the lad by his arm.

"Lemme go! I didn't hurt him!" screamed Pumpkin. "He went that way--like
the wind--on a bay horse which was running away. Oh, he's killed, I know
he is!"

"You are sure of this?"

"Hope to die if it ain't so. Poor Dick! He'll be pitched off and smashed
up like his father was smashed up. Hurry, and maybe you can catch him."

"I believe the dunce speaks the truth," broke in Jack Rasco.

"How long ago was this?"

"Not more'n an hour. Hurry up if you want to save him," and with a yell
such as he had uttered before, Pumpkin disappeared.

Pawnee Brown and Rasco wasted no more time. Whipping up their steeds,
they set off on a rapid gallop in the direction the runaway horse had
pursued.

CHAPTER V.

THE CAVALRYMEN.

Let us rejoin Dick Arbuckle at the time that the incensed cavalryman,
Tucker, was about to attack the hapless lad with his heavy Sabra.

Had the cruel blow fallen as intended it is beyond dispute that Dick
would have been severely injured.

"Don't!" cried the boy, and then closed his eyes at the terrible thought
of such dire punishment so close at hand.

But just at that instant an interruption came from out of the darkness
of the brush.

"Hello, there! What are you up to?"

Tucker started, and the Sabra was turned aside to bury itself in the
exposed roots of a tree.

"If it ain't Pawnee Brown!" muttered another cavalryman, Ross by name.

"Pawnee Brown!" burst from Dick's lips, joyfully, and, rising, he
attempted to rush toward his friend.

"Not so fast, boy!" howled Tucker, and caught the youth by the collar.

"What's the meaning of this? What are you doing to that boy?" asked
Pawnee Brown as he rode closer, with Rasco beside him.

"He's a horse thief, and we are going to take him to our camp," answered
Tucker, somewhat uneasily, for he had seen Pawnee Brown before and knew
he had a man of strong character with whom to deal.

"A horse thief!" ejaculated Jack Rasco. "Say, sod'ger, yer crazy! Thet
boy a thief! Wall, by gum!"

"That boy is no thief," put in Pawnee Brown. "He belongs to our camp,
and is as square as they make them--I'll vouch for it."

"I ain't taking the word of any boomer," muttered Tucker sourly. "That
kid--hold on! Don't shoot!"

And he dropped back in terror, for the great scout had drawn his pistol
like a flash.

"You'll take my word or take something else," came the stiff response.
"Be quick, now, and say which you choose."

"I did