the great stroke of lightning had struck the curb of the well,
shattering it, and making a hole in the ground beside it. The
storm had gone muttering off to the north, and the stars were
again shining overhead.

"What a stroke of lightening that must have been to do that!"
said Ollie, as he looked at the curb with some awe.

"It wasn't the lightning that did that," returned his
truthful Uncle Jack. "That's where Old Blacky kicked at the
lightning and missed it."

Then we returned to the wagon and went to bed. The next
morning at ten o'clock we drove into Yankton. We found the
ferry-boat disabled, and that we should have to go forty miles up
the river to Running Water before we could cross. We drove a mile
out of town, and went into camp on a high bank overlooking the
milky, eddying current of the Missouri.



IV: INTO NEBRASKA


We were a good deal disappointed in not getting over into
Nebraska, because we had seen enough of Dakota, but there was no
help for it. A log had got caught in the paddlewheel of the
ferry-boat and wrecked it, and there was no other way of
crossing.