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 he discovered that it was a party of men on horseback.
As the sun was behind the riders, Ted could not distinguish whether or not they were Indians or whites, as he could have done if the sun had been 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 sit straighter than Indians. I believe they are either our own boys, or cavalry from the post."
"I believe you are right," said Ted. "Let's fire a few shots to attract their 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 the ridge of a rolling hill.
They were the broncho boys under the leadership of Ben Tremont. They had all come together on a broad trail that pointed toward the foothills in the north, and, as they rode, had picked up one pair of scouts after another.
"Where are Bud and Stella?" asked Ted, running his eye over the party.
"Haven't seen anything of them," said Ben, "although we have been keeping a lookout for them. They rode farther to the west, and probably will pick us up later. I think this trail leads into the hills, and that we will find the Indians in camp not far away."