What you want to do is go back--but you won't get the chance.

Heads, we take the right hand trail.

I like it better, anyway--it angles more to the north." Heads it was, and Bud leaned from the saddle and recovered the coin, Smoky turning his head to regard his rider tolerantly.

"Right hand goes--and we camp at the first good water and grass.

I can grain the three of you once more before we hit a town, and that goes for me, too.
G'wan, Smoke, and don't act so mournful." Smoky went on, following the trail that wound in and out around the butte, hugging close its sheer sides to avoid a fifty-foot drop into the creek below.