"Not a bit of it," said Dick. "All of us were to blame, for we all thought it was the right trail. The one question is: where are we, and where is the right trail?"
"And a big question to answer, Dick," came from Sam. "For all we know, we may be miles and miles off the road."
"No use of crying over spilt oil, as the lamp said to the wick," sang out Tom. "I move we go on until we strike a ranch, or plantation, or something."
"That is what we'll have to do, unless we want to go back."
"No going back in this!" shouted several, and then they moved forward as before, but at a slower rate of speed.
It was truly warm work, and it must be confessed that all were more or less worried. In the last town at which they had stopped, they had met a number of undesirable characters, and one man had told Dick that not a few outlaws were roaming around, ready to pick up stray horses, or money, or whatever they could get their hands upon.
They were passing through a bit of sparse timber, when they heard a strange tramping at a distance.
"What do you think that can be?" questioned Fred, coming to a halt, followed by the others
