"Going to take the horses along?"
"Four of 'em. The others are for a man at Chesbrook."
"Then maybe you won't mind if I ride to Hankertown with you," went on Mark, after pausing in thought.
"Oh, are you goin' West?"
"Yes—if I can get there."
"Say, you ain't goin' to try for Californy?" cried the man, with added interest.
"Perhaps—I haven't made up my mind exactly. Maybe I'll get tired of the trip after I've been on the road a while."
"I'd like to take the trip to Californy myself. But I don't know as I can git away. I've been away from hum a good spell already."
It was well on towards midnight when Chesbrook was reached. It was only a small village, with a small square building that went by the name of hotel. Here the man put up for the night, and Mark did the same, the boy paying "four shillings"—fifty cents—for his bed and breakfast in the morning.
By ten o'clock the man with the horses had transacted his business at the village and he and Mark began their journey further westward. It was a clear day and a night's rest had put the boy in fine condition physically, although he was still worried, fearing that his step-father might be on his track.