"Who's that coming after us?" asked Ruth, as she turned in her saddle, and indicated an approaching horseman, who was coming on at a gallop. A cloud of dust almost hid him, and it could not be made out who he was.
A little later, as he drew nearer, however, he was seen to be Baldy Johnson. He waved his hat at them, his bald pate shining in the hot sun, and called out:
"Hold on! Where you goin'?"
"Up to the mesa," answered Russ. "The Indians are there, I think, and we want to see them. I want to get some pictures."
The two girls expected Baldy to make an objection, but he merely said:
"Well, I guess it'll be safe enough this time. I'll go along with you. There's only a small party of them up there now."
"Then you know the Indians are there?" asked Alice.
"Yes, we got word at the ranch last night that they were on the way for one of their regular pow-wows. One of the boys was out looking up some stray cattle and he seen 'em headin' for the mesa. But there wasn't many, so I guess it'll be safe. I'll go along," and he glanced significantly at the two big revolvers that hung from either hip.
"But can you spare the time?" asked Alice.
"Oh, yes, Miss. I'd make time, anyhow," and he smiled frankly at her. That was one nice feature of Baldy's admiration. It was so open and ingenuous that no one—not even Ruth—could take offense at it. "I'm on a little round-up of my own, looking for signs of rustlers, and I haven't any special office hours," he finished, laughingly. "So come along. I'll take you by the easiest path."