Dale engaged one of the Mexicans in conversation, and passed something to him, then pointed northward and down along the trail.

The Mexican grinned from ear to ear, and Helen caught the quick "SI, SENOR! GRACIAS, SENOR!" It was a pretty sight, that flock of sheep, as it rolled along like a rounded woolly stream of grays and browns and here and there a black.

They were keeping to a trail over the flats.

Dale headed into this trail and, if anything, trotted a little faster.
Presently the clouds lifted and broke, showing blue sky and one streak of sunshine.

But the augury was without warrant.