Emerging from a patch of woods, the road forked sharply and as the prospector had said nothing about this, Mr. Campbell stopped, uncertain which turning to take.
“Well, boys, what is it, left or right?” he asked. There was no sign-post or other travelers’ signal to guide them.
Neither Rick nor Chot could tell as they had never been here before, nor had their companion. It was getting late in the afternoon, and Mr. Campbell was anxious to drive the boys to Uncle Tod’s camp by night, for he was in somewhat of a hurry to get back on his own trail, that would lead him to San Francisco.
“I think that prospector was crazy, if you ask me,” remarked Chot, as they looked undecidedly at the forking road. “Why didn’t he tell us which trail to take?”
“He might have, and not strained his intellect,” chuckled Mr. Campbell.
“Say!” suddenly cried Rick, “isn’t that a flag up there?”
He pointed off toward the hilly side of the valley at the left.
The others strained their eyes and Chot made out something fluttering through the leafy branches of trees.
“It does look like a flag,” he said.
Mr. Campbell had field glasses in the car and, taking an observation through them, he was able to declare: