"Well, I don't know. Grandpa Oldberry says the varmints are awfully thick this fall."
"But what are varmints?"
"Oh, wolves, and b'ars, and painters, and—"
"What are painters?"
"Grandpa means panthers, I guess. Then there's Injuns, and boss-thieves, and—"
"There's a prairie-chicken," I cried, as one rose up out of the long grass.
"Perhaps we can get one for dinner," said Jack.
He took his gun and went slowly toward where the other had been. Another whirred away like a shot. Jack fired, but missed it. We started on, leaving the pony tossing her head and stamping her feet in a great passion on account of the report of the gun; but when she saw that we paid no attention to her and were rapidly going out of sight she turned, after taking a long look back at distant Prairie Flower, and came trotting along the road, with her stirrups dangling at her sides, and soon was following close behind.
"We can depend on the life-boat," said Jack.
Before we realized it the chronometer showed that it was almost noon. By this time we had left the sea of sunflowers and crept over the wrinkle at the western edge of the valley, and were off across the rolling prairie itself. Still Snoozer never stirred.