Dwellings were few and far between. Sixteen miles due south of Frischette’s, they arrived at Meade’s Ferry, where there was a road-house and small trading-post, conducted by Hampton Meade, a kindly veteran of the North. Here Fortune befriended them. They learned that their assumption had been correct. Creel had spent the night there.
“And he left early this morning,” Meade’s son, a handsome young man of about Dick’s own age, informed them. “Queer old beggar, isn’t he?”
Dick nodded.
“Did he leave here on foot?”
“Yes.”
Dick considered for a moment thoughtfully.
“Would it be possible to obtain a horse or two? Are there any here? We had our own ponies when we arrived at Frischette’s stopping-place. We turned them out to graze and they have disappeared. If you have any, I will pay you handsomely.”
“There are two ponies,” answered the young man,“—one of them mine, the other, father’s. You may have the use of them.”
The boys were overjoyed at this unexpected stroke of luck. It would be necessary, of course, for one of them to remain at Meade’s, while the other two went on after Creel. They drew straws. It fell to Sandy’s lot to wait at the road-house until his two chums returned.
“I don’t expect we’ll be away very long,” declared Dick a short time later, as he and Toma mounted the two borrowed steeds. “We ought to be back before night.”