One day Bolo climbed a tall tree that stood alone on a hill. He hoped he might be able to find some trace of those he sought. He looked slowly about in every direction. On one side the hills lay like great, rounded billows, many of them covered with trees. On the other side wound the river, in some places between sloping shores, in others between steep banks. Off toward the north it disappeared behind a jutting cliff. It was a long way from Bolo’s tree, but he thought he could see something moving along the river bank. He looked again eagerly. Perhaps that might be his mother and little Antelope.