Now Frank Williams was a kind-hearted young fellow, and during the fortnight that he and Harry had been thrown together a mutual affection had grown between them; but Frank was brimming over with mischief, and he conceived a plan for having a laugh at his "tenderfoot relation," as Harry was called by the cowboys.
The few Indians who appeared in the vicinity of the ranch belonged to a peaceable tribe of Cheyennes, but when the opportunity came Frank intended for the time being to mentally transform these demoralized and decidedly lazy individuals into the most frenzied and blood-thirsty creatures that his imagination was equal to. The cowboys were taken into the secret, and a mysterious visit was made by one of them to the Indian camp, where the chief, who delighted in the high-sounding title of "Dog-with-two-tails," was pleased to dispose of several feathered head-dresses and a quantity of colored pigments for a suspicious-looking black bottle, which the noble savage patted affectionately and stowed away inside his dirty shirt.
Several days after this Frank asked his cousin to take a canter with him to a somewhat remote point of the range where the men were branding the young cattle. As they rode across the undulating prairie, sweet and fresh in the early summer sunshine, Frank explained to his cousin that the Indian outbreaks were always timed to take place when the winter was over. Then he went on to state, with a shade of worry on his face, that although there had been no trouble for some time, it was well to be on guard constantly, for the uprisings generally took place when they were least expected. He kept on in this strain until the branding-place was reached; then Harry became so interested in the round up and sorting of the cattle that he failed to notice several of the cowboys disappearing into the small woods close at hand.
After a time the boys started on their ten-mile ride for home, allowing their horses to jog along easily, while Frank profited by the occasion to further dilate concerning the uncertainty of their savage neighbors, and the recklessness of even riding over the range unless prepared for emergencies.
They had ridden about two miles, when their ears were suddenly saluted with the most infernal series of yells that ever disgraced the human throat. Looking back in the direction of the sound, the boys saw, not more than a quarter of a mile away, coming down on them at top speed, five savages in full war paint and feathers, brandishing their rifles, while they continued to utter such unearthly screams and howls that Harry afterward admitted that his hair developed a tendency to lift his cap clear of his head.
"They've broken out!" yelled Frank. "Spur for home or they'll have our scalps!"
The next instant the two boys were frantically driving their heels into the sides of the speeding horses, while behind them the Indians redoubled their yells and swept furiously along in pursuit.
All of a sudden Harry saw Frank's horse, which was a little in advance, step in a hole, pitch on his knees, and send its rider flying out of the saddle. Harry reined up by the side of his cousin, but Frank never moved or responded to the excited appeal for him to jump up and get on behind.
What was to be done? Back there, only an eighth of a mile away, the redskins were tearing along on their trail, and here, helpless and unconscious, lay his companion.
"I'll never leave him for those fiends to butcher," muttered Harry, pale with fear, but with his teeth set hard and a look of determination on his youthful face. Then he unslung his gun, dismounted from his horse, brought the piece to his shoulder, ran his eye along the barrel until the head of one of the Indians was in line, and pulled the trigger.