Little by little the tale developed. No one man, in the presence of all the others, felt like telling us the whole story. We gathered that they had ridden the canon for several hours, past our first camping grounds, and finally out into the lower ranges. Here they lost the trail left by the Indians when they had first visited our camp; but in casting in circles for it had come on fresher pony tracks. These they had followed persistently for many miles. "_I_ couldn't see the sign of a track for a mile at a time, on that hard ground," interpolated Johnny. At length the tracks had struck into a beaten trail. "And then we knew we were on the way to the rancheree," said Bagsby. The village they found located in a flat by the side of a stream, and they halted to determine just what to do. It was finally decided that while an attack on horseback would undoubtedly strike more instant terror, yet the difficulty of shooting accurately from a gallop would more than offset this effect. Therefore nine of the party crept up afoot, leaving three to lead forward the horses some distance in the rear. "I was one of them," said Johnny. "They evidently have seen me shoot. I seem to be always out of it." The men had wormed their way to within a hundred yards of the flimsy huts, or tepees, when they were discovered by the dogs. The Indians immediately rushed out pell-mell, in a crowd, and were met by a deadly volley from the white men's rifles. Caught absolutely by surprise, they turned and fled. Some few loosed random arrows. Their horses coming up at a run in convoy of the rear guard, each man threw himself into his saddle and started in pursuit, shooting right and left with the Colt's revolvers whenever they caught up with the fugitives. Johnny told admiringly how the backwoodsmen had reloaded their rifles while galloping. "All I could do to shoot mine off, let alone loading!" he confessed. There was no resistance, and little mortality after the first volley. The Indians bolted like rabbits into the brush. The white men then returned leisurely to the village, which they proceeded to burn to the ground. "It made a grand bonfire," interrupted Johnny. "Went up like gunpowder. And the Indians yelled and howled at us from the sidehills all the time." The raiders had fired a few defiant and random shots in the direction of the howling, and then, after collecting the ponies that had not stampeded, rode slowly back the way they had come. "Didn't see anything of our three horses?" I asked. "Nary hoss," said Buck Barry. "I figger they jest nat'rally stampeded off when the row started." "Are you sure those were the same Indians?" I asked. A long silence fell. "Well, what if they wasn't--and that's by no means sure," demanded Buck Barry at last, a little defiantly. "The whole lot is thieves and murderers; and if they'd had a chance at us, you bet they'd have taken it. And we showed the red devils they can't monkey with us!"