The Indians were in full pursuit, yelling like madmen.
They were led by a young fellow dressed in a yellow buckskin shirt elaborately beaded, and trimmed with fringe, while on his head was a bonnet of eagle feathers, which trailed far behind him as he dashed on far in advance of his followers.
"Here's a chance to stop that chap," said Ted, swinging around in his saddle and throwing his forty-five over his shoulder.
The six-shooter cracked, and as the smoke floated away Ted saw that his bullet had gone where he intended it to go.
The pony on which the young Indian was riding stumbled and staggered forward 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 and rode rapidly in that direction.
As the two boys came together and found that they were unharmed and that the 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 toward the west.
For half an hour they rode, when Ted suddenly pulled his pony to a stop.