“I told you he was a true tramp,” said Jack.  “Just see his appetite!”

After we had finished, and the horses had grazed about on the dry grass some time, we started on.  We hoped to reach a little lake which we saw marked on the map, called Lake Lookout, for the night camp; so we hurried along, it being a good distance ahead.  All the afternoon we were passing ’between either great fields where the wheat had been cut, leaving the stubble, or beside long stretches of prairie.  There were a few houses, many of them built of sod.  Not much happened during the afternoon.  Ollie followed the example of Snoozer, and curled up on the bed and had a long nap.  We saw a few prairie-chickens, but did not try to shoot any of them.  The pony trotted contentedly behind.  Just before night I rode her ahead, looking for the lake.  I found it to be a small one, perhaps a half-mile wide, scarcely below the level of the prairie, and generally with marshy shores, though on one side the beach was sandy and stony, with a few stunted cottonwood-trees, and here I decided we would camp.  I went back and guided the Rattletrap to the spot.  Soon Jack had a roaring fire going from the dry wood which Ollie had collected.  I fed the horses and turned them loose, and they began eagerly on the green grass which grew on the damp soil near the lake.  The pony I picketed with a long rope and a strap around one of her forward ankles, between her hoof and fetlock, as we scarcely felt like trusting her all night.  Snoozer got up for his supper, and after that stretched himself by the fire and blinked at it sleepily.  The rest of us did much the same.  After a while Ollie said.

“I think that bed in the wagon looks pretty narrow for two.  How are three going to sleep in it?”

“I don’t think three are going to sleep in it,” said Jack.

“Where are you going to sleep, then, Uncle Jack?”

Jack laughed.  “I think,” he said, “that the rancher and the cook will sleep in the wagon, and let you sleep under the wagon.  Nothing makes a boy grow like sleeping rolled up in a blanket under a wagon.  You’ll be six inches taller if you do it every night till we get back.”

“Well, I don’t think so,” said Ollie, just a little alarmed at the prospect.  “I’d prefer to sleep in the wagon.  Maybe what Grandpa Oldberry said about wild animals is so.  You say you like to shoot ’em, so you stay outside and do it—­I don’t.”

At last it was arranged that Ollie and I should sleep inside and Jack under the wagon.  We were surprised to find how early we were ready for bed.  The long ride and the fresh air had given us an appetite for sleep.  So we soon turned in, the dog staying outside with Jack.

“Good-night, Uncle Jack!” called Ollie, as we put out the lantern and covered up in the narrow bed.  “Look out for painters!”

I was almost asleep when Ollie shook me, and whispered, “What’s that noise?”