"Well, that's a pretty good showing for a country where the rainfall isn't more than four inches a year," commented Coyote Pete.
"Not that, sometimes," put in Jim Hicks, "and, by the same token, if this wasn't summer I should say we were in for some rain now."
He looked overhead, and Jack noticed that the sky, which had been cloudless not very long before, was now black and overcast. A heavy element was in the air, too—an oppressive sort of feeling.
"Come on, let's be getting down the slope," said Coyote Pete suddenly, and once more they moved onward. As they threaded their way down the narrow trail, Jack's mind reverted to the destroyed bridge.
"How far should you imagine that bridge was below here?" he asked.
"You mean where the bridge was, I reckon," grinned Jim Hicks, who had heard the story of the Mexican's trick, from Jack and his companion. "Well, I should judge about five miles from here."
"Then we are on the Mexican side of the canal cañon?"
"Yep; but we'll soon be on American soil, sonny, don't forget that."
"Not likely to," rejoined Jack fervently.