I could see
the horses lying asleep like dark mounds. But the mysterious
noise kept up, and even grew louder. I grasped the gun firmly,
and let myself cautiously out of the front end of the wagon. Then
I climbed back in less softly and hung up the gun.
"Wh-what is it?" asked Ollie, in a faint whisper.
"It's your eloquent Uncle Jack snoring," I said. "He's one of
Grandpa Oldberry's sim'lar varmints."
III: FROM LOOKOUT LAKE TO THE MISSOURI RIVER
Our first night in the Rattletrap passed without further
incident--that is, the greater part of it passed, though Ollie
declared that it lacked a good deal of being all passed when we
got up. The chief reason for our early rise was Old Blacky, a
member of our household (or perhaps wagonhold) not yet introduced
in this history. Old Blacky was the mate of Old Browny, and
the two made up our team of horses. Old Browny was a very
well-behaved, respectable old nag, extremely fond of quiet and
oats. He invariably slept all night, and usually much of the day;
he was a fit companion for our dog.
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