But distances in the open air are deceiving, and the boys rode along over the plains for the best part of an hour before they reached a spot where the trail branched in several directions. Here they came to a halt, wondering which way to turn next.
“It’s too bad they don’t put up a few signboards out here,” grumbled Randy. “How is a fellow going to know where he’s heading?”
“I suppose the natives know these trails just like we know the main streets of New York City,” answered Jack. “And that being so, they don’t need any signboards.”
Jack had consulted the rude map given to him by the ranch foreman, but this did not seem to have upon it the forks of the trail.
“I suppose those cowboys would know at once which was the main trail and which were only side trails,” said Gif.
The boys were still uncertain which way to turn when Fred set up a cry of amazement.
“Here comes an auto, boys! What do you know about that?”
“An auto!” several of them repeated. “Where?”
The youngest Rover pointed with his finger, and there, to the astonishment of every one in the party, they beheld a small touring car coming across the plains at a speed of twelve or fifteen miles an hour. It was running in a curiously haphazard fashion.
“What a way to run an automobile!” ejaculated Randy.