While the boys kept their hands on their weapons not one was drawn.
The Indians rode off to a distance of a few hundred feet, then halted. All had their rifles or guns in their hands, but not in a hostile way.
They were well aware that the white boys were much better armed than they, and were not in a temper to stand any foolishness.
It seemed as if the Indians had stopped to say good-by before riding away into the mountains.
But when they stopped, Crazy Cow rode out from them a short distance and stopped.
"I am Crazy Cow," he said in a boastful way.
This was in the manner of a personal challenge, as if he had said: "Who the deuce are you? Knock the chip off my shoulder if you dare."
Ted looked at him for a moment, for Crazy Cow was staring at him with an impertinent look in his face.
"I don't care who you are," said Ted, who was disgusted with the fellow's airs. "If you were the chief himself, I would tell you to keep away from my cows and ponies. What is the son of a chief? Nothing!"
The tone in which Ted said this was such that the young Indian flushed a deeper red, and grasped his rifle harder.