It was a trying situation for a boy.  Tad Butler felt the thrill of the moment, but he was unafraid.  It is doubtful if Tad ever had realized a sense of fear, though he was far from being foolhardy, nor was there the faintest trace of bravado about him.  He was simply a steady nerved, brave lad who would do his duty as he saw it no matter how great the obstacles or how imminent the peril.

The boy had gone forward for some thirty minutes when all at once his quick ears caught a peculiar, low whistle some distance ahead.  Tad with ready resourcefulness answered the whistle, imitating it as nearly as possible.  But he made a mistake.  That whistle was not the right whistle.

Bang!

A flash of flame leaped toward him and he heard the “wo-o-o-o” of a bullet over his head.  The boy was off his pony.  Then Tad tried the tactics of an Indian.  Quickly and silently tethering his pony, he fired a shot high enough so that he did not think it likely to hit any one.  Skulking a few paces farther on, he fired again.  Several shots were in this manner fired, and in quick succession, giving the impression that there were several men shooting.

Half a dozen answering shots were fired at him, then the lad caught the sound of hoofbeats.  He knew the other man was riding away.  Tad gave the hoot of an owl as best he could.  Rather to his surprise the signal was answered off to the left.  Tad repeated it and received the same answer.  He rode forward, on the trail of the fleeing man.  In a few minutes he was joined by Captain McKay and Stacy, both riding hard.

“Did you draw them out?” demanded the captain sharply, but without a trace of excitement in his tone.

“Yes.”  Tad explained what had occurred.

“That was one of the outposts.  The others will begin to stir soon.  We are too early.  All the ruffians are not in yet.  Well, it’s too late now.  The alarm has been given.  There they go!”

A succession of shots followed from distant points, widely separated.  McKay listened.

“Our men are shooting.  It’s time to close in.  Stick behind me.  Don’t try to ride off to one side.  Keep your eyes and ears open.”

The ponies leaped forward.  The man and the two boys were riding a dangerous pace considering the roughness of the trail, but none gave a thought to the danger.  The captain’s voice was raised in a long-drawn hoot, which was answered by another from some distance away.  Then the firing broke out afresh.  It seemed as if no one could escape that fusillade of bullets.  Tad could hear the bullets screaming overhead.  He sat his pony, his eyes glowing, firing rapidly into the air.  Stacy Brown also sat his own pony, but he couldn’t have moved a muscle to save him.  The fat boy was literally “scared stiff.”  Stacy really was suffering, but no one, unless he had observed his eyes, would have thought him afraid.

“Close in, boys.  Ride and shout!” commanded the captain.