"Say, what's the matter with the sun?" he exclaimed.
"Sun spots, I suppose," put in Ralph Stetson jokingly.
"I see what you mean," spoke up the professor; "it has turned quite red, and there seems to be a haze overcasting the sky."
"It's getting oppressive, too," put in Walt Phelps. "What's up, Pete?"
The cow-puncher had, indeed, for some time been noticing the same phenomenon which had just attracted their notice, but he had hesitated to draw their attention to it. Now, however, he spoke, and his voice sounded grave for one of Pete's usually lively temperament.
"It means that ole Mar'm Desert is gettin' inter a tantrum," he grunted, "and that we're in an almighty fix," he added to himself.
"Is it going to rain?" inquired Ralph Stetson, as it grew rapidly darker.
"Rain?" grunted Pete. "Son, it don't rain here enough to cover the back uv a dime, even if you collect all the water that fell in a year. No, siree, what's comin' is a heap worse than rain."
"An electric storm?" queried the professor.
"No, sir—a sand storm," rejoined the cow-puncher bluntly.