“And you don’t see any smoke up yonder around the top of our old friend, Thunder Mountain, eh?” asked Frank.
“If there was any, it’s cleared away,” the other continued, “which I take it would be queer; because once they start to pour out ashes, lava and fire, these volcanoes keep it up for days and weeks.”
“And seems to me the cap still fits snug up there, Bob; it doesn’t look like anything had happened to blow it into a thousand pieces, as far as I can see.”
“Yes, that’s what sets me to wondering, Frank. But you don’t act as if you took any stock in the idea?”
“Well, to tell the honest truth, Bob, I don’t!” declared Frank.
“But it couldn’t have been that geyser in the mountain, could it?” Bob went on.
“I should say not. No geyser in the world, or a dozen of the biggest together, could have made all that fierce row, and shaken the earth as we felt it tremble. But Bob, though I didn’t happen to see smoke, for I was tumbled down just as you were, I have smelled it since!”
“You have?” burst out the Kentucky lad, eagerly. “Then that proves my idea, doesn’t it, Frank?”
“Hardly,” returned the other, dryly. “In the first place, notice that the wind doesn’t happen to be coming from the direction of Thunder Mountain at all, and smoke couldn’t reach us from there. It’s straight ahead, in the direction of the little gap, or pass, we took to get into this valley, and through which all cattle have to be driven, to enter or leave!”
“Oh!” burst from Bob’s lips, as he seemed to grasp something of what his chum was hinting.