Tom French shifted the reins. "Sharpsville. And where in—thunder—is it?"
His brother stuck his head out through the opening in the canvas. "Yes; where?"
"You see, we are lost," explained the woman, glancing from Bill to Jimmy, whose spectacular sliding stop was purely for her benefit, though she knew it not. "We left Logan four days ago and have been wandering about ever since."
"Well, you ain't a-goin' to wander no more, ma'am," smiled Bill. "We 're goin' to Logan an' we 'll take you as far as th' Logan-Sharpsville trail," he said, wondering where it was. "You must 'a' crossed it without knowin' it."
"Then, thank goodness, everything is all right. We are very fortunate in having met you gentlemen and we will be very grateful to you," she smiled.
"You bet!" exclaimed Tom. "But where is Sharpsville?" he persisted.
"Sixty miles north," replied Jimmy, making a great effort to stop with the reins what he was causing with his shielded spur. His horse could
