Towards the middle of the afternoon Mark and Jed Dickson—such was the man's name—came to a fork in the road.
"Which is the right road?" questioned the boy, as he drew rein.
"I allow as how the road to the right is right," answered Jed Dickson.
They turned in that direction, but scarcely had they covered half a mile when they saw that the road was very poor and that there had been no traveling upon it for several days.
"This looks like a side road to me," observed Mark.
"Reckon you're correct," answered the man. He scratched his head. "Ain't nothin' to do but to go back."
"Wait, I hear talking!" went on Mark. "Somebody must be coming. Perhaps we can find out which way to go."
They waited and heard two persons coming along, each on horseback. One was a burly fellow of fifty, with a heavy beard, and the other a youth of Mark's age, dressed in a sailor suit.
"Say, messmate, it looks to me like we were on the wrong tack," came from the sailor boy, as he drew rein just around a bend from where Mark and Jed Dickson were waiting.
"Oh, we're all right," came from the burly man. "By the way, how much money did you say you had with you?" he continued.