s side.

"What's that down by the corral?" whispered Clay.

Ted looked sharply.

"It's the Indians," said Ted. "They're trying to steal our horses.
Sultan knows what he's about. Come on, we'll have to rush them."

Ted heard a rustling noise behind him and turned.

It was Stella, fully dressed, and with her rifle resting in the hollow
of her arm.

"I heard Sultan, too," she said. "We'll have to hurry if we're going to
save the horses."

"You go back to bed," said Ted. "Yi-yi-yipee!"

His voice rang out in the old Moon Valley yell.

It was like a fire bell to a fireman, and brought the boys out of their
beds like a shot, and they scrambled into their clothes and were in the
living room with their arms in a jiffy.

In the corral a great commotion was taking place, to judge from the
noise that came to them.

At the word of command they rushed through the door, and raced for the
corral, turning loose the long yell.

They heard guttural shouts in the distance, and a band of ponies came
through the gateway of the corral, scattering over the prairie.

Behind them rushed a band of Indians, who, seeing that there was no
further occasion for silence, gave forth whoops of defiance.

Then Ted saw Sultan gallop out, and on his back was an Indian.

This was more than Ted could stand, and his rifle flew to his shoulder.
There was a flash and a crash, and the Indian fell to the ground, over
which he writhed in agony.

Ted whistled, and Sultan trotted to his side.

The ponies had scattered, and the corral was empty.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE WAR PARTY.

The Indians had fled in every direction.

They had been foiled in their purpose of running the ponies off in a
band, as they had intended, by Ted's fortunate discovery of the raid.

How to gather the ponies together again was the question that puzzled
Ted, for the broncho boys had no mounts with which to pursue the
would-be thieves.

It was not long before the light appeared in the east, and by that time
Ted had ridden to Bud's sign camp, and thence to camp No. 2, and had
four more horsemen to assist him in the pony round-up.

These worked unceasingly, riding the snowy prairie, picking up the
ponies which the Indians had not been able to round into a bunch to
drive to their rendezvous in the mountains.

The attack upon them had been so sudden that they had taken no heed of
where they were going. It was every man for himself, with the broncho
boys' bullet