The road we were following was gradually drawing closer to the Niobrara, and we began to see scattering pine-trees, stunted and broken, along the heads of the canyons or ravines leading down to the river.  There was less sand, and we made better progress.  The country was but little settled, and game was more plentiful.  We got two or three grouse.  We went into camp at night by the head of what appeared to be a large canyon, under a tempest-tossed old pine-tree, through which the wind constantly sighed.  There was no water, but we counted on getting it down the canyon.  A man went by on horseback, driving some cattle, who told us that we could find a spring down about half a mile.

“Can we get any hay down there?” I asked him.  “We’re out of feed for the horses, and the grass seems pretty poor here.”

“Down a mile beyond the spring I have a dozen stacks,” answered the man, “and you’re welcome to all you can bring up on your pony.  Just go down and help yourselves.”

We thanked him and he went on.  As soon as we could we started down.  It was beginning to get dark, and grew darker rapidly as we went down the ravine, as its sides were high and the trees soon became numerous.  There was no road, nothing but a mere cattle-path, steep and stony in many places.  We found the spring and watered all the horses, left Blacky and Browny, and went on after the hay with the pony, Jack leading her, and Ollie and I walking ahead with the lantern.  It seemed a long way as we stumbled along in the darkness, all the time downhill.  “I guess that man wasn’t so liberal as he seemed,” said Jack.  “The pony will be able to carry just about enough hay up here to make Snoozer a bed.”

We plunged on, till at last the path became a little nearer level.  It crossed a small open tract and then wound among bushes and low trees.  Suddenly we saw something gleam in the light of the lantern, and stopped right on the river’s bank.  The water looked deep and dark, though not very wide.  The current was swift and eddying.

“We’ve passed the hay,” I said.  “Ir must be on that open flat we crossed.”

We went back, and, turning to the right, soon found it.  I set the lantern down and began to pull hay from one of the stacks, when the pony made a sudden movement, struck the lantern with her foot, and smashed the globe to bits.

“There,” exclaimed Jack, “we’ll have a fine time going up that badger-hole of a canyon in the dark!”

But there was nothing else to do, and we made up two big bundles of hay and tied them to the pony’s back.

“She’ll think it’s tumbleweeds,” said Ollie.

“If she’s headed in the right direction I hope she will,” answered Jack.