"How," he grunted.
"How," answered Tad, saluting bravely, but feeling far from brave at that moment.
A second and younger brave rode up at this point and in very good
English asked the lad who he was.
"I am from the Simms sheep ranch, and I guess I have lost my way. If you can set me straight, I shall be very much obliged."
The younger man consulted with the older one, who had greeted Tad first.
"The chief says we are going that way. If you will come along with us we will leave you within about a mile of the camp."
"Very well," answered the boy, with some reluctance. They seemed friendly enough and, besides, there could be no danger to him in accompanying them.
As they started to move on, Tad clucked to Pink-eye and fell in with the party. He noticed shortly, that the others had ridden up and that he was in reality surrounded by the painted braves. Then he remembered that he had heard of roving bands of Indians in that part of the country—Indians who had been getting off their reservations and indulging in various depredations.
"Are we getting near the place?" asked the lad finally, a growing uneasiness rising within him.
"I'll ask the chief," said the young Indian, who had been riding by Tad's side. "He says it will be two hours yet," was the reply, after a series of grunts and gestures had passed between the men.