The spirited mustang on which Tad Butler was mounted, appearing to understand what was expected of him, swept on with the speed of the wind.  Small branches cut the face of the Pony Rider like knife-blades as he split through a clump of junipers, then tore ahead, fairly sailing over logs, boulders and other obstructions.

The Pony Rider boy uttered a series of earsplitting yells.  His object was to guide Jim Nance, who, he felt sure, would be not far behind him.  The yells brought the guide straight as an arrow.  Tad could plainly hear the foot beats of Buckey as the two riders tore down the Canyon, each at the imminent risk of his life.

“If he has a loaded gun, I’m a goner,” groaned the lad.  “But the ones he stole are empty, thank goodness!  There he goes!”

The Indian had made a turn to the left into a smaller canyon.  By this time the light was getting stronger.  Tad was able to make out his man with more distinctness.  The boy urged his pony forward with short, sharp yelps.  The Indian was doing the same, but Tad was gaining on him every second.  Now the boy uttered a perfect volley of shouts, hoping that Nance would understand when he got to the junction of the smaller canyon, that both pursued and pursuer had gone that way.

Nance not only understood, but he could hear Tad’s yells up the canyon upon arriving at the junction.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” cried the boy.

The Indian turned and looked back.  Then he urged Buckey on faster.  That one act convinced Tad that the redskin had no loaded rifle, else he would have used it at that moment.

With a yell of triumph the boy touched the pony with the rowels of his spurs.  Silver Face shot ahead like a projectile.  He was a tough little pony, and besides, his mettle was up.  Now Tad gained foot by foot.  He was almost up to the Indian, yelling like an Indian himself.

The redskin tried dodging tactics, hoping that Tad would shoot past him.  Tad did nothing of the sort.  The boy was watching his man with keen but glowing eyes.  The call of the wild was strong in Tad Butler at that moment.

Suddenly the boy drew alongside.  Utterly regardless of the danger to himself, he did a most unexpected thing.  Tad threw himself from his own racing pony, landing with crushing force on top of the Indian.

Of course the two men tumbled to the ground like a flash.  Then followed a battle, the most desperate in which Tad ever had been engaged.  The boy howled lustily and fought like a cornered mountain lion.  Of course his strength was as nothing compared with that of the Indian.  All Tad could hope to do would be to keep the Indian engaged until help arrived.

Help did arrive within two minutes; help in the shape of Jim Nance, who, with the thought of his slain hounds rankling in his mind, was little better than a savage for the time being.

“Here!” shouted Tad.  “Take him—–­hustle!”