In a few minutes they were by his side, and, while one of the fellows held Bingo safely, Ted sprang into the saddle.
"Now, fellows, we're going to ride around the end of this hill and plump into the Indian camp. The snow will deaden the hoofbeats of the ponies, but keep as still as possible. We'll surprise them, and probably be able to settle the whole thing without firing a shot. But don't bet on it, and keep your hands on your guns, but don't fire until they make the first crack, then rush them and drive them into the hills, and bring down all you can."
With this advice they rode forward by twos, Ted and Ben in the lead.
It did not take long to round the hill, and then, as suddenly as if they had opened a door and stepped into a room, they were in the midst of the Indians.
No such surprising and sudden attack was ever made. The Indians stood as if they were carved of wood as the boys rode up to them, staring open-mouthed.
Only one of them made a break—the young Indian whom Ted had dismounted.
For several moments not a word was said.
Ted saw instantly that the broncho boys had all the best of it, and that the Indians had been taken completely by surprise, for not one of them was armed. Their rifles and guns were either still on their saddles, and the ponies were standing some distance away, or they were stacked beside a ledge of rock twenty or more feet from the fire, where most of them were congregated.
The young fellow whom Ted had foiled stared for a moment with a look of contempt and dislike.
Suddenly he made a rush to where the guns were standing.