teed, a considerable piece of road had been covered the wrong way,
for the horse had gone back over the line of march. When Sandy was
once more mounted, and had mopped his perspiring forehead, he cast his
eye along the road, and, to his dismay, discovered that the
sheep-tracks had disappeared. What had become of the sheep? How could
they have left the trail without his sooner noticing it? He certainly
had not passed another fork of the road since coming into this at the
fork below.

"This is more of my heedlessness, mother would say," muttered Sandy to
himself. "What a big fool I must have been to miss seeing where the
sheep left the trail! I shall never make a good plainsman if I don't
keep my eye skinned better than this. Jingo! it's getting toward
sundown!" Sure enough, the sun was near the horizon, and Sandy could
see none of the familiar signs of the country round about the Fork.

But he pushed on. It was too late now to return to the fork of the
road and explore the other branch. He was in for it. He remembered,
too, that two of their most distant neighbors, Mr. Fuller and his
wife, lived somewhere back of Battles's place, and it was barely
possible that it was on the creek, whose woody and crooked line he
could now see far to the westward, that their log-cabin was situated.
He had seen Mr. Fuller over at the Fork once or twice, and he
remembered him as a gentle-mannered and kindly man. Surely he must
live on this creek! So he pushed on with new courage, for his heart
had begun to sink when he finally realized that he was far off his
road.

The sun was down when he reached the creek. No sign of human
habitation was in sight. In those days cabins and settlements were
very, very few and far between, and a traveller once off his trail
might push on for hundreds of miles without finding any trace of human
life.

In the gathering dusk the heavy-hearted boy rode along the banks of
the creek, anxiously looking out for some sign of settlers. It was
as lonely and solitary as if no man had ever seen its savageness
before. Now and then a night-bird called from a thicket, as if
asking what interloper came into these solitudes; or a scared
jack-rabbit scampered away from his feeding-ground, as the steps of
the horse tore through the underbrush. Even the old sorrel seemed
to gaze reproachfully at the lad, who had dismounted, and now led
the animal through the wild and tangled undergrowths.

[Illustration: LOST!]

When