"Guess the Indians are not going to bother us," said Walter, riding up to Tad just before daylight.
"Probably not. They will be in too much trouble with the Government, after last night's performances, to give much thought to chasing us. And besides, I don't see why they should wish to do so. Had they been very anxious to be revenged on us, most likely they would not have allowed us to get away as they did."
"Was it very terrible, Tad?" asked Walter Perkins.
"What, the dance, or what happened afterwards?" laughed the lad.
"Both?"
"Well, I'm free to confess that neither was exactly pleasant. When they caught Chunky I thought it was all up with us. Hello. There's Mr. Daylight."
Glancing to the left the boys saw the sky turning to gray. A buzzard screamed overhead, laying its course for the mountains where it was journeying in search of food.
"What's that?" demanded Stacy, awakening from a doze in his saddle.
"Friend of yours with an appetite," grinned Ned.
"I thought it sounded like breakfast call," muttered Stacy, relapsing into sleep again, his head drooping forward until, a few minutes later, he was lying over the saddle pommel with arms thrown loosely about the pony's neck.