“Guess the Indians are not going to bother us,” said Walter, riding up to Tad just before daylight.

“Probably not.  They will be in too much trouble with the Government, after last night’s performances, to give much thought to chasing us.  And besides, I don’t see why they should wish to do so.  Had they been very anxious to be revenged on us, most likely they would not have allowed us to get away as they did.”

“Was it very terrible, Tad?” asked Walter Perkins.

“What, the dance, or what happened afterwards?” laughed the lad.

“Both?”

“Well, I’m free to confess that neither was exactly pleasant.  When they caught Chunky I thought it was all up with us.  Hello.  There’s Mr. Daylight.”

Glancing to the left the boys saw the sky turning to gray.  A buzzard screamed overhead, laying its course for the mountains where it was journeying in search of food.

“What’s that?” demanded Stacy, awakening from a doze in his saddle.

“Friend of yours with an appetite,” grinned Ned.

“I thought it sounded like breakfast call,” muttered Stacy, relapsing into sleep again, his head drooping forward until, a few minutes later, he was lying over the saddle pommel with arms thrown loosely about the pony’s neck

Ned, observing the lad’s position, suddenly conceived a mischievous plan.  Unnoticed by the others, he permitted his own pony to fall back until he was a short distance behind Stacy.  The others were a little way ahead.

Ned rode slowly alongside his companion, as he passed, bringing the rowel of his spur sharply against the withers of Chunky’s mount.

The effect was instantaneous.

The fat boy’s mount, itself half asleep, suddenly humped its back, and with bunching feet leaped clear of the ground.

“Hello, what’s the matter back there?” called Ned, who by this time was a full rod in advance of his companion.

Stacy did not answer.  He was at that moment turning an undignified somersault in the air, his pony standing meekly, awaiting the next act in the little drama.

The fat boy landed on the plain in a heap.

“Are you hurt, Chunky?” cried Tad anxiously, slipping from his saddle and running to his companion.

“I—­ I dunno, I—­ I fell off, didn’t I?”

“You’re off, at least,” grinned Ned.  “What was the matter?”

“I—­ I dunno; do you?”

“How should I know?  If you will go to sleep an a bucking broncho, you must expect things to happen.”

Stacy, by this time, had scrambled to his feet; after which, he began a careful inventory of himself to make sure that he was all there.  He grinned sheepishly.

Satisfying himself on this point, Stacy shrugged his shoulders and walked over to his pony with a suggestion of a limp.

“Now that we have halted we might as well make camp for a few hours, get breakfast and take a nap,” suggested the Professor.