“It’s a pony,” gasped the Pony Rider boy.

Kris Kringle was off his own mount instantly, and bidding Ned hold the animal, he made a brief examination of the fallen horse, after which he darted here and there, unheeding the fact that the still burning grass was blistering his feet through the heavy soles of his boots.

For several rods Kringle ran along the faint trail that Tad and Stacy had left, or rather, that the fire had left after passing over it.

“They beat their way out here.  We may find them later.  Come on!”

Again Ned and the guide dashed away, both keeping their gaze on the smoking prairie about them.  The smoke now was almost more than they could bear.

“Do—­ do you think they are alive?” asked Ned unsteadily.

“So far.  If they are not, it’s not their fault.  The Professor is right.  Those boys have pluck enough to pull them through, but sometimes pluck alone will not do it.  A prairie fire is no respecter of pluck.”

They burst out into an open space.  There were no signs of either of the missing boys.

“Something has happened to them.  We must have missed them,” announced the guide.

CHAPTER XIV

 Against big Odds

“What is it, Chunky?”

“There!”

Tad jerked his companion flat on the ground, flattening himself beside Stacy at the same instant.

What had caused their sudden alarm was the sight of two Indians, sitting on their ponies without saddles, some distance out on the open plain.  The redskins were wrapped in their brightly colored blankets, which enveloped them from head to knees.  Even the hands were invisible beneath the folds of the blankets.

“D-d-do you think they saw us, Tad?”

“I don’t know.  It’s safe to say they did.  Indian eyes don’t miss very much.  You ought to know that, by this time.  I wish we could make that pony lie down.”

“Why don’t you?”

“He’s too afraid of the ground—­ thinks it’s still hot, and I don’t blame him.  The fire has singed him pretty well as it is.

The Indians sat their mounts as motionless as statues, the ponies headed directly toward where the two lads were lying.

“I’ll bet they’re got guns under those blankets,” decided Tad.  “You can’t trust an Indian even while you are looking at him.”

“Anybody’d think you’d been hunting Indians all your life,” growled Stacy.

“They’ve been hunting me mostly,” grinned Tad.

“And usually caught you,” added Chunky.

“I don’t like this lying here as if we were scared of them.”

“But, what else can we do, Tad?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. Wish I had a shirt.  I’ll spoil my complexion clear down to my waist.  Resides, I’m not fit to be seen.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” growled Tad.  “I’m going to get out of this.”