'Gene had warned us that we had a lonesome road before us to Pierre, one hundred and seventy miles, nearly all of it across the reservation.
A STATION IN THE SIOUX COUNTRY.
"You'll follow the old freight trail all the way," he said, "but you may not see three teams the whole distance, because since the railroad got nearer it isn't used. You'll find an old stage station about every fifteen or seventeen miles, with probably one man in charge. You may see a horse-thief or two, or something of that sort. S'ciety ain't what it ought to be 'round a reservation gen'rally."
Just before the sun sank behind the mountains, which lay like low black clouds to the west, we came to a little ranch standing alone on the prairie. The door was open, and it seemed to be deserted, though there was a rude bed inside. There was a good well of water, and we decided to camp near it for the night, especially as the grass was good. There was no other house in sight. Bedtime arrived, and no one came to the ranch.
"I think I'll just sleep in that house to-night," said Jack, "and see how it seems. I'll leave the door open, so as not to have too much luxury at first."
I must have been asleep three or four hours, when I was awakened by the loud barking of a dog. I started up, and began to unfasten the front end of the cover. As I put my head out, Jack called, excitedly:
"Some men were trying to get the pony. They'd have done it, too, if Snoozer hadn't barked and scared them away."
I was out of the wagon by this time, and found the pony trembling at the end of her picket-line as near the wagon as she could get. Snoozer kept barking as if he couldn't stop.
"Did they shoot at you, Jack?" I asked.