mystery about his early life, was overjoyed at the prospect of finding some “folks,” and wished very much to meet Mr. Reed. But the latter had neglected to date, or put any heading on his letter. All there was to go by was part of a postmark, which showed it came from Arizona, and Mr. Reed also mentioned Big B ranch.

However, the moving picture boys and the theatrical company started West. On the way the boys had a glimpse of their rivals, also hastening to get the Indian views.

How they got to Flagstaff, made many views there, and then how Joe and Blake started to find the place where the runaway Indians were hidden away, doing their mysterious dances—all this is told in the second volume.

Eventually they reached Big B ranch, only to find that Mr. Reed, like a rolling stone, had gone. However, some of the cowboys remembered him, and had heard him talk of having met a certain Bill Duncan, whose half-brother, Nate, was looking for a lost son. It was supposed that this Nate Duncan was Joe’s father.

As nothing toward finding Mr. Duncan could then be done, Joe and Blake kept on toward the Indian country. A cowboy, Hank Selby, offered to accompany them, and they were glad he did.

They had many adventures before getting on the track of the Indians, and when they found them in a secret valley, and, concealed in a cave, began taking moving pictures, they discovered, as I have said, four white men in danger of torture.

How they rescued them, how the troopers came, and how one turned out to be Bill Duncan, Joe’s half-uncle, I have mentioned in this book as well as in the second volume. And, on their way back to Big B ranch and to Flagstaff, the night attack had taken place.

“How are you making out, Blake?” asked Joe, as he worked at stacking up the boxes and bales into a sort of rude breastwork near the shelter tents.

“All right, Joe,” was the answer. “I hope Hank makes the animals safe.”

“He doesn’t seem to be having much trouble. I can’t see any of the Indians now.”

“No, they’re probably hiding down in the grass, waiting for a chance to make a raid. I wonder how many there are?”

“Quite a bunch, I should say, from the shooting. Here comes Hank now.”

As he spoke, the cowboy appeared, leading by their long tether ropes the riding ponies and the pack animals. The steeds showed signs of their recent excitement. Had it not been for the alarm they gave they might have been stolen without our friends being any the wiser.

“See any of ’em, Hank?” questioned Joe.

“No, but they’re there, all right. Boys, there may be some hot work ahead of us. You want to get ready for it.”

“Do—do you think they’ll shoot?” asked Blake.

“Well, they’ll do their best to get our things away from us,” was the answer. “They’re desperate, I’m afraid.”

Hank busied himself tethering the steeds nearer the temporary camp, while Joe and Blake finished their labors in building a defense against the possible rush of the redmen.

This was hardly finished, and they had scarcely collected a pile of brush to make a bright fire, if necessary, when there arose all around fierce shouts. At the same time there was a fusillade of shots; but, as far as could be seen, all the Indians were firing in the air.

“Look out!” yelled Hank. “They’re going to rush us!”

Before he ceased speaking there was the sound of many feet running forward. The shooting and shouting redoubled in volume, and the restless animals tried to break loose.

“The imps!” cried Hank. “They’re trying to stampede our animals, just as they did the cattle that time. Look out, boys!”

But nothing could be done against such numbers. The camp was overwhelmed in a daring raid, and though the boys and Hank did all they could, firing wildly in the air, they could not stand off the attack. Strangely enough, no effort was made to mistreat the boys or their companion. The Indians simply rushed over them and made for the pile of goods in the rear of the tents. They did not even seem to be after the horses.

“Stop ’em!” cried Blake. “They’ll take all our things!”

“Our cameras!” yelled Joe. “They may break ’em!”

Hank had all he could do to restrain the wild steeds, which sought to break loose.

The rush was over almost as quickly as it had started. Off into the darkness disappeared the Indians, their shooting and yelling growing fainter and fainter.

“I saved the horses!” cried Hank.

“Yes, but they got a lot of our stuff!” exclaimed Blake. “Joe, throw some wood on the fire, so we can see what is missing!”

Blazing up brightly, after Joe had thrown some light sticks on the embers, the fire revealed a much disordered camp. The Indians had rushed over it as a squad of football players might tear through a rival eleven, leaving devastation in their wake. The only consolation was that Hank had managed to prevent the animals from stampeding, and the possession of their ponies, in a country where foot travel is almost out of the question, was a big factor.

“But they got almost everything else,” said Blake, as he looked about the temporary camp.

“They made for the grub, that’s sure,” spoke Joe. “I guess they were hungry.”

“But why they didn’t try harder to make off with the horses is what I can’t understand,” spoke Blake, as he continued to make an examination of the damage done. “I thought that was what they were after.”

“They were,” declared Hank; “but I guess they realized that taking horses is a pretty serious crime out here. They knew that all sorts of efforts would be made to recapture ’em, and by men who would not be as gentle with ’em as Uncle Sam’s soldiers. So I guess they decided to pass up the horses and only take some grub. That isn’t so serious, especially as the poor beggars are probably well-nigh starving, having been away from their regular rations so long. Well, it might be worse, I suppose. They will hardly come back to-night, and I guess we can get a little rest when I picket these animals out again. We got off pretty lucky, I take it, for there was sure a big bunch of them.”

“Lucky?” cried Blake. “I should say not. Look here!” and he pointed to the upset pile of boxes and bales, only a few of which were now left. “We have had the worst kind of bad luck!”

“How’s that?” demanded Joe, hurrying to the side of his chum. The fire was brighter now. “What did they take?”

“Our reels of exposed film, for one thing!” cried Blake.

“What! Not our prize Indian pictures?” gasped Joe.

“That’s what they did, Joe! Every one of those films we worked so hard to get is gone!”

“But what could the Indians want with them?” asked Joe. “They don’t know how to develop ’em, and, even if they did, they would be of no use. They can’t know what they are, but if the least ray of light gets into the boxes it means that the films are ruined!”

“That’s right,” assented Blake, hopelessly. “What can we do?”

“They probably didn’t know they were taking your films, boys,” spoke Hank, who had finished making fast the horses. “They very likely thought the boxes held some new kind of food, and they just grabbed up anything they could get their hands on. I reckon the beggars are nearly starving, and that’s what made ’em so bold. You’ll notice