doctor had read it, and were riding on. In another minute it had sunk, swallowed by the land before.
"N' importe (does not matter)," murmured Baroney. "Perhaps more snow, my gracious! But who cares?"
In about two miles more, the lieutenant and the doctor halted again, on the top of a low hill that cut the way. They gazed, through the spy-glass, examining ahead. They did not leave the hill. They stayed—and the lieutenant waved his hat. He had seen something, for sure. Baroney and Stub were a quarter of a mile from him. The soldiers were a quarter of a mile farther.
"Come! He signals," rapped Baroney. Now he and Stub galloped, to find out. Behind, the soldiers' column quickened pace, for the orders of Sergeant Meek might be heard, as he shouted them.
The lieutenant and the doctor were gazing once more, with eyes and spy-glass both.
"What is it? The savages?" cried Baroney, as he and Stub raced in, up to the top of the flat hill.
Or the Spanish? The Spanish trail had been lost, for the past day or two. Maybe the Spanish were encamped, and waiting. The lieutenant answered.
"No. The mountains, my man! The mountains, at last!"
