Slowly the ponies approached, as though deciding whether they
preferred their oats or their liberty.

"Come, Blackhawk! Come, Buster!" called Horace.

The boys set the pans on the ground. For a moment the ponies eyed
them and then trotted up, the eight crowding one another to get at
the four measures.

"Now's the time," breathed Bill.

In a trice the bits were thrust into the ponies' mouths and the
leather over their ears.

Lightning plunged back, but Larry grabbed the reins just in time
and held him.

"Push the pan to him," directed Horace, and, as he smelled the
oats, the pony grew still and was soon munching contentedly.

After catching his own mount, Bill had bridled Buster, and as soon
as the oats were devoured, all five were saddled with little
trouble and the boys were quickly on the backs of four of them,
Bill leading the pony for his father.

It required but a few minutes to make fast the saddle bags Hop Joy
had filled with food, tin plates, cups, knives and forks, coffee
pot, sugar and coffee and to tie on their sleeping blankets.

Then they buckled on their cartridge belts, slung their rifles