"You can see the zigzag of it through that plateau," I cried.
"Yes, and way over there in the south is where it plunges into the mountains," said Jim. "Jove! it makes me anxious to reach it. This will be our last picnic till we reach the river, you can count on that."
"Down, boys, quick!" cried Tom. We dropped into some brush—scrub bushes that grew near the edge of the mesa without waiting to question. Tom's eyes were keen and his vision was to be respected.
"What is it, brother?" inquired Jim, in mock anxiety. "What dost thou see?"
"See! there is a party of Indians coming out around that butte over there," pointing to the north. Then we saw them all right. There was a large party, we could tell that. Though the distance was so great that they looked like moving specks.
CHAPTER XIV
A NIGHT ON THE MESA
"Do you suppose they saw us?" I asked.
"Hardly," replied Jim. "It's all we can do to make them out and they are mounted."