s a tomb.

"I see something of a clearing ahead," announced Sam presently.

"And a trail!" cried Fred. "Thank fortune for that!"

The clearing reached, they found a well-defined trail running to the
southwestward.

"That must run to Caville," announced Dick. "See, there is a regular
wagon track."

"I hope it is the right road," returned Fred.

They were soon out on the plains again, and then into another patch
of timber. They had to ford a small stream, and on the other side
came to a fork in the trail.

"Which way now?" questioned Sam, as all came to a halt in perplexity.

"This seems to be the main road, although it is hard to tell one from
the other," said Dick after an examination.

The others agreed with the eldest Rover, and once more they went
forward. But, in less than a mile, they saw that the road was not in
as good a condition as that left behind.

"This looks as if we had made a mistake," observed Fred. "Oh, what
luck we are having!"

"I'd like to know--" began Tom, when he stopped abruptly, for out of
the brushwood an old man had stepped, gun in hand.

"You-uns, hold on!" cried the old man.

"Hullo, what do you want?" asked Dick.

"I want for you-uns to turn around an' go tudder way."

"Isn't this the trail to Caville?"

"No, it ain't, an' you-uns can't come this way, nohow."

"Is it a private road?"

"Yes."

"Where does it lead to?"

"That ain't none o' you-uns' business," said the old man curtly.
"You-uns is on the wrong road, an' have got to turn back."

"Supposing we don't turn back?" questioned Tom, who did not fancy
the style in which they were being addressed.

At this, the old man tapped his gun.

"Orders is to turn 'em back, or shoot," he answered simply. "This
are a private road. Don't ye see the wire fence?"

They looked into the brushwood and saw a single strand of wire
stretched from tree to tree on each side of the trail.

"Not much of a fence," was Songbird's comment.

"It's enough, an' you-uns can't come no further."

"Maybe you live beyond," said Sam curiously.

"Maybe I do, an' maybe I don't. It ain't none of you-uns' business."

"You are very civil, I must say."

"Don't you git fly, boy, or this ole gun o' mine might go off. This
ain't no trail fer you-uns, an' you-uns have got to turn back."

"Will you tell us if that other trail runs to Caville?" asked Dick.

"It don't run nowheres." The old man grinned for a moment. "It stays
where it are. But