"Well, Mayberry," burst out Mr. Harkness, "I told you so. I hate to say it, but I told you so. If it hadn't been for the Boy Scouts here, we'd never have saved you." "No, I guess not, Harkness," breathed the agent, "and this is not the place to tell you all how I feel. But, but----" His voice faltered as he gazed at Ranger, who still lay on the ground. Blinky and some of the cow-punchers had been examining his injuries. "Is Ranger seriously hurt?" The agent's throat sounded dry. He could hardly bring himself to ask the question. "No, he'll be around in a while," announced Blinky; "only a tendon on the off front leg is sprained. He'll carry a few scars, though." And so it proved, for, though Ranger was soon as well as ever, he carried with him to his last days the marks of that night. But his owner, as you may imagine, treasured every one of them, for each blemish spoke to him of his horse's affection and nobility. "Hullo, here come the soldiers!" exclaimed Tubby suddenly, with that fleshy youth's usual indifferent manner. A bugle call and a loud cheer announced the news at the same moment. "So they are!" exclaimed Mr. Mayberry, who by this time was standing upright, although he still had to lean weakly on the shoulder of Mr. Harkness. "A good thing you didn't wait for them," remarked Blinky; "they'd have come too late." "That was not their fault," put in Mr. Harkness. "The messenger I sent to Sentinel Peak could not have reached there more than an hour or two ago. They must have ridden like the wind." Indeed, as the bronzed troopers clattered, cheering, into the rocky basin, their steaming, dripping horses bore ample testimony to the pace they had kept up. "Confounded luck, arriving just too late for the music!" exclaimed the young officer at their head, after first greetings had been exchanged. "I see, though, that you have handled the situation well." "Yes, thanks to the Boy Scouts," said Mr. Harkness. "Ah, that is an organization of which I have often heard," observed the soldier. "They are destined to do great work for our country in the future." "We hope so," said Rob simply. * * * * * Little more is left to be told of the Boy Scouts' adventures on the range. The rebellious Moquis, thoroughly cowed by their lesson, went peaceably back to the reservation, and accepted Black Cloud once more as their chief. Their break from the place set aside for them, though, was paid for by the stoppage of more than one privilege. In course of time Mr. Mayberry recovered some of his faith in the Indian character, but even he admits that his optimism has been severely shaken.