t get your pony. There's lots of 'em
hanging about the edge of the Reserve, because it's a good place
for 'em to hide."

"Must make a very pleasant little walk down to the
post-office when you want to mail a letter," said Jack, after we
got back to the wagon--"eighty-five miles. And think of getting
there, and finding that you had left the letter on the hall
table, and having to go back!"

We were off again the next morning, as usual. At noon we
stopped at Mitchell Creek, where we found another family,
including a little girl five or six years old, who carried her
doll in a shawl on her back, as she had seen the Indian women
carry their babies. We had intended to reach Plum Creek for the
night, but got on slower than we expected, owing partly to a
strong head-wind, so darkness overtook us at Frozen Man's Creek.

"Not a very promising name for a November camping-place,"
said Jack, "but I guess we'll have to stop. I don't believe it's
cold enough to freeze anybody to-night."

There was no house here, but there was water, and plenty of
tall, dry grass, so it made a good place for us to stop. Frozen
Man's Creek, as well as all the others, was a branch of the Bad
River, which flowed parallel with the trail to the Missouri. We
camped just east of the creek. The grass was so high that we
feared to build a camp-fire, and cooked supper in the wagon.

"I'm glad we've got out of the burned region," said Jack.
"It's dismal, and I like to hear the wind cutting through the dry
grass with its sharp swish."

There was a heavy wind blowing from the southeast, but we
turned the rear of the wagon in that direction, saw that the
brake was firmly on, and went to bed feeling that we should not
blow away.

"I wonder who the poor man was that was frozen here?" was the
last thing Jack said before he went to sleep. "Book agent going
out to Shaw's, perhaps, to sell him a copy of 'Every Man his Own
Barber; or, How to Cut your Own Hair with a Lawn-Mower.'"

We were doomed to one more violent awakening in the old
Rattletrap. At two o'clock in the morning I was roused up by the
loud neighing of the horses. Old Blacky's hoarse voice was
especially strong. As I opened my eyes there was a reddish glare
coming through the white cover. "Prairie fire!" flashed into my
mind instantly, and I gave Jack a shake and got out of the front
of the wagon as quickly as I could. I had guessed aright; the
flames were sweeping up the shallow