Behind them a yellow-brown cloud drifted sullenly with the wind.

Now and then a black flake settled past them to the ground.

A peculiar, tangy smell was in the air--the smell of burning grass.
H.J.Owens related a long, full-detailed account of how he had been down in the hills along the river, and had seen the old mother bear digging ants out of a sand-hill for her cubs.
"I know--that's jes' 'zactly the way they do!" the Kid interrupted excitedly.

"Daddy Chip seen one doing it on the Musselshell one time.

He told me 'bout it." H.J.Owens glanced sidelong at the Kid's flushed face, smiled his twisted smile and went on with his story.