anch I packed my
Winchester repeater inside my blankets. I wasn't even thinking of the
Indians then, but I thought we might have a chance at a little game, and
it would be just as well to pack it along. There's not a chance in a
thousand that we'll need it, but you can't always tell."

"It's lucky you did," said Dick; "have you got plenty of ammunition for
it?"

"None too much," replied Bert. "I think while we're here I'll buy a few
boxes of cartridges."

Acting upon this thought, they bought the ammunition, together with some
extra cartridges for their revolvers. This done they made the purchases
for Mr. Melton that he had requested of them, and after a satisfying meal
at the best hotel set out on their return journey.

It was about two o'clock as they jogged out of town, and as they knew
they had ample time in which to reach the ranch before dark they let the
horses set their own pace. They had many things to talk about, although
the heat of the sultry afternoon made even conversation a task. But
nothing could subdue their spirits, and with never a care in the world
they rode gaily on.

"It's quite near stage time," Bert remarked suddenly, "we're pretty near
the trail, and if we meet it we can get the latest developments of the
reservation situation from Buck, the driver. He always has a supply of
the latest news. He knows more than the local newspapers of what's going
on, I believe."

"I'll bet that's the coach now," exclaimed Dick, pointing to a cloud of
dust in the distance.

"Yes, I guess it is," returned Bert, gazing intently at the distant
smirch against the clear blue background of sky; "come along, fellows.
Ride hard and we'll reach the trail before the coach comes along."

Accordingly they set spurs to their horses and galloped rapidly over the
sunburned prairie. In a short time they reached the travel-hardened
trail, beating the coach by a good half mile. Then they drew rein, and
waited impatiently for the lumbering vehicle to reach them.

With rattle of harness and creak of complaining axle-tree the coach
toiled over the endless trail, drawn by four raw-boned mules. As it drew
near, the boys waved their sombreros to the driver, who returned the
salute with a flourish of his long snakeskin whip.

At last it reached them and the driver rumbled a hoarse greeting. "How
goes it, pards," he said, "an' what's the good word?"

"That's just what we were going to ask you," said Bert with a friendly
smil