fter a while we came to a gravelly place which was a
ford, and crossed the stream, stopping to let the horses drink.
The water was only a foot deep. As we came up on the higher
ground beyond the river we met the south wind squarely, and it
came in at the front of the cover with a rush. We heard a sharp
flutter behind, and then the wagon gave a shiver and a lurch, and
the horses stopped; then there was another shock and lurch, and
it rolled back a few inches.

"There," exclaimed Jack, "some of those wheels have begun to
turn backward! I told you!"

I looked back. Our puckering-string had given way, and the
rear of the cover had blown out loosely. This had been more than
the pony could stand, and she had broken her rope and run back a
dozen rods, where she stood snorting and looking at the wagon.

"First accident!" I cried. "She'll run home, and we'll have
to go back after her."

"Perhaps we can get around her," said Jack. "We'll try."

We left Ollie to hold the horses, and I went out around among
the sunflowers, while Jack stood behind the wagon with his hat
half full of oats. I got beyond her at last, and drove her slowly
toward the wagon. She snorted and stamped the ground angrily with
her forward feet; but at last she ventured to taste of the oats,
and finding more in the feed-box on the rear of the wagon, she
began eating them and forgot her fright.

"I guess we'd better not tie her, but let her follow," said
Jack. "As soon as we have gone a little ways she'll come to think
the wagon is home, and stick to it."

"Yes," I said. "I think she is really as great a tramp as
Snoozer, and just the pony for us." "Are we all tramps?" asked
Ollie.

"Well," said Jack, "I'm afraid Grandpa Oldberry thinks we
don't lack much of it. He says varmints will catch us."

"Do you think they will?" went on Ollie, just a little bit
anxiously.

"Oh, I guess not," said Jack. "You see, we've got four guns.
Then there's Snoozer."

"But will they try to catch us?"

"Well, I don't know. Grandpa Oldberry says the varmints are
awfully thick this fall."

"But what are varmints?"

"Oh, wolves, and b'ars, and painters, and--"

"What are painters?"

"Grandpa means panthers, I guess. Then there's Injuns, and
hoss-thieves, and--"

"There's a prairie-chicken!" I cried, as one rose up out of
the long grass.

"Perhaps we can get one for dinner," said Jack.

[Illustration: Mutiny of the Pony]

He took his gu