XI: DEADWOOD
"You're a miserable, sneaking, treacherous old equine scoundrel!" cried Jack, shaking his fist violently at Old Blacky. "You knew you were making us come the wrong road."
Old Blacky answered never a word, but turned, hit the wagon-tongue a kick, and joined the other horses.
"Well, close down the front and let's talk this thing over," said Jack. "In the first place, we are snowed in."
"In the second place," said I, "we may stay snowed in a week."
"I don't think we're prepared for that," said Ollie, very solemnly.
"Let's see," went on Jack. "There are two sacks of ground feed under Ollie's bed. By putting the horses on rather short rations that ought to last pretty nearly or quite a week. But for hay we're not so well provided. There's one big bundle under the wagon, if Blacky hasn't eaten it up. The pony won't need any, because she knows how to paw down to the dry grass. The others don't know how to do this, and the hay will last them, after a fashion, for about three days."
"Perhaps by that time the pony will have taught them how to paw," I said.