Soon we thought we could make out
something, perhaps hay-stacks, through the darkness. I sent Ollie
on the pony to see what it was. He rode away, and in a moment I
heard a great snorting and a stamping of feet, and Ollie's voice
calling for me to come. I ran over with the lantern, and found
that he had ridden full into a barbed-wire fence around a
hay-stack. The pony stood trembling, with the blood flowing from
her breast and legs, but the scratches did not seem to be deep.
"We must find that ranch-house," I said to Ollie. "It ought
to be near."
For half an hour we wandered among the wilderness of
hay-stacks, every one protected by barbed wire. At last we heard
a dog barking, followed the sound, and came to the house. The dog
was the only live thing at home, and the house was locked.
"Well, what we want is water," I said, "and here's the well."
We let down the bucket and brought up two quarts of mud.
"The man was right," said Ollie. "This is worse than the
Sarah Desert."
"Fountains squirt and bands play 'The Old Oaken Bucket' in
the Sarah Desert 'longside o' this," I answered.
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