“We’ll go till we find a decent place to camp, and then stop for the night,” said Jack.  We finally came to a little level bench covered with giant pines, and we could hear water beyond.  I went on with the lantern, and found a small stream leaping down a gulch.

“This is the place to stop,” I said, and we soon had our camp established, and a good fire roaring up into the tree-tops.  Ollie found plenty of dry pine wood, and we blanketed the horses and stood them under a protecting ledge.  It was cold, and the wind roared down the gulch and moaned in the pines, but we scarcely felt it below.  We finished drying our bedding and had a good supper.  Jack got out his banjo and tried to compete with the brook and the pines.  We went to bed feeling that we were glad we had missed the road, since it had brought so delightful a camping-place.

Ollie was the first to wake in the morning.  It was quite light.

“What makes the cover sag down so?” he asked.  Jack opened his eyes, reached up with the whipstock and raised it.  Something slid off the outside with a rush.

“Open the front and you’ll see,” answered Jack.

Ollie did so, and we all looked out.  The ground was deep with snow, and it was still falling in great feathery flakes.  Old Blacky was loose, and looked in at us with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

XI:  DEADWOOD

“You’re a miserable, sneaking, treacherous old equine scoundrel!” cried Jack, shaking his fist violently at Old Blacky.  “You knew you were making us come the wrong road.”

Old Blacky answered never a word, but turned, hit the wagon-tongue a kick, and joined the other horses.

“Well, close down the front and let’s talk this thing over,” said Jack.  “In the first place, we are snowed in.”

“In the second place,” said I, “we may stay snowed in a week.”

“I don’t think we’re prepared for that,” said Ollie, very solemnly.

“Let’s see,” went on Jack.  “There are two sacks of ground feed under Ollie’s bed.  By putting the horses on rather short rations that ought to last pretty nearly or quite a week.  But for hay we’re not so well provided.  There’s one big bundle under the wagon, if Blacky hasn’t eaten it up.  The pony won’t need any, because she knows how to paw down to the dry grass.  The others don’t know how to do this, and the hay will last them, after a fashion, for about three days.”

“Perhaps by that time the pony will have taught them how to paw,” I said.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” returned Jack.  “Perhaps by that time we’ll all be glad to learn from her.  We’ve got flour enough to last a fortnight, so we needn’t be afraid of running out of water-pancakes at least.  You don’t grow fat on ’em, but, on the other hand, there is no gout lurking in a water-pancake as I make it.”

“No, Jack, that’s so,” I said, feelingly.  “We’ve got enough bacon for several meals, a can of chicken, and two earls of beans.  Also a loaf of bread and a pound of crackers.  Then there’s three cans of fruit, a dozen potatoes, six eggs, a quart of milk, and half a pound of pressed figs.  After that we’ll paw with the pony.”