"Rain!" ejaculated Jim with superior wisdom, a wisdom that appertains particularly to older brothers, "I guess not. Those are fog clouds. That's a sure sign in this country that it won't rain."
"Well, I'm glad to see them, anyway," said Juarez. "It looks sort of stormy even if it isn't."
It was restful, there was no question about that, the change from the constant glare of a white sun in a blue sky, to the soft damp grayness of the fog. It was already rolling over the level plain towards the mountains and, in a short time, a high fog was spread over the whole sky.
The boys had ridden down the western side of the range for a distance of a half mile, when Jim suddenly waved his hand backward in a sign of caution for the column to halt. He leaned forward, looking intently in a northwesterly direction to a point on the opposite side of the mountain valley. Juarez followed the direction of the leader's look with a keen gaze.
"I was sure that I saw some one slipping through the undergrowth on the opposite side over there," Jim finally said, "but I could not make sure whether it was a man or some sort of animal."
"I noticed the bushes shaking," said Juarez, "but I did not see anything."
"Might have been a brown bear," hazarded Jo.
"They do have them in this range," put in Tom.
"Perhaps it is the bear that we hunted for two days on the other slope," said Juarez, "and he has come to give himself up."
"We had better keep our eyes open," advised Jim, though he did not take the trouble to unsling his rifle. "Jo, you and Tom watch the upper side, Juarez will take care of the trail in front."