s shining with sweat so
that there was not a dry hair on its body, and if ever a dumb brute's
eyes spoke of agony and fear, that horse's did. But Bullhammer grew
every moment more infuriated, wrenching its mouth and beating it over
the head with a club. It was a sickening sight and, used as I was to the
inhumanity of the trail, I would have interfered had not the Jam-wagon
jumped in. He was deadly pale and his eyes burned.

"You infernal brute! If you strike that horse another blow, I'll break
your club over your shoulders."

Bullhammer turned on him. Surprise paralysed the man, rage choked him.
They were both big husky fellows, and they drew up face to face. Then
Bullhammer spoke.

"Curse you, anyway. Don't interfere with me. I'll beat bloody hell out
of the horse if I like, an' you won't say one word, see?"

With that he struck the horse another vicious blow on the head. There
was a quick scuffle. The club was wrenched from Bullhammer's hand. I saw
it come down twice. The man sprawled on his back, while over him stood
the Jam-wagon, looking very grim. The horse slipped quietly back into
the water.

"You ugly blackguard! I've a good mind to beat you within an ace of your
life. But you're not worth it. Ah, you cur!"

He gave Bullhammer a kick. The man got on his feet. He was a coward, but
his pig eyes squinted in impotent rage. He looked at his horse lying
shivering in the icy water.

"Get the horse out yourself, then, curse you. Do what you please with
him. But, mark you--I'll get even with you for this--I'll--get--even."

He shook his fist and, with an ugly oath, went away. The block in the
traffic was relieved. The trail was again in motion. When we got abreast
of the submerged horse, we hitched on the ox and hastily pulled it out,
and (the Jam-wagon proving to have no little veterinary skill) in a few
days it was fit to work again.

* * * * *

Another week had gone and we were still on the trail, between the head
of the canyon and the summit of the Pass. Day after day was the same
round of unflinching effort, under conditions that would daunt any but
the stoutest hearts. The trail was in a terrible condition, sometimes
well-nigh impassable, and many a time, but for the invincible spirit of
the Prodigal, would I have turned back. He had a way of laughing at
misfortune and heartening one when things seemed to have passed the
limit of all endurance.

Here is another day sele