"That struck pretty close," I said. "I hope it didn't hit one
of the horses." "If it hit Old Blacky, I'll bet a cooky it got
the worst of it," answered Jack, taking up his banjo again. "Look
out, Ollie, and maybe you'll see the lightning going off
limping."

It was still raining, though not so hard. Soon we began to
hear a peculiar noise, which seemed to come from behind the
wagon. It was a breaking, splintering sort of noise, as if a
board was being smashed and split up very gradually.

"Sounds as if a slow and lazy kind of lightning was striking
our wagon," said Jack.

Ollie's face was still white from the scare at the stroke of
lightning, and his eyes now opened very wide as he listened to
the mysterious noise. Jack pulled open the back cover an inch and
peeped out. Then he said:

"I guess Old Blacky's tussle with the lightning left him
hungry; he's eating up one side of the feed-box."

Then we laughed at the strange noise, and in a few minutes,
the rain having almost ceased, we put on our rubber boots and
went out to look after the other horses. Old Browny we found in
the lee of the sod house, not exactly asleep, but evidently about
to take a nap. The pony had pulled up her picket-pin and
retreated to a little hollow a hundred yards away. We caught her
and brought her back. By the light of the lantern we found that