alibre repeating rifle, and I a light
forty-four-calibre repeating rifle, and a big revolver of the
same calibre (though using a slightly shorter cartridge), with a
belt and holster. This revolver we stored in the tool-box,
chiefly for use in case we were boarded by pirates, while the
guns we hung in leather loops in the top of the cover. In the
tool-box we put a good supply of ammunition and plenty of
matches. We also each carried a match-box, a pocket compass, and
a stout jack-knife.

"Now, how's your life-boat?" asked Jack.

I led her out. She was a medium-sized brown Colorado pony,
well decorated with brands, and with a white face and two white
feet. She wore a big Mexican saddle and a horse-hair bridle with
a silver bit.

"She'll do," said Jack. "In case of wreck, we'll escape on
her, if possible. She'll also be very handy in making landings
where the harbor is poor, and in exploring unknown coasts."

[Illustration: Grandpa Oldberry Presages Disaster]

All of this work took several days, but when it was done the
Rattletrap was ready for the voyage, and we decided to start the
next morning.

"She's as prairie-worthy a craft as ever scoured the plain,"
was Jack's opinion; "and if we can keep the four wheels from
starting in opposite directions we'll be all right."

But where was Ollie all this while? And who was Ollie,
anyhow? Ollie was Jack's little nephew, and he lived back East
somewhere--I don't remember where. The nearer we got ready to
start, the more firmly Jack became convinced that Ollie would
like to go along, so at last he sent for him to come, and he
arrived the night before our start. Ollie liked the idea of the
trip so much that he simply stood and looked at the wagon, the
guns, the pony, and the horses, and was speechless. At last he
managed to say:

"Uncle Jack, it'll be just like a picnic, won't it?"

The next morning we started as early as we could. But it was
not before people were up.

"Where be they going?" asked Grandpa Oldberry.

"Oh, Nebraska, and Wyoming, and the Black Hills, and any
crazy place they hear of," answered Squire Poinsett.

"They'll all be scalped by Injuns," said Grandpa Oldberry.
"Ain't the Injuns bad this fall?"

"So I was a-reading," returned the Squire. "And in the hills
I should be afeared of b'ar."

"Right," assented Grandpa. "B'ar and sim'lar varmints. And
more 'specially hossthieves and sich-like cutthroats. I
disremember seeing t