"I think I smell a storm coming—sometime," sniffed Mr. Tim, his face to the wind.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to have it come while we were out here," gurgled Tilly.
"Hardly!" rejoined Mr. Tim with emphasis. "I reckon you needn't worry about that storm for some hours yet. I'll have you all safely corralled long before it breaks—never fear."
"I wasn't fearing. I was hoping," retorted Tilly in a voice that brought a chuckle to the man's lips.
A moment later Mr. Tim stopped his horse and pointed to the right.
"Do you see that black shadow over there?" he asked Bertha Brown, who was nearest him.
"Yes. From a cloud, isn't it?" Bertha, too, stopped to look.
"I think not. It's a bunch of cattle, I reckon. I think I make out the guards riding round them."
"What is it, Mr. Tim?" Genevieve and the other girls had caught up with them now.
"Cattle—over there. See?" explained Mr. Tim, briefly.