“And danger there is, chief,” returns the other. “Look yonder!” He points to the level line between earth and sky, in the direction towards which they are travelling. “Do you not see something?”
“No, nothing.”
“Not that brown-coloured stripe just showing along the sky’s edge, low, as if it rested on the ground?”
“Ah, yes; I see that. Only a little mist over the river, I should say.”
“Not that, chief. It’s a cloud, and one of a sort to be dreaded. See! it’s rising higher, and, it I’m not mistaken, will ere long cover the whole sky.”
“But what do you make of it? To me it looks like smoke.”
“No; it isn’t that either. There’s nothing out that way to make fire—neither grass nor trees; therefore, it can’t be smoke.”
“What, then? You appear to know!”
“I do. ’Tis dust.”
“Dust! A drove of wild horses? Or may they be mounted? Ah! you think it’s a party of Guaycurus?”