As they rode away to join the herd, which had been moving slowly northward, Hallie and Stella rode together, and Hallie was telling her friend what she felt, and what she thought about her break with Lieutenant Barrows.

"That note was the most impertinent thing I ever read," Hallie was saying.

"What was it all about? Ted did not think it was of much importance," said Stella.

"And yet it was all about him."

"You don't say so. What was it?"

Stella was not very curious about the letter, for she was too free and independent to care what an enemy said of her or her friends. She had that intense loyalty of character that put tried and chosen friends before all the world, and she believed and stuck to her friends through all and above all. But this was a characteristic of all the broncho boys.

She didn't believe that anything any one could write about Ted Strong could hurt him, at least it could not with her.

"It forbade me going with you on this trip, and said some awful things about Mr. Strong," said Hallie.

"Is that all?"

"It said that Ted was a scoundrel, and that he felt it his duty to expose him, and that, moreover, Ted had declared himself his enemy, and he was going to get the bitterest sort of revenge for the insult Ted had offered him. And—and a lot more."

"If he wanted revenge, why didn't he take it while he had the chance? Anyway, Ted doesn't seem to be very much afraid, so I'm not going to worry."

Ted realized that he had made a bitter and dangerous enemy.

Barrows would be dangerous because he would not fight in the open, but would stab him in the back. The way in which he had taken the slap on the face proved that he was an open coward, but secretly was brave enough in his blows. The shot fired by him at the beef issue was proof enough for that.

But Ted, while he determined to keep his eyes open, was not borrowing trouble, and soon put Barrows and his enmity out of his mind.

They caught up with the herd in the middle of the afternoon, and Hallie, who had never seen so many cattle before in her life, was delighted with the experience she was about to undergo.

The weather was splendid, and Stella rode up and down with her along the line, introducing such of the boys as had not met her, and teaching her the points of the cattle business.

Finally, Hallie got hold of Bud, who volunteered to teach her how to shoot and throw a lariat, and she was perfectly happy, and soon forgot the unpleasant occurrences at her home before she left.

Stella was just spoiling for a good, hard gallop, and tried to get Ted to go with her in a race across the prairie, but he politely but firmly declined the honor, on account, as he explained, that he was responsible for the safety of several thousand head of cattle, and as he had been up against one failure with them so far he did not propose to face another because of neglect.

"All right, Smarty," said Stella. "You don't have to go. But you'll be sorry if anything happens to me."

"Stay with the herd, Stella," he said. "What's the use of tearing off alone across the prairie?"

"Not very much, as a matter of fact, but if you'd been shut up in a poky old hotel for a couple of weeks, and only going out with your aunt to shop around in stuffy dry-goods stores, you'd like to get out for a breezer yourself," she said.

"I reckon I would, but don't go far, and get back before dark."

She waved her hand to him gayly, gave Magpie a flick with her whip, and went flying across the country.

"Hi, Stella!" shouted Kit. "Where you goin'?"

But she was already out of hearing.

"Let her go," said Ted. "She's got one of her crazy riding spells on, and she'll just have to ride it out of her."

In a few minutes she was a speck on the horizon.

"That girl can ride some," said Kit, looking regretfully after her. Kit could "ride some" himself, and this afternoon he just felt like a good breeze across the turf, and no one suited him for a riding companion like Stella, for she was so fearless and bold, and never balked at a chance.

But Stella was gone, and the drive settled down to a steady thing.

We will leave the herd for the present to follow the fortunes of Stella, whose ride that afternoon had so much to do with fashioning the immediate fortunes of Ted Strong and the broncho boys.

As Stella was borne exultingly along through the clear, sharp air of the Montana uplands, she was singing in a high, sweet voice the cowboy song, "The Wolf Hunt."

As she paused at the end of the first verse she thought she heard an echo of it. It seemed that off to the north somewhere she had heard an eerie "Ai-i-e!" But she listened attentively, bringing Magpie to a stop, and hearing it no more, concluded that she had been mistaken.

Then she galloped on, still singing at the top of her voice from sheer happiness and good spirits, the other verses of the wolf song, and, although she paused frequently for the repetition of the cry, she did not hear it until she had sung the refrain for the last time:

As she stopped and looked around her at the brown, rocky hills, once more she heard that shrill and heart-searching wail.

"What can it be?" muttered Stella, reining in her horse. "Is it a woman, or is it a beast trying to lure me on? It sounds like a woman in distress, and yet cougars can cry like that, also."

She meditated a moment, and then decided to take a chance.

She would search out the creature that had sent forth that desolate cry.

"Ai-i-e!" cried Stella, imitating the other.

"Ai-i-e!" came the reply.

It came from the north, and seemed only a short distance away.

Slowly Stella crept forward up the rocky hillside, pausing now and then to listen.

Once more she heard the wail. This time it seemed to be under her very feet, and, guarding against treachery, she drew her revolver, and walked softly on.

Suddenly she stopped in amazement. At her feet lay a young Indian girl.

She was lying on a blanket, and the yellow front of her deerskin tunic was stained with blood.

Without an instant's hesitation Stella was on her knees beside the girl, working with swift and gentle fingers to unfasten the tunic.

As she did so the girl opened her eyes, and, seeing Stella, smiled.

Then her Indian stoicism failed her, and she uttered a groan and fainted.

"Poor thing," muttered Stella. "Poor, wounded, wild thing. Here lies the wild wolf 'dying in the sun,' as the song says. I wonder if she knew the song."

But by this time she had opened the tunic and saw a bullet wound on the brown skin, through which the blood was oozing steadily.

She stood up and looked around for a water sign, and not far away discovered a little clump of willows, which advertised a spring.

She hurried to it and filled her hat to the brim with the cool fluid and rushed back to the wounded Indian girl, who had not yet recovered from her fainting fit.

Stella bathed her head, washed her wound, and then poured some of the water between her lips.

At that the girl opened her eyes, and, with another smile, opened her lips as if to speak.

"Rest now, dear," said Stella, with so much pity and love in her voice that the girl could only smile once more, and gratefully close her eyes.

It did not take Stella long to improvise bandages from some of her own garments, which she tore into strips, and bound up the wound so that it stopped bleeding at last.

Another drink of water so refreshed the Indian girl that she tried to rise, but Stella gently forced her back, and told her to rest.

Stella never rode away from camp without taking food in a small bag, which was attached to the cantle of her saddle.

She now bethought herself of it, and hurried away for it.

The Indian girl was ravenously hungry, and her faintness was as much due to her abstinence from food as from the loss of blood.

But when she had eaten she appeared much stronger.

"What is your name?" asked Stella.

The girl looked up at her and smiled.

"I am Singing Bird, daughter of Cloud Chief," she answered.

"You can speak English well," said Stella, at which the girl looked pleased.

"Yes, I went to the Indian school, and learned to speak and to sing hymns."

"How do you come to be here?"

"My man shot me."

"What?" cried Stella, in a horrified tone. "Your man shot you? What do you mean by that?"

"I am Running Bear's squaw."

"You are married to Running Bear?"

The girl nodded her head.

"And did Running Bear shoot you?"

"Yes. He shot me and left me to die."

"The horrible brute. What did he shoot you for?"

"He said he had too many squaws, and wanted a white squaw."

"Couldn't he have sent you away without trying to kill you?"

"I wouldn't tell him something."

"Oh, that was the reason, eh?"

"Yes, he married me at the school for my secret, and when I wouldn't tell him he began to hate me."

"Tell me about it. How long have you been married to him?"

"Five months."

"I thought you were rather young to be a wife. How old are you?"

"I am seventeen."

"Where is your home; where does your father live?"

"My father is in the Far North. I cannot go to him any more now. My man has turned me out and tried to kill me, but yet I live. But there is nothing for me now but to die."

"Indeed, you are not going to die. You are going to live with me until you are well, then you can say what you are going to do."

"The white lady is too good to an Indian girl."

"No, that is only right. How do you feel now? Do you think you could travel if I was to help you into my saddle?"

"I will do what my sister wishes," said the Indian girl simply, trying to rise. But the effort was too much for her, and she sank back, the blood spurting freshly from the wound.

"That won't do," said Stella, easing the girl back, and rolling up her jacket and placing it under her head. "You are not able to leave here yet. At least, you cannot ride."

The Indian girl was perfectly passive under Stella's guidance, and did not think of having a will of her own.

"I wish one of the boys had come with me," Stella said to herself. "Something always happens when I go away alone. I must get word to them somehow."

"I am going to fire my revolver to bring help," said she to Singing Bird. "You will not be frightened."

The other girl shook her head.

Stella fired her revolver three times, and waited for an answer, but none came.

After waiting a while longer, she fired three more shots.

"No shoot again. Need bullets for wolves. Come around soon," said Singing Bird.

The day was going fast, and soon it would be dark. She could not leave the girl to go for help, for with the dark the wolves would come.

Singing Bird had fallen into a feverish doze, and Stella arose and gathered up some dry wood from about the spring, and carried it to where the girl was lying.

Stella had some matches in her outfit, and when it got dark she intended lighting the fire, hoping that the boys would see it when they came to look for her when she did not return at dark.

Again she brought water from the spring, and sat down beside her new-found friend to bathe her head and reduce her fever.

As darkness fell she heard vague rustlings in the tall grass, and looked carefully about. In the dim light she saw pale-green lights moving about, and knew that the wolves had smelled blood, and were gathering. But she was not afraid. She knew that she could keep them away with the fire and her revolver.

One of the wolves came quite close to the little camp and set up a howl, and the Indian girl awoke.

"White girl go to her friends," she said to Stella. "Leave Singing Bird to die as the Great Manitou intended."

"Indeed, I will not. I will stay with you until my friends come to me, and then we will take you with us and nurse you."

Stella thought it was time to light the fire, and as its flames leaped high, she felt more at ease.

When the wolves came close to the camp she fired her revolver at them, and drove them away.

The hours passed silently, Stella rising occasionally to replenish the fire and look at Singing Bird, who seemed to be sleeping. As a matter of fact, the young Indian, who had been reared out-of-doors, and was perfectly healthy, was recovering rapidly from her wound, although had it not been for Stella she would probably not have survived the night, for what the chill night air would not have done the wolves would have finished.

It was long past midnight when out of the west rose a clear, welcome shout that sounded as the sweetest music to her ear, the Moon Valley yell, and she answered it, while the Indian girl sat up and smiled at her.

They had been found at last.