About four o’clock, in a shady spot by a little unbridged stream, a halt was made and Betty was given water and oats. The two boys regaled themselves with bread, bologna and jelly. The afternoon was drowsily warm. Betty was tired and the cool shade was inviting. Both boys fell into a doze. In a half hour or so Morey was awakened by a violent torrent of exclamations. Amos was chasing and belaboring a gaunt roadside hog. Of their food the only article left by this rascally thief was the tin of preserves. The last of their bread, crackers and all their pork had disappeared. When Amos returned, hot and angry, he held a scrap of salt pork rind.
“Why didn’t you put the things in the wagon, Sancho?” laughed Morey.
“Dat ain’t no Sanko, da’s a hog. All ouah suppah and breakfus’ and dinnah gone now. How far dat Wash’ton?”
“We’ll get there tomorrow,” explained the white boy with another laugh.
Amos scratched his head.
“We gwine to eat, den?”
“If we have luck.”
“Den I reckon we better has’en on.”
Further investigation revealed another calamity. Betty, prowling about, had discovered the paper bag of oats in the rear of the surrey. She had leisurely consumed the feed reserve.
“Never mind,” expostulated Morey, “there’s grass and water.”