“Sees something,” said Baroney, in French. In a moment the lieutenant galloped forward to the doctor, who had gone on, and they both looked. But they did not signal, and they did not come back; so what it was that they thought they saw, nobody knew. Stub and Baroney strained their eyes, seeking. Aha! “Smoke sign,” uttered Baroney. “Heap smoke. Big fire. Mebbe cloud,” Stub answered. From the little rise they could just descry, far, far to the northwest, a tiny tip of bluish color, jutting into the horizon there. It did not move, it did not swell nor waver. No smoke, then; cloud――the upper edge of a cloud. The lieutenant and the 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!” “Hurrah!” cheered the doctor. “See them?” Baroney stared. Stub stared. It was the same bluish cloud, only larger and plainer. It jutted sharply――no, it sort of floated, but it did not move. It was fastened to the earth. And north from it there extended a long line of other clouds, lower, as far as one might see; while southward from it were still lower clouds, tapering off. “One big mountain! A giant! Ma foi, how big!” Baroney gasped. “All mountains. The Mexican mountains, on the edge of the United States,” announced the lieutenant. “Take the glass. Look――you and Stub.” Look they did. The spy-glass worked wonders. It brought the clouds much closer, and broke them. They were no longer clouds――they changed to mountains indeed. In the spy-glass they shimmered whitely. That was snow! Or white rocks! They were medicine mountains. And the big mountain, so high, so mysterious, so proud: a chief mountain. “You have been there?” asked the doctor, eagerly, of Stub. “With the Utahs?” “No.” And Stub shook his head. “Not there. No remember.” “Pshaw!” the doctor answered. The column came panting up. The doctor and the lieutenant again waved their hats.