on
the plain, and here found a stream of water.

"Not a ranch or a plantation of any kind in sight," announced Fred
as he gazed around while some of the steeds obtained a drink. "What
a wilderness certain portions of our country are!"

"Plenty of chances for emigrants," returned Songbird. "We are a long
way from being filled up."

"The trouble is, so I have heard father say, so many of the emigrants
stay in the big cities, rather than come out to the country," put in Sam.

Having rested for a spell at the brook, they proceeded on their way
once more. The air was growing warmer and, as the sun mounted higher
in the sky, they wished they were in the shadow of a forest once more.

"What a journey it must be to cover some of the immense Western plains
on horseback," remarked Songbird. "To ride for miles and miles--maybe
all day--without seeing a cabin or a human being."

"We know something of that," answered Dick. "We liked our trip out
West, though," he added.

Toward the middle of the afternoon they reached the first stunted
growth of timber growing at the base of the hills toward which they
had been journeying. At noon, as it was so hot, they had not stopped
for lunch, and now they proceeded to make themselves comfortable on
a patch of thick grass. Even Wags was willing to lie down and stretch
out. The dog acted as if he had been a member of the party since
starting from home.

"Are you going to blame me for going wrong?" demanded the poetic youth.

"I wonder if he would be any good after game?" said Sam as he looked
at Wags.

"I doubt it," said Tom. "An educated dog--that is, a trick dog--rarely
knows anything else. But, nevertheless, I think Wags remarkably bright."

It was not until four o'clock that they went on once more. According
to what they had been told, they ought now to be coming in sight of
a cattle ranch kept by some old cattle men, but nothing like a ranch
appeared.

"This is queer, to say the least," remarked Tom as they came to a
halt in a small clearing. "What do you make of it, Dick?"

"I shouldn't like to say, just yet."

"Do you think we are on the wrong trail?" queried Fred quickly.

"We may be."

"Of dot is so, den, py Jiminatics, ve vos lost!" ejaculated Hans.
"Now, vosn't dot lofly alretty?"

"Lost?" cried Fred.

"That's the size of it," cried Songbird. "We must have taken to the
wrong trail after our little race."

"You found the trail for us," remarked Tom dryly.

"N