A long fringe of willows and sycamores marked the course of a stream not two miles distant.
In the verge of the sycamores smoke arose in twirling columns, evidence of a camp-fire.
Also forms could be seen moving about, and horses were seen to be grazing upon the plain.
“It is a camp,” declared Frank, “but whether friend or foe I know not.”
“Golly!” exclaimed Pomp, “does yo’ s’pose it am dose people cum back agin wid Silver Sam?”
“It is not impossible,” replied Frank, “and yet—look sharp, boys! Does not that look like Bill Guernsey’s stage?”
Barney and Pomp both indulged in sharp cries.
“Dat’s what it am, Marse Frank.”
“Bejabers, that’s so.”
Frank at once sent the Steam Man forward at full speed.