each scattered band of sheep, Mr. Simms. You do not want to lose your herd, do you?" asked the foreman.

"I don't care for the herd. Let two men and the dogs remain with the sheep that did not stampede. All the rest go out on the search. I'll take a turn myself. What's your plan, Luke?"

The foreman explained that he proposed to send the searchers out alone, so that all the territory might be covered. He had planned to lay his party out in the shape of a fan. The fan closed, he would push up into the foothills, then open it in a wide sweep. As he expressed it, "not even a jack rabbit could get away from them if he were within the semicircle covered by their formation."

Mr. Simms bore the strain as well as a father could be expected to bear it.

Without the loss of a moment Luke gathered the men about him, explaining briefly what was to be done and assigning to each man the part he was to play in the day's search.

Foremost among the party were the Pony Rider Boys. Even Stacy Brown, serious-faced and impatient to be off, had saddled and bridled his pony and sat awaiting the order to move.

At last all was ready.

"Right!" announced the foreman, whereupon the sheepmen, headed by Luke and Tad Butler, started up at a brisk gallop, headed straight across the mesa, taking a course that would lead them to the foothills, a short distance ahead of them. Beaching the foothills, they continued on for some two or three miles. Here the foreman gave the order to open the fan, he taking the lead on the left and Tad on the right. The searchers were now moving with a space of about a quarter of a mile between them,

shouting out the name of Phil Simms now and then, these calls running down the line to the lower end of the fan-shaped formation.

After a time Tad found that he could no longer hear the shouts of his companions, yet from the position of the sun, which he consulted frequently, he felt sure that he was following the right course.

On and on he rode, until the sun lay on the western horizon. The others of the party were making a thorough search, investigating every gully and draw that lay in their course, shouting for Phil, hut not shooting their guns, as this was to be the signal that the lost boy had been found.

"I'm afraid we are going to miss him," mused the foreman. "If we fail to find him, then they've got him, sure."

At last he had completed his half of the sweep of the fan, and his face wore a troubled look as his pony emerged from the foothills onto the open mesa again. The sun was setting.

Luke rode out and waited a few moments, and when joined by the rest of his section, started back to the camp.

Old Hicks had prepared the hated mutton for supper by the time the right side of the fan formation got in. Not a trace had one of them found of the missing Philip Simms.

The rancher said nothing when told that they had failed. He strode away to his tent and they saw him no more for hours.

They had just gathered about the table for the evening meal, all unusually silent, when Ned Rector, glancing about, made a sudden discovery.

"Where's Tad?" he demanded.

"Didn't he come in?" asked the foreman, pausing in the act of sitting down to the table.

"That's what I should like to know? Where is he?"

No one seemed to know.

"Now, he's gone, too," breathed the foreman anxiously. "That's one more mystery on the old Custer trail."

"We—we'll have to go hunt for Tad now. You don't suppose he and Phil are together, do you?" asked Walter.

"I don't know. I hope they are. But, boy, it's useless to go out looking for them now. All we can do will be to wait until morning, then take up the search again"——

"That's what comes from taking kids out on a man's job," growled Old Hicks, as he served the mutton.

"Hicks, no one asked you for your opinion," snapped the foreman. "These boys have done men's work ever since they joined. Had it not been for Tad, Boss Simms would have been out of business entirely now. Don't let me hear anybody casting any slurs on these boys. I won't stand for it."

Old Hicks grumbled and hobbled away to his black kettle, while the others ate their supper in silence. But, somehow, the meal was far from satisfying, and one by one they rose from the table, leaving plates half filled, and strolled away to spend the evening as best they could until bedtime. Ned and the foreman remained up, for they were to go out at midnight and take their trick at watching over the herd.

"I've just got an idea," said the foreman, calling Ned to him.

"Yes; what is it?"

"I'm going to put some one on the herd in my place and ride over to Groveland. Want to go along?"

"Yes, if it has anything to do with our friends."

"That's what I mean."

"All right, I'm ready; but it is pretty late."

"Makes no difference. We'll wake them up if they are in bed. I want to see Cavanagh, who keeps the store. I have one or two questions to ask him."

Without saying anything to the others as to their intention, the two quietly saddled their ponies and rode off. The foreman made arrangements to have others take their trick, after which they headed across the mesa toward the place where Tad had whipped the mountain boy.

Though the night, like the one that had preceded it, was intensely dark, Luke rode on with perfect confidence, never for one instant hesitating over the course.

Ned did not know that they had reached the little village until the foreman told him.

"We're here," he said quietly.

"Where's the town?"

"In it now."

"I don't see it, if we are."

"You hold my horse. I'll wake up Cavanagh," announced the foreman, dismounting and tossing the reins to his companion.

Luke thundered on the front door of the store, above which the owner had his quarters. After an interval, during which the foreman had pounded insistently with the butt of his revolver, an upper window opened and a voice demanded to know what was wanted.

"Come down here and I'll tell you."

"Who are you? What do you mean prowling around this time of the night?"

"I'm Luke Larue, of the Simms's outfit, and I want to see you."

"Oh, hello, Luke. Thought there was something familiar about your voice. I'll be down in a minute. Anybody with you?" "Yes, friend. Hurry up." Cavanagh opened the front door, peering out suspiciously before he permitted his caller to enter.

"Wait a minute. I want to call my friend in. Ned, tether the ponies and come along."

After the lad had joined them, the two ranchers entered the store, the proprietor taking them to the back of the store and lighting a lantern, which he placed behind a cracker barrel, so that the light might not be observed from the outside,

"Now, what is it?" he demanded. Luke told him briefly of the battle with the cowboys, of which Cavanagh had already heard. Then he related the story of the mysterious disappearance of the two boys.

"What do you want of me?" asked the storekeeper, when the story had been finished.

"To know whether you had heard any of the boys say anything that might lead you to believe they knew anything about the matter?"

"No," answered Canavagh after a moment's thought. "Hain't heard a word. Don't believe they know anything about it. They'd a said something if they'd heard of it."

"Don't you know anything about the boys yourself?"

"No, don't know nothing about them."

"Sure?"

"Surest thing, you know."

"Very well. I believe you. One of my reasons for coming over here, however, was to tell you to keep your eyes and ears open to-morrow."

"I'll do that for you——"

"If we fail to find them to-morrow, I'll ride over at night after the crowd has left here and hear what you have learned. When any of the cowmen come in, I want you to bring up the subject and try to draw them out. You'll get something that will be of use to us, I know, for I'm dead certain that they've got both of those boys."

"Do you think they would dare do a thing like that?" asked Ned.

"Dare?" Luke laughed harshly. "They'd dare anything, especially about this time. Oh, did you hear whether any of them got hit last night!"

"Two or three is laid up for repairs," grinned the storekeeper.

"I'm glad of it. I wish the whole bunch had been trimmed."

"Lose many sheep?"

"Yes; too many. But that isn't what's troubling us now."

"No, I understand. It's the kids."

"Exactly. Don't forget what you have got to do, now."

Ned had been leaning against the counter listening to the conversation, when his hand came in contact with a soft object that lay on the counter. He carelessly picked it up and looked at it.

What he had found was a sombrero. This of itself was unimportant, for the store carried them for sale. A broad, yellow band about it was what attracted Ned Rector's attention, causing him to utter a sharp exclamation.

"What is it?" demanded Luke quickly.

"Look. Did you ever see this before?" he asked excitedly.

"It's Philip Simms's hat," answered the foreman, fixing a stern eye on the old storekeeper.



CHAPTER XXII

CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS

"Yes. I recognized it the instant I saw it," answered Ned.

"Cavanagh, what does this mean?" demanded the foreman. "I think it's up to you to explain and mighty quick at that."

"I—I don't know anything about it," stammered the storekeeper.

"Where did you get that hat?"

"I bought it."

"Off whom?"

"Don't know what his name is. I never seen him before."

"Tell me all you know. Come, I've no time to fool away asking you questions. Get to the point."

"I'll tell you all I know. A fellow came in here this afternoon. I give him fifty cents for the hat and that's all there was to it."

"Say where he come from?"

"Yes, said he was down from the Medicine range."

"That's more than thirty miles north of here," mused the foreman. "I don't understand it. You sure that's all he said?"

"Yes; I don't know any more."

"Then we'll be off. I guess we'd better hit the trail for the Medicine range to-night so as to be well on our way by daylight."

"Here's fifty cents. I'll take the hat with me," said Ned, tossing a half dollar on the counter, and stowing the sombrero under his belt.

They hurried from the store, with a parting injunction to Cavanagh to be watchful. Mounting their ponies they rode swiftly away.

"We'll return to camp before we leave for the north," said Luke.

As the sun went down, Tad, becoming concerned for himself, turned sharply to the right, urging his pony on so as to get back to camp before night. He did not relish the idea of spending another night alone in the mountains.

"I believe I don't know where I am," decided the lad at last, pulling up sharply and gazing first at the sky, then at the unfamiliar landscape about him. "I seem to have acquired the habit of getting lost. Hello, I hear some one coming. W-h-o-o-p-e-e!" he shouted to attract the attention of the newcomers, hoping that it might be some of the men from the Simms outfit.

There were several of them, and though they made no reply, he heard them turn their ponies in his direction. Suddenly there rode into the little clearing where he was sitting on his pony, half a dozen men, the sight of whom made him take a short, sharp breath.

"Indians!" he gasped.

With gaudily painted faces, bright blankets and buckskin suits, they made a picturesque group as they halted and surveyed the young man questioningly.

One who appeared to be the leader of the party rode forward and peered into Tad's face.

"How," he grunted.

"How," answered Tad, saluting bravely, but feeling far from brave at that moment.

A second and younger brave rode up at this point and in very good English asked the lad who he was.

"I am from the Simms sheep ranch, and I guess I have lost my way. If you can set me straight, I shall be very much obliged."

The younger man consulted with the older one, who had greeted Tad first.

"The chief says we are going that way. If you will come along with us we will leave you within about a mile of the camp."

"Very well," answered the boy, with some reluctance. They seemed friendly enough and, besides, there could be no danger to him in accompanying them.

As they started to move on, Tad clucked to Pink-eye and fell in with the party. He noticed shortly, that the others had ridden up and that he was in reality surrounded by the painted braves. Then he remembered that he had heard of roving bands of Indians in that part of the country—Indians who had been getting off their reservations and indulging in various depredations.

"Are we getting near the place?" asked the lad finally, a growing uneasiness rising within him.

"I'll ask the chief," said the young Indian, who had been riding by Tad's side. "He says it will he two hours yet," was the reply, after a series of grunts and gestures had passed between the men.

"It didn't take me that long to get here."

"Camp almost one sun away."

"Who is he?" indicating the leader of the party.

"Chief."

"What's his name?"

"Chief Willy. He doesn't talk much English."

"You do, though," answered Tad, glancing up at the expressionless face of his companion.

"Me with Wild West show long, long time."

"Is that so. Maybe I have seen you. Were you with the show that was in Chillicothe last summer? I saw the show then."

"Me with um," answered the redskin.

"Why, that's interesting," said the boy, now thoroughly interested and for the time so absorbed in questioning the Indian about his life with the show that he forgot his own uneasiness.

By this time, darkness intense and impenetrable, at least to the eyes of the boy, had settled down about them. Yet it seemed to make no difference to the Indians, who kept their ponies at a steady jog-trot, picking their way unerringly, avoiding rocks and treacherous holes as if it were broad daylight.

Tad did not try to guide Pink-eye any more, but let him follow the others, and when he got a little out of his course, the pony next to him would crowd Pink-eye over where he belonged.

"Seems to me we are a long time getting there," announced the boy finally. He was beginning to grow uneasy again.

"Come camp bymeby," informed the young Indian. "Chief, him know way."

Tad had his doubts about that, but he thought it best not to tell them of his misgivings until he was certain. Perhaps they were honest Indians after all and were only seeking to do him a favor.

The lad was getting tired and hungry, having had nothing more than a mutton sandwich since early morning. He judged it must be getting close to midnight now.

As if interpreting his thoughts, the young Indian rode up close beside him, at the same time thrusting something into Tad's hand. "What is it?" asked the boy. "Eat. Good meat," answered the Indian. The boy nibbled at it gingerly. It was meat of some kind, and it was tough. But most anything in the nature of food was acceptable to him then, so he helped himself more liberally and enjoyed his lunch. The dried meat was excellent, even if it was tough to chew.

After a little they came to a level stretch, and now the Indians put their ponies to a lively gallop, which Pink-eye, being surrounded by the other ponies, was forced to fall into to keep from getting run down by the riders behind him. Faster and faster they forced their mounts forward, uttering sharp little exclamations to urge them on, accompanied by sundry grunts and unintelligible mutterings.

That they all meant something, the boy felt sure. But it meant nothing to him so far as understanding was concerned.

After hours had passed the lad found all at once that the gray dawn was upon them and it was not many minutes before the stolid faces of his companions stood out clear and distinct.

Tad jerked Pink-eye up sharply.

"See here, where are you taking me to?" he demanded.

"Camp," grunted the young Indian.

"You're not. You are taking me away. I shall not go another step with you."

Summoning all his courage the boy turned his pony about and started to move away. A quick, grunted order from the chief and one of the braves caught Pink-eye's bridle, jerking him back to his previous position.

"Take your hands off, please," demanded Tad quietly. "You've no right to do that. For some reason you have deceived me and taken me far from home. I'll——"

"No make chief angry," urged the young brave.

"I tell you I'm going. You let me alone," persisted the boy, making another effort to ride from them.

This time the chief whirled his own pony across Tad's path. From under his blanket, he permitted the boy to see the muzzle of a revolver that was protruding there.

"Ugh!" grunted the chief. "Him say you must go. Him shoot! No hurt paleface boy."

Tad hesitated. His inclination was to put spurs to Pink-eye and dash away. He did not fear the chief's revolver so much for himself. He did fear, however, that the chief might shoot his pony from under him, which would leave the boy in a worse predicament still.

"All right, I'll go with you. But I warn you the first white man I see, I'll tell him you are taking me away."

"Ugh!"

"If he shoots, I don't see how he can help hurting me," added the lad to himself, with a mirthless grin.

"Bymeby, boy go back with paleface friends."

"That's what I expect to do. But if Luke Larue finds out you have taken me away against my will, he'll do some shooting before the big chief gets a chance to. Where are you taking me to?"

Shrugs of the shoulders was all the answer that Tad could get, so he decided to make the best of his position and escape at the first opportunity. Keeping his eyes on the alert he followed along without further protest.

Once, as they ascended a sudden rise of ground on the gallop, he discovered two horsemen on beyond them about half a mile as near as he was able to judge.

Evidently the Indians saw them at the same instant, for they changed their course and went off into the rougher lands to the left.

"Had they been nearer, I'd have taken a chance and yelled for help," thought the boy. "I will do it the next time I get a chance even if they are a long way off. I can make somebody hear."

But they gave him no chance to put his plan into practice. Not a human being did Tad see during the rest of the journey, nor even a sign of human habitation. Evidently they were traveling through a very rough, uninhabited part of the state. If this were the case, he reasoned that they must be working northward. This surmise was verified with the rising of the sun.

Chief Willy gave the lad a quick glance and grunted when he saw his captive looking up at the sun.

The chief then uttered a series of grunts, which the younger Indian interpreted as meaning that they would soon reach their destination.

Tad was somewhat relieved to hear this, for he ached all over from his many hours in the saddle. Then again he was sleepy and hungry as well. They offered him no more food, so he concluded that they had none. In any event he did not propose to ask for more, even if he were starving.

Along about nine o'clock in the morning they came suddenly upon a broad river. Without hesitation the braves plunged their ponies in, with Tad and Pink-eye following. There was nothing else they could do tinder the circumstances.

The water was not deep, however, the chief having chosen a spot for fording where the stream was not above the ponies' hips. Tad lifted up his legs to keep them dry, but the Indians stolidly held their feet in their stirrups, appearing not to notice that they were getting wet.

"What river is this!" he asked, the first question he had ventured in a long time.

The young brave referred the question to his chief, to which the usual grunt of response was made.

"Him say don't know."

Tad grinned.

"For men who can find their way in the dark as well as these fellows can, they know less than I would naturally suppose," smiled the boy.

The chief saw the smile and scowled.

Tad made careful note of the fording place in case he should have occasion to cross the river on his own hook later on. He examined the hills on both sides of the stream at the same time.

Leaving the river behind them, they began a gradual ascent. Now they did not seem to be in so great a hurry as before, and allowed their ponies to walk for a mile or so, after which they took up their easy jog again. Shortly after that the boy descried several wreaths of smoke curling up into the morning sky. The Indians were heading straight toward the smoke.

At first Tad had felt a thrill of hope. But a few moments later when a number of tepees grew slowly out of the landscape he saw that they were approaching what appeared to be an Indian village, and his heart sank within him.



CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE HOME OF THE BLACKFEET

Their coming was greeted by the loud barking of dogs, while from the tepees appeared as if by magic, women and children, together with innumerable braves and boys.

They fairly swarmed out into the open space in front of the camp, setting up a shout as they recognized the newcomers.

"They seem to be mighty glad to see us,"

growled Tad. "Wish I could say as much for them."

The ponies, seeming to share the general good feeling, pricked up their ears and dashed into the camp at a gallop, Pink-eye with the rest. Almost before the little animals had come to a stop, the braves threw themselves from their saddles and darted into their tepees.

"They seem to have left me out of it, so I guess I'll go back," decided the lad half humorously. But he was given no chance to slip away. The young brave who had accompanied his chief, came running out and grasped the pony by its bridle.

"Boy, git off," he said.

Tad threw a leg over the pommel and landed on the ground. He could hardly stand, so stiff were his legs.

The young brave took him into one of the tepees, held the flap aside while Tad entered, then closed it. The lad heard him moving away. Tired out and dispirited, Tad Butler threw himself down on the grass and, in spite of his troubles, was asleep in a few moments.

A dog barking in front of his tepee awakened him. The boy pulled the flap aside ever so little and peered out. He was surprised to find that the sun was setting. He had been asleep practically all day long.

Scrambling to his feet hastily the lad stepped outside. He did not know whether he would be permitted to roam about, but he proposed to try. The answer came quickly. A brave whom he had not seen before suddenly appeared and, with a grunt of disapproval, grabbed Tad by the arms, fairly flinging him into the tepee.

The lad's cheeks burned with indignation.

"I'll teach them to insult me like that," he fumed, shaking his fist toward the opening. "I'll look out anyway."

He did so, prudently drawing the flap close whenever he heard anyone approaching. Once as he peered out, a disreputable looking cur snapped at his legs. First, the lad coaxed the animal, then tried to drive him away, finally administering a kick that sent the dog away howling.

"I've got revenge on one of the gang anyway," he laughed. "But it's not much of a revenge, at that. I wonder if they are going to bring me anything to eat. I——"

The flap was suddenly jerked aside and the face of the chief appeared in the opening.

"How," greeted Chief Willy.

"How," answered Tad rather sullenly. "What do you want?"

"Paleface want eat?"

"You ought not to have to ask that question. So you can talk English just a little bit? Chief, when are you going to let me go away from here? It will only get you into trouble if you try to keep me. They are sure to find me."

"No find," grunted the chief.

"Oh, yes they will."

"Ugh," answered the redskin, hastily withdrawing. Then followed another long period when Tad was left alone with his thoughts.

"I wonder two things," thought the lad aloud. "I wonder what he brought me here for and I wonder when I am going to get something to eat? Captured by the Indians, eh? That's more than the rest of the Pony Riders can say."

Yet there was a more serious side to it all. They had taken him prisoner for some purpose, but what that purpose was he could not imagine.

His thoughts were interrupted by some one silently entering the tent. Glancing up, Tad saw a slender, rather pretty Indian girl standing there looking down at him.

The boy scrambled to his feet and took off his sombrero.

"How," he said.

The girl answered in kind. Then she placed on the ground before him a bowl of soup and a plate of steaming stew. Tad sniffed the odor of mutton, which now was so familiar to him, wondering at the same time, if it had come from Mr. Simms's flock.

"Thank you," he said. "If you will excuse me I will eat. I'm awfully hungry.

She nodded and Tad went at the meal almost ravenously. The Indian girl squatted down on the ground and watched him.

"What's your name?" he asked between mouthfuls.

"Jinny."

"That's a funny name. Doesn't sound like an Indian name. Is it?"

"Me not know. Young buck heap big eat," she added.

"Yes. Oh, yes, I have something of an appetite," laughed Tad. "Jinny, what are they going to do with me, do you know?"

The girl shook her head with emphasis.

"What tribe is this?"

"Blackfeet. Other paleface boy here too."

Tad set down his plate and surveyed her inquiringly.

"Say that again, please. You say there's another paleface boy here in this village?"

Jinny nodded vigorously.

"Who is he?"

"Jinny not know."

"When did he—how long has he been here?"

"Sun-up."

"This morning?"

"Yes. He there," pointing with a finger to the lower end of the village.

Tad's curiosity was aroused. He wondered if another besides himself had been made an unwilling guest by the Blackfeet wanderers. If so, it must have been by another party. A sudden thought occurred to him. Tad was wearing a cheap ring on the little finger of his left hand. He had picked up the ring on the plains in Texas. Hastily stripping it from his finger he handed it to the girl.

"Want it, Jinny?"

She did. Her eyes sparkled as she slipped it on her own finger and held it off to view the effect.

"Thank," she said, turning her glowing eyes on Tad.

"You're welcome. But now I want you to do something for me. I'll send you another, a big, big ring when I get home, if you will help me to get away from here."

Jinny eyed him steadily for a few seconds, then shook her head.

"I'll send you beads, too, Jinny—beads like the paleface ladies wear."

"You send Jinny white woman beads!"

"I promise you."

"Me help um little paleface buck. Me help um two," she added, holding up two fingers. Without another word, she slipped from the tepee as silently as she had come.

Tad pondered over this last remark for some time. He did not understand what Jinny had meant.

"So I'm a buck, am I? That's one thing I haven't been called before since I have been out on the range. She said she would help me to get away. I wonder when she is going to do it."

Though Tad waited patiently until late in the evening, he saw no more of the little Indian girl. Shortly after dark several camp-fires were lighted, the cheerful blazes lighting up the street or common in front of the row of tepees in which his own was located.

Children played about the fires, the dogs were disputing over the bones tossed to them after the evening meal, while the squaws and braves, gathered in separate groups, were squatting about, gesticulating and talking.

To Tad Butler the scene held a real interest. He had never before seen an Indian camp, and least of all been a prisoner in it. He lay down on his stomach, with elbows on the ground, chin in hands, and gazed out over the village curiously.

"I wonder who that other boy is," he mused. "I presume he is a prisoner, too. Hello, there's my guard."

An Indian, with knees clasped in his arms, was rocking to and fro a little distance from the tepee. Though he was not looking toward Tad's tent, the lad felt sure the fellow had been placed there to watch him. He understood then why Jinny had not been to the tepee since bringing his meal.

Finally the camp quieted down, the fires smouldered and the dogs stretched out before them for sleep. Tad Butler's tired head drooped lower and lower, his elbows settling until his arms were down and he was lying prone upon the ground, sound asleep.

After a time the Indian whom the lad had seen sitting out in front rose, and, stepping softly to the tepee, looked in. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, threw himself down right at the entrance and was snoring heavily half a minute later.

The camp slumbered on undisturbed until aroused by the ill-natured curs at daybreak next morning.

Tad was awakened by one of them barking at his door and snapping at him. Suddenly pulling his flap open, he hurled his sombrero in the dog's face, frightening it, so that it slunk away with a howl. Tad, laughing heartily, reached out and recovered the hat.

"Hey, there, I want to wash," he called to a brave who was passing. The redskin paid no attention to him. "All right, if you won't, then I'll go without you."

He stepped boldly from the tepee and headed for a small stream at the left of the village, which he had observed on the previous day. He had not gone far before he observed that he was being followed at a distance. He did not let it appear that he noticed this, and after making his toilet strolled back to his tepee.