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.

We started up, but it was a long and toilsome climb. In many
places Jack and I had to get down on our hands and knees and feel
out the path. The worst place was a scramble up a bank twenty
feet high, and covered with loose stones. I was ahead. The heroic
little pony with her unwieldy load sniffed at the prospect a
little, and then started bravely up, "hanging on by her
toe-nails," as Ollie said. When she was almost to the top she
stepped on a loose stone, lost her footing, went over, and rolled
away into the darkness and underbrush. Jack stumbled over a
little of the hay which had come off in the path, hastily rolled
up a torch, and lit it with a match. By this light we found the
pony on her back, like a tumble-bug, with her load for a cushion
and her feet in the air, and kicking wildly in every direction.
While Ollie held the torch, Jack and I went to her rescue, and,
after a vast deal of pulling and lifting, got her to her feet
just as the hay torch died out. Again she scrambled up the bank,
and this time with success. We went on, found the other horses,
and were soon at the wagon. We voted the pony all the hay she
wanted, and went to bed tired.

The next day, the ninth out from Yankton, though it was a
long run, brought us to Valentine, the first town on the railroad
which we had seen since leaving the former place. Before we