The boys thanked him heartily for his timely aid, and then, each mounted on a trooper’s horse, they and the escort set off in the direction of the ranch, first shaking hands with Buck, the stage-coach driver.

“You’re plucky lads,” he exclaimed, wringing their hands, “and we all put up the scrap of our lives.  I don’t know about old Sam”—­here a shadow passed over his face—­“but he’s a tough old sinner, an’ I reckon he’ll pull through all right.  I hope I’ll see you lads again some time, I sure do.”

It was with real regret that the friends parted from him, and more than once they turned in their saddles and waved their hats to him, until his sturdy figure was swallowed up in the distance.

Shortly after this they descried an approaching dust-cloud in the distance, and the troopers, thinking it might be a new band of Indians or some of the survivors of the dispersed one, unslung their rifles and made preparations to give them a warm reception.

As the cloud drew nearer, however, figures began to emerge from it, and in a few minutes the boys were able to make out the familiar faces of the ranch cowboys, headed by Mr. Melton.  They were all armed to the teeth, and were spurring their horses along at a gallop.

Soon they were within hailing distance, and as the cowboys recognized the three boys among the troopers they emitted joyful yells, and by way of salute many of them fired their revolvers in the air.  Mr. Melton appeared more overjoyed than anybody else, however, and as the two parties met and drew rein he exclaimed: 

“Thank the Lord you’re safe!  When your horses galloped in late last night without you I feared the worst.  Tell me what has happened.”

The cowboys crowded around, and listened eagerly while Bert gave an account of the attack by the Indians and its result.  When he had finished, but before anybody had time to say anything, the corporal, who commanded the escort, broke in:  “From the way he tells it,” he said, “you might imagine that it had been a good deal less of a fight than it was.  But we counted over twenty dead redskins, besides a lot that were more or less badly wounded.  It must have been some shindy, take it from me.”

“I’m sure proud of you boys,” exclaimed Mr. Melton, with glistening eyes; “but I’m not so much surprised, after all.  I always knew you were grit clear through, anyhow.”

“Oh, there was nothing very wonderful about it,” disclaimed Bert.  “We had to fight, whether we wanted to or not.  It wasn’t a matter of choice.”

“Well, we won’t argue the matter,” smiled Mr. Melton; “what you need now is food and rest and a little nursing.  We’ll ride back home just as soon as we can, where you’ll get plenty of all three.  I guess we won’t need to trouble you any more,” he continued, addressing the corporal commanding the detachment; “there’s enough of us here to hold our own in case of an attack, I think.”