"Oh, do you know him?" asked Ted in surprise.

"Oh, yes. Running Horse often comes to the ranch when he's hungry.
There's a reservation of the Indians not far from our place. They
won't hurt you, Jan; don't be afraid," said Uncle Frank, as he saw
that the little girl kept close to Teddy.

"Was he wild once?" she asked timidly.

"Why, yes; I guess you might have called him a wild Indian once,"
her uncle admitted. "He's pretty old and I shouldn't wonder but what
he had been on the warpath against the white settlers."

"Oh!" exclaimed Janet. "Maybe he'll get wild again!"

"Oh, no he won't!" laughed Uncle Frank. "He's only too glad now to
live on the reservation and sell the baskets the squaws make. The
Indian men don't like to work."

Running Horse, which was the queer name the Indian had chosen for
himself, or which had been given him, walked along, wrapped in his
blanket, though the day was a warm one. Perhaps he thought the
blanket kept the heat out in summer and the cold in winter.

"Get along now, ponies!" cried Uncle Frank, and the little horses
began to trot along the road that wound over the prairies like a
dusty ribbon amid the green grass.

On the way to Ring Rosy Ranch Uncle Frank had many questions to ask,