"You're lucky to get it at all," said a man to us. "It is liable to stop any day now, and then, till the ice is thick enough for crossing, there will be no way of getting over."
The boat came puffing across toward night, and we were safely landed east of the Missouri once more. But we were still two hundred miles from home; the country was well settled most of the way, however, and we felt that our voyage was almost ended. Little happened worthy of mention in the week which it took us to traverse this distance. The weather became warmer and was pleasant most of the way. On the last night out it snowed again a little and grew colder. We were still a long day's drive from Prairie Flower, but we determined to make that port even if it took half the night.
It was ten o'clock when we saw the lights of the town.
"Here we are," said Jack, "and I vote we've had a good time, and that we forgive Old Blacky his temper, and Old Browny and Snoozer their sleepiness, and Ollie his questions, and the rancher his general incompetence."
"And the cook his pancakes," cried Ollie.
We stopped a little while in front of Squire Poinsett's grocery, and Jack picked up the big revolver and fired the six shots into the air. The pony had come alongside the wagon, and Snoozer had his head over the dash-board. Half a dozen people came running out, including Grandpa Oldberry, wearing red yarn mittens and carrying a lantern. He held up the light and looked at us.
[Illustration: "WELL! WELL! WELL!" SAID GRANDPA OLDBERRY.]
"Well, I vum," he exclaimed, "if it ain't them three pesky scallawags back safe and sound! I've said all along that varmints would get ye sure, and we'd never see hide nor hair of ye again! Well, well, well!"
It was clear that Grandpa was just a little disappointed to see that his predictions hadn't been fulfilled.
So the voyage of the good schooner Rattletrap was ended. It had been over a thousand miles long, and had lasted more than two months.
Captain "Reddy" Alden, of the Blackwood Academy football team, was not handsome. He was not even graceful. But his chin "meant business," and there was a serene look in his eyes which was likely to make a bully think twice before taking hold of him. His nickname sufficiently indicated the color of his hair, which grew back from his forehead in a "cowlick," and showed a tendency, when of approved football length, to drop in straggling masses down either side of his freckled face.