“Or the Ozarks.”

“I hope we don’t have as much trouble here as we did in that range.  Our guide is not much better than the Shawnee we had for a time on that trip.  I can’t see the foothills, but the plain on beyond is pretty clear.”

“Hope we don’t have to chase all over the desert for water.  I—­”

Tad grasped his companion by the sleeve and jerked him violently to the rock.

“What’s up?  What’s the matter with you?” protested Stacy.

“Keep still, some one’s coming.”

The lad’s keen ears had caught a sound which Stacy had entirely failed to hear.  It was the sound of horses making their way through the bushes.  There were several in the party, Tad could tell by the sounds, and having in mind the man Lasar, he thought he might perhaps learn something of advantage by remaining quietly on the top of the rock.

All this he explained in a few brief words to his companion.  Then both boys crouched low, peering over the cliff, having first removed their sombreros.

What they saw, a few moments later, surprised them very much indeed.

The horsemen in single file suddenly appeared out of a draw to the east and headed for the rock where the lads were in hiding.

“Look!  Look!” exclaimed Tad in a low, suppressed voice.

“I-n-d-i-a-n-s!” breathed Chunky.

They seemed to rise right up out of the ground, as one by one they emerged from the draw to the more level rocks that lay about the hiding place of the Pony Rider Boys.

“I wonder who they are?” questioned Tad.

“They look savage.  I wonder if they’d hurt us, Tad?”

“I don’t know.  I do know, though, that I wouldn’t trust those ugly faces one second.  I thought the Blackfeet were savage, but they’re not to be compared with these redskins.”

A full dozen of them had, by this time, come into view.  They sat huddled on their ponies, their painted faces just appearing above the gayly colored blankets in which they were enveloped.

“They must be cold,” muttered Chunky.  “Shouldn’t think they’d need bed clothes around them this time of the year.”

“Not so loud, Chunky,” warned Tad.

“Know what they are, Tad?”

“I wouldn’t say positively, but somehow they look to me like Apaches.”

Tad’s surmise was correct.  The twelve warriors were members of the savage band that had in past years caused the Government so much trouble and bloodshed.

“They’re off their reservation, if they are Apaches,” whispered the lad.

“What does that indicate, Tad?”

“I don’t know.  They may be on the warpath; then, again, they may be down here after game.  I’m not sure even, if there is any game here.  We’ll lie still until they get by us.  That’s the best plan; don’t you think so?”

“Yes.”

“Lie perfectly still, Chunky.  The little bushes in front of us will screen us, providing we don’t move about.  Indians have quick eyes, though they do look as if they were half asleep.”