"What's the matter?" asked the candidate.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Grayson," replied the driver, in an apologetic tone. "I've gone wrong somehow or other, and I don't know just where we're at."
"Lost?" said Harley.
"If you wish to put it that way, I reckon you're right," said the driver, with a touch of offence.
"What has become of the other carriages?" asked Harley, looking back for them.
"I reckon they didn't see us when we turned out, and they kept on along the road."
There was no doubt about the plight into which they had got themselves. The plain seemed no less lonely than it was before the white man came.
"What's that line of trees across yonder?" asked the candidate.
"I guess it marks where the Platte runs," replied the driver.
"Then drive to it; if we follow the trees we must reach the bridge, and then things will be simple."