around over the wide
meadow with its growth of luxuriant grass, this after the hard day's
pull. The boys had built a roaring fire of logs fed by long pine
cones, for the nights were cold at that altitude.

"This would make a pretty fair sort of a fort," said Juarez, "if we
had to defend it."

"Not as good as the one Jim and I had when the Apaches attacked us in
New Mexico, when we were separated from Tom and the Captain," remarked
Jo wisely.

"That was a natural fort," put in Jim, "but as Juarez says, we could
stand off a crowd here, if we had a chance to fix it up a bit."

"It's lucky that it stands clear of the mountain on this side, so that
an enemy could not attack us from shelter," remarked Juarez. "It must
be nearly three-quarters of a mile to the foot of the mountain on this
side of the valley; perhaps further."

"This hill must be all of one hundred and fifty feet high," said Tom.
"I should like to see a crowd of Indians charge it."

"You wouldn't," put in Juarez. "They never do a trick like that, but
would hang around until we were starved out."

"I tell you, lads, it won't be the Indians who will give us trouble,"
remarked Jeems Howell, "but a gang of renegade white men and
half-breeds. That's the crowd that will be on our trail."

"I have a sort of feeling that there is a lion in our path," quoth
James. "We will never get in the vicinity of the 'Lost Mine' without
a fight. You mark my words. The sooner it comes the better."

"I guess we had better get the horses corraled, hadn't we, Skipper?"
inquired Juarez. "It's beginning to get dark."

"Right you are," agreed Jim. "They have had a two-hour graze. We will
take them down to water and then bring them into camp. Jo, you stay
here and guard the goods."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Jo.

It was already growing dusk when the boys started across the level
meadow to get the animals. They had no difficulty in picking up the
trailing lariats. Only the mules acted rather queer. Their long ears
were pitched forward and they were gazing fixedly in the direction
of the mountain back of the camp. Then Missouri, the leader, a big
buckskin with a brown stripe down his back, suddenly put his ears
back and began to squeal loud and viciously.

"What's the matter with old Missouri?" inquired Jeems anxiously. "You
don't suppose that the grass has given him a pain in his tummy?"

"No," said Jim, "the old chap scents trouble of some kind."

"Maybe it's a mountain lion