, "hanging on by her
toe-nails," as Ollie said. When she was almost to the top she
stepped on a loose stone, lost her footing, went over, and rolled
away into the darkness and underbrush. Jack stumbled over a
little of the hay which had come off in the path, hastily rolled
up a torch, and lit it with a match. By this light we found the
pony on her back, like a tumble-bug, with her load for a cushion
and her feet in the air, and kicking wildly in every direction.
While Ollie held the torch, Jack and I went to her rescue, and,
after a vast deal of pulling and lifting, got her to her feet
just as the hay torch died out. Again she scrambled up the bank,
and this time with success. We went on, found the other horses,
and were soon at the wagon. We voted the pony all the hay she
wanted, and went to bed tired.

The next day, the ninth out from Yankton, though it was a
long run, brought us to Valentine, the first town on the railroad
which we had seen since leaving the former place. Before we
reached it we went several miles along the upper ends of the
canyons, down a long hill so steep that we had to chain both hind
wheels, forded the Niobrara twice, followed the river several
miles, went out across the military reservation, which was like a
desert, saw six or eight hundred negro soldiers at Fort Niobrara,
and finally drove through Valentine, and went into camp a mile
west of town. On the way we saw thousands of the biggest and
reddest tumbleweeds, and two or three new sorts of cactus. The
colored troops surprised Ollie, as he had never seen any before.

"It's the western winds and the hot sun that's tanned those
soldiers," said Jack. "We'll look just that way, too, before we
get back."

Ollie was half inclined to believe this astonishing statement
at first, but concluded that his uncle was joking.

[Illustration: Sad Result of Dishonesty]

We went into camp on the banks of the Minichaduza River, a
little brook which flows into the Niobrara from the northwest.
All night it gurgled and bubbled almost under our wheels. A man
stopped to chat with us as we sat around our camp-fire after
supper. We told him of our experience in getting the hay the
night before. He laughed and said: "Ever steal any of your horse
feed?"

"We haven't yet," answered Jack. "We try to be reasonably
honest."

"Some don't, though," replied the man. "Most of 'em that are
going West in a covered wagon seem to think corn in the fiel