CHAPTER VIII.
THE WAR PARTY.
The Indians had fled in every direction.
They had been foiled in their purpose of running the ponies off in aband, as they had intended, by Ted's fortunate discovery of the raid.
How to gather the ponies together again was the question that puzzledTed, for the broncho boys had no mounts with which to pursue thewould-be thieves.
It was not long before the light appeared in the east, and by that timeTed had ridden to Bud's sign camp, and thence to camp No. 2, and hadfour more horsemen to assist him in the pony round-up.
These worked unceasingly, riding the snowy prairie, picking up theponies which the Indians had not been able to round into a bunch todrive to their rendezvous in the mountains.
The attack upon them had been so sudden that they had taken no heed ofwhere they were going. It was every man for himself, with the bronchoboys' bullets for the hindmost.
About noon Ted and the boys from the sign camps rode up to the ranchhouse, driving before them a band of about twenty ponies which they hadfound grazing on the prairie or seeking the shelter of the coulees.
Not a sign of the marauding Indians had they seen.
"Boys, as soon as we can get something to eat we're going after thoseIndians," said Ted, dismounting and going into the house. "We've gotmounts for nearly all of us, now. A guard will be left at the house,then we'll get on their trail. We can't afford to let this thing go.Those Indians must be taught a lesson, so that they will get over theidea that they can run in on us and take what they want just because weare boys."
"That's ther way ter talk," exclaimed Bud Morgan heartily. "Give 'emwhat's comin' to 'em, an' give it to 'em good an' plenty."
"I guess it won't be any snap to find them now," said Ben.
"They've scattered. But we can trail them. They'll leave a track likethat of a moose, it will be so wide. They're in the hills somewhere,laying for another opportunity to raid the corral. They need ponies toride, and beef to eat, and they have got the idea into their heads thatwe were sent out here to cater to their wants. It's our business to foolthem."
"Oh, hurry up," cried Stella. "I'm so anxious to get started I'm all ina flutter."
"Who said you were going?" asked Ted, with a smile. "This is no pleasuretrip. Trailing and fighting Indian outlaws is no matinee."
"I should say not," said Stella coolly. "But it's work for the bronchoboys, and I'm one of them. Bud has promised to teach me the art offollowing an Indian trail, and there never will be a better time thanthis."
Ted could only shrug his shoulders, as he turned away to see if McCallwas hurrying dinner. He knew that he would waste time arguing with thespirited young woman, who was as good a cowgirl as he was a cowboy, andfor one of her sex quite as courageous.
So eager were the boys to be off that they fairly bolted their food, andrushed to the corral to saddle their cayuses.
Then they saw to their arms, and each took his rifle in the boot of hissaddle.
Sultan had had such a hard day's work since daylight, rounding up thescattered ponies, that Ted left him in the corral, and decided to ride afresh horse. The only serviceable animal he could find was the worstriding beast on the place, a vicious, half-broken Texas pony, which hadto be roped and held before the rider could mount.
This, however, made little difference to Ted, who could ride anythingthat would fit a saddle.
While he held the saddle ready to throw it on Bingo's back Bud roped andheld the rearing, raging, bucking beast, who was busy kicking holes inthe air with his wicked heels.
After maneuvering around the corral several times, Ted managed to dodgethe flying hoofs long enough to slip the saddle and tie the latigo.
Then it was up to him to mount.
Whenever he approached Bingo from the rear, dancing around to escape thepony's battery, and got to the side where he could grasp the horn of hissaddle, Bingo would wheel in a circle away from him as if he wasfastened to a pivot.
The performance was getting monotonous, for the boys were standingaround in a ring waiting to start.
Ted was getting impatient also at the fool antics of the pony.
"Stop your fooling," he said to Bingo. "When I do land on your back I'llmake you sorry you didn't stand still, my bucko."
He stepped back several feet and stood looking at the pony, who, withears flattened and the whites of his eyes showing, stood still also,waiting for further developments.
He didn't know exactly what was coming, but wanted to be ready for it,whatever it was to be.
Suddenly Ted gave a short, swift run, leaped in the air, and beforeBingo could gather himself for a plunge, Ted was astraddle of thesaddle.
Bingo remembered his part then, but he was too late, for simultaneouslyhe felt the sting of the quirt across his shoulder, and the prick of thespur in his flank.
A horse can think of only one thing at a time, while a mule can payattention to the mule-skinner's lash and think of forty-seven varietiesof devilment at the same time.
In trying to keep his mind on the sting of the quirt and the prick ofthe rowels at the same time, Bingo got rattled.
He leaped high into the air, intending to fall backward, and crush hisrider. But Ted had been there before many times, and as he went up astinging blow across Bingo's withers brought him down in a hurry.
Then he did some more plunging, but the spur in his side, and Ted's firmseat, soon convinced him that it was wasting time to fool with Ted, andhe set off at a gallop across the prairie.
With a ringing cheer the boys followed, and soon caught up with him.
When they were together again, Ted paired the boys off to scout.
"I'll tell you how you will probably find it, fellows," said Ted. "TheIndians ride in different directions. Whenever you hit a trail followit, but go slow and keep your eyes peeled for an ambuscade. You willfind that eventually all the trails will lead to the same place. If weare in luck, we will find them before they go on into the mountains, andwe may have a skirmish. I hope, however, that we will be able to settlethe matter without resorting to any shooting. Uncle Sam is mighty touchyabout any one killing his Indians except his soldiers, no matter what anIndian does. We'll probably all come together where the Indians are.Kit, you ride with me. You other fellows choose your partners. Bud, takegood care of Stella."
"You kin bet yer active an' useful life I will," said Bud, as he andStella galloped off together.
Bud and Kit rode away to the north, while the other broncho boys spreadout in pairs over the prairie.
Ted had been riding an hour without crossing a track.
"There's no use going in this direction any longer, Kit," he said."They've probably gone farther to the west. I guess we'd better strikeoff that way, and take a chance of cutting them somewhere over there."
They had paused on the bank of a small frozen stream lined with willows,and Ted had dismounted to walk up and down the bank to find a placewhere he could break a hole in the ice to water the ponies.
"You'll have to rope Bingo and hold him when I go to get on," he said toKit before he got down.
"All right," said Kit. "I'd get down and cut that hole in the icemyself, only my arm might give me trouble again. I've got to be mightycareful of it yet."
As Ted was looking for a safe place to lead the ponies down to thestream, with Bingo's bridle reins hanging over his arm, he was startledby a snort from the brute, and a sudden back pull.
He looked over his shoulder at the pony to see what was the matter withit.
Bingo was standing with his head high, his ears pointed forward, hisnostrils as red as if they were lined with red silk, and the whites ofhis eyes like pieces of chalk, snorting as if in terror.
Ted read the symptoms instantly.
"He smells Indians," he muttered to himself.
He looked around for Kit, and saw him far down the stream, strugglingvainly with the pony he was riding, which was running away in a panic offear.
Kit was an expert and dauntless horseman, and not one of the bronchoboys except Ted could excel him in horsemanship, but with his woundedarm he could not bring the brute under control.
"That settles it with me," muttered Ted. "I'm going to have a timegetting on the back of this beast, for he will be worse than ever nowthat he has scented Indians."
He heard a noise behind him, and wheeled.
Coming out of the willows a few hundred yards away were a score ofIndians, painted for war and all armed with rifles.
With a hasty movement the leader of the broncho boys loosened hisrevolvers and glanced to see if his rifle was ready for instant use.
The Indians had stopped, as much surprised as Ted, and stood staring athim in a stupid sort of way.
Ted saw that if he was to escape being murdered now was his chance, andturned to his pony.
As he did so the Indians let out a whoop that frightened Bingo almostinto a fit, and, wheeling suddenly, he dashed away, almost dragging thereins from Ted's grasp.
But as he did so Ted was by his side, running with one hand clutchingthe long mane.
It was rough running over the rocks and hummocks with which the bank ofthe stream was strewn, but Ted seemed to fly through space, so lightlydid his feet touch the ground.
Rifle balls were now singing through the air above Ted, and on everyside, which only served to increase the speed with which Bingo wasrunning away from his enemies, the Indians.
Bingo had been trained in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas to regard theIndian as his natural enemy, and whenever he smelled one it was his mostearnest desire to get as far away as possible in the shortest space oftime.
This was fortunate for Ted also.
While it was not an easy matter for Ted to mount while the pony waswheeling away from him, Ted was well educated in the cavalry drill asused at West Point, and mounting a running horse was one of the easiestof the many equestrian tricks with which he was familiar.
When he thought he was far enough away from the Indians not to affordthem too good an aim for his body, he placed his hand on the cantle ofthe saddle, gave a smart upward spring, and the impetus of his runningand the pony's speed took him through the air like a bird, and hesettled in the saddle as easily, almost, as if he would have sat down ina chair.
As he reached the saddle he, for the first time, threw a glance over hisshoulder.
The Indians were in full pursuit, yelling like madmen.
They were led by a young fellow dressed in a yellow buckskin shirtelaborately beaded, and trimmed with fringe, while on his head was abonnet of eagle feathers, which trailed far behind him as he dashed onfar in advance of his followers.
"Here's a chance to stop that chap," said Ted, swinging around in hissaddle and throwing his forty-five over his shoulder.
The six-shooter cracked, and as the smoke floated away Ted saw that hisbullet had gone where he intended it to go.
The pony on which the young Indian was riding stumbled and staggeredforward 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 androde rapidly in that direction.
As the two boys came together and found that they were unharmed and thatthe 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 towardthe 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 hediscovered that it was a party of men on horseback.
As the sun was behind the riders, Ted could not distinguish whether ornot they were Indians or whites, as he could have done if the sun hadbeen 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 sitstraighter than Indians. I believe they are either our own boys, orcavalry from the post."
"I believe you are right," said Ted. "Let's fire a few shots to attracttheir 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 theridge of a rolling hill.
They were the broncho boys under the leadership of Ben Tremont. They hadall come together on a broad trail that pointed toward the foothills inthe north, and, as they rode, had picked up one pair of scouts afteranother.
"Where are Bud and Stella?" asked Ted, running his eye over the party.
"Haven't seen anything of them," said Ben, "although we have beenkeeping a lookout for them. They rode farther to the west, and probablywill pick us up later. I think this trail leads into the hills, and thatwe will find the Indians in camp not far away."
This was Ted's belief also, and, taking the leadership, he ordered anadvance.
"Halt!" Ted Strong had stopped his pony, and with his hand shading hiseyes, was looking steadily to the front.
"What is it?" asked Ben, riding to his side.
"Smoke over the top of that hill right in front of us."
Ted did not take his eyes from the spot.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "The bunch of Indians who chased me have takena short cut and beaten us in. I saw a band of Indians cross in front ofus, and one pony carried double."
"Then we have caught up with them."
"I think so. Hold the boys here, I'm going forward to scout. When Isignal, come forward as fast as you can ride."
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