They rode five or six miles to the south, and still the singular town stretched away, apparently endless. Then they came back and rode five or six miles to the north with the same result. Acting upon the advice of Middleton, Woodfall, after hearing these reports, decided to go straight on through the town. It was known that such towns had been found twenty-five miles long, and this might be as large. So they went directly ahead. The riders dismounted and led their horses. Three times Phil killed coiling rattlesnakes with the butt of his rifle, but he did not seek to molest any of the prairie dogs. They moved very slowly, and it was three hours before they crossed the prairie dog town, leaving behind them some destruction, but not more than they could help. "Well, Sir Philip of the Prairie Dogs, what name are you going to give to the populous community through which we have just passed?" asked Breakstone. "I suppose Canine Center will do as well as any other," replied Phil. "A wise selection, my gay youth," replied Bill Breakstone. "But these animals, properly speaking, are not dogs, they are more like rats. I’m glad we’ve passed ’em. It isn’t pleasant to have your horse put his foot in one of their dens and shoot you over his head. The good hard plain for me." He cantered forward, and Phil cantered with him, raising his head and breathing the pure air that blew over such vast reaches of clean earth. He felt the blood leaping in his veins again from mere physical happiness. He began to whistle gayly, and then to sing "Open thy lattice, love," a song just coming into favor, written by the man who became yet more famous with "Old Kentucky Home" and "Suwanee River." Phil had a fine, fresh, youthful voice, and Breakstone listened to him as he sang through two verses. Then he held up his hand, and Phil stopped. "What’s the trouble?" asked the boy. "I don’t object to your song, Phil, and I don’t object to your singing, but it won’t be a good time for love to open the lattice; it will be better to close it tight. Don’t you feel a change in the air, Phil? Just turn your face to the northwest, and you’ll notice it." Phil obeyed, and it seemed to him now that the air striking upon his cheek was colder, but he imagined that it was due to the increasing strength of the wind. "I do not care if the wind is a little cold," he said. "I like it." "The wind is cold, And you are bold; The sky turns gray You’re not so gay; And by and by For sun you’ll sigh," chanted Bill Breakstone, and then he added: "See that gray mist forming in a circle about the sun, and look at that vapor off there in the northwest. By George, how fast it spreads! The whole sky is becoming overcast! Unroll your blanket, Phil, and have it ready to wrap around you I The whole train must stop and prepare!"