No such surprising and sudden attack was ever made. The Indians stood as
if they were carved of wood as the boys rode up to them, staring
open-mouthed.
Only one of them made a break--the young Indian whom Ted had dismounted.
For several moments not a word was said.
Ted saw instantly that the broncho boys had all the best of it, and that
the Indians had been taken completely by surprise, for not one of them
was armed. Their rifles and guns were either still on their saddles, and
the ponies were standing some distance away, or they were stacked beside
a ledge of rock twenty or more feet from the fire, where most of them
were congregated.
The young fellow whom Ted had foiled stared for a moment with a look of
contempt and dislike.
Suddenly he made a rush to where the guns were standing.
"Stop!" Ted's voice rang out sharply. But the youth continued to run.
"Stop, or I'll kill you!" shouted Ted again.
Then an old Indian cried out something, in the tongue of the Blackfeet,
and the young fellow halted suddenly and came walking back with a sickly
look on his face.
The old Indian who had stopped the youth now stepped a little ways
forward, and, holding up his hands in a peace sign, began to talk.
"You are my brothers," he said, "and Flying Sun, the medicine man,
welcomes you to our camp.
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