"Not much smoke," mused Bud. "They're using very dry wood—regular Indian trick. I wonder——"
A moment later he heard Yellin' Kid shout, and it was such a cry as indicated pain. Yet Bud had heard no shot.
"I wonder if they knifed him?" was the thought that flashed into Bud's brain. He cast caution to the winds and galloped forward, making a great racket, and casting loose the reins of the Kid's steed.
The sight that met Bud's eyes was enough to startle him, though it was not what he expected to see.
For he beheld Yellin' Kid standing in front of a pillar of white vapor, or, rather, the cowboy was dancing about, holding one hand in the other, and using excited slang at a rate that soon would exhaust his vocabulary, Bud thought.
But, more strange than anything else, was the fact that there was no sign of a fire, to cause the white vapor, nor was there any indication that anyone besides Yellin' Kid and Bud were in the immediate neighborhood. No rustlers had started the blaze which caused the white clouds to drift upward.
"What's the matter, Kid?" asked Bud, as he saw that something had happened. "Where's the fire?"
"Under there!" and the cowboy pointed to the ground. "Keep away from it. Don't go near that spring, an' whatever you do, don't put your hand in. I did, an' I'm sorry for it!"
"Spring! Fire! What is it, anyhow!" asked Bud, as he slid from the saddle and ran forward.
"It's a boilin' spring, that's what it is!" declared Yellin' Kid.
"Boilin' hot an' it near took th' skin from my hand! What you see
is steam—not smoke! Horned toads and hoop-skirts! It's as hot as
Buck Tooth's tea kettle! Look out for the boilin' spring!"