“Well, what we want is water,” I said, “and here’s the well.”

We let down the bucket and brought up two quarts of mud.

“The man was right,” said Ollie.  “This is worse than the Sarah Desert.”

“Fountains squirt and bands play ‘The Old Oaken Bucket’ in the Sarah Desert ‘longside o’ this,” I answered.

It was eleven o’clock before we found the wagon.  We could hear Jack snoring inside, and were surprised to find Snoozer on guard outside, wide awake.  He seemed to feel his responsibility, and at first was not inclined to let us approach.

We unharnessed the horses, and Ollie crawled under the fence around one of the stacks of hay and pulled out a big armful for them.

“The poor things shall have all the hay they want, anyhow,” he said.

“I’m afraid they’ll think it’s pretty dry,” I returned, “but I don’t see what we can do.”

Then I called to Jack, and said:  “Come, get up and get us some supper!”

After a good deal of growling he called back:  “I’m not hungry.”

“But we are, and you’re well enough to make some cakes.”

“Won’t do it,” answered Jack.  “You folks can make ’em as well as I can.”

“I can’t.  Can you?” I said to Ollie.  He shook his head.

“You’re not very sick or you wouldn’t be so cross,” I called to Jack:  “Roll out and get supper, or I’ll pull you out!”

“First follow comes in this wagon gets the head knocked off ’m!” cried Jack.  “Besides, there’s no milk!  No eggs!  No nothing!  Go ’way!  I’m sick!  That’s all there is,” and something which looked like a cannon-ball shot out of the front end of the wagon, followed by a paper bag which might have been the wadding used in the Cannon.  “That’s all!  Lemme ’lone!” And we heard Jack tie down the front of the cover and roll over on the bed again.

“See what it is,” I said to Ollie.

He took the lantern and started.  “Guess it’s a can of Boston baked beans,” he said.  “Oh, then we’re all right,” I replied.

He picked it up and studied it carefully by the light of the lantern.

“No,” he said, slowly, “it isn’t that.  G—­g, double o—­gooseberries—­that’s what it is—­a can of gooseberries we got at Valentine.”

“And this is a paper bag of sugar,” I said, picking it up.  “No gout to-night!”

I cut open the can and poured in the sugar.  We stirred it up with a stick, and Ollie drank a third of it and I the rest.  Then we crawled under the wagon, covered ourselves with the pony’s saddle-blanket, and went to sleep.  But before we did so I said: 

“Ollie, at the next town I am going to get you a cook-book, and we’ll be independent of that wretch in the wagon.”

“All right,” answered Ollie.

VIII:  ON THE ANTELOPE FLATS

The next morning the condition of the tempers of the crew of the Rattletrap was reversed.  Jack was feeling better and was quite amiable, and inclined to regret his bloodthirsty language of the night before.  But Ollie and I, on our diet of gooseberries, had not prospered, and woke up as cross as Old Blacky.  The first thing I did was to seize the empty gooseberry can and hit the side of the wagon a half-dozen resounding blows.