Dig had brought his gun, and when he heard the “E-i! e-i! e-i!” of the Indian yell he was a little scared. “What kind of a game is this?” he wanted to know of Chet. “By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland! those yelling galoots look as though they meant business.” “Shucks, boy!” said Chet, “you know there are no more wild Indians.” “Huh! if those fellows are not wild, what are they? And whew! how they can ride!” “That’s John Peep in the lead,” Chet said. “Though what he’s doing away over here I can’t imagine.” “Huh! I’ll get even some way!” threatened Digby. “Scaring a fellow out of half a year’s growth!” The cavalcade came back, the sweat-streaked faces of the riders grinning. Dig said to his chum: “A great mess of ‘dog soldiers.’ Whew! you can’t cure an Indian of his old tricks. I bet right now they’d like to scalp us.” “Don’t see how they’d ever perform the operation on you,” laughed Chet, “with that prizefighter’s cut you have.” Chet noticed that all of the young fellows that Dig called “dog soldiers” were fine looking boys. In the old days the young braves that could not be controlled by the chiefs, but who desired to go to war and make names for themselves, were called “dog soldiers.” “Hello, John!” shouted Chet. “What are you doing over here? Last time we saw you, you were playing baseball. You must have hustled some to catch us.” The Cheyenne dropped off his pony’s back and the animal went to cropping the grass at once, and hungrily. Chet decided that the party had been travelling for some hours and that the ponies had had no chance for grazing, but had been watered when the band crossed the river. John glanced at Chet in rather an odd manner; but true to his national trait he did not answer the question directly. “We go on hunt,” John Peep said. “Mebbe stay week; mebbe longer. These boys all my friends,” and he waved his hand at the young riders who waited to be asked to dismount. “Not all Cheyenne. Sioux—Pawnee—Ogallala. All go to Government school at Benway. Vacation now, like us. We make breakfast with you.” The customs of the trail must prevail. The white boys had finished their meal, but nobody ever denied the hospitable rite on the plains. The first party at a camping place was bound to ask the new-comers to join them. But here were ten or twelve hearty appetites suddenly to be appeased. “All right,” grunted Dig. “I could do something to another breakfast. We only had an apology for one, as I told you, Chet.” Chet sighed; but he felt, too, that John Peep had not come down this trail without cause. He wondered if, perhaps, the young Indians had heard of the buffaloes and were on their way to hunt for them. “Don’t say anything about the big buffalo, Dig,” he whispered to his chum, as they hurried back through the grove. “I hope they don’t know anything about it. And what they don’t know won’t hurt them.” “All right, boy! I won’t tell them any fairy tales,” said Dig.