nimals
wabbled, their load of grief weighing them down tenfold more than the
loads on their backs, and times without count they were prompted to veer
about and "turn again home."

Much labor and time and patience were expended in persuading our steeds
to crawl up the hill, but I am delighted to say that no profane history
was quoted, as we were a strictly moral crowd. At length we arrived in
state at the village of Silver Plume. Canter into the town like a gang
of border ruffians we did not; we entered deliberately, as became a
dignified company of travellers. But here a new difficulty confronted
us, stared us blankly in the face. Our little charges could not be
convinced that there was any occasion for going farther than the town.
They seemed to have conscientious scruples about the matter; so they
stopped without any invitation from their riders, sidled off, turned in
toward the residences, stores, groceries, shoe-shops, drugstores, barns,
and even the saloons, the while the idlers on the streets and the small
boys were gawking at us, smiling in a half-suppressed way, and making
quaint remarks in which we could see no wisdom nor humor. We had not
come into the town, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, merely to furnish
the villagers amusement. Applying our canes and straps forcibly to the
haunches and rumps of our burros only seemed to embarrass the poor
creatures, for you can readily see how they would reason the matter out
from their own premises: If they were to go no farther, as had been
decided by themselves, why should their riders belabor them in that
merciless way? For downright dialectics commend me to the Rocky Mountain
burro.

Finally a providence in the shape of two small boys came to our rescue,
and in a most interesting and effective way. Seeing the predicament we
were in, and appreciating the gravity of the situation, those
nimble-witted lads picked up a couple of clubs from the street, and,
getting in the rear of our champing steeds, began to pound them over the
haunches. For small boys they delivered sturdy blows. Now, if there is
anything that will make a burro move dexterously out of his tracks, it
is to get behind him with a club and beat a steady tattoo on his hams
and legs. No sooner did the boys begin to apply their clubs in good
earnest than our burros began to print tracks in quick succession on the
dusty road, and we went gayly through the town, the lads making a merry
din with their shouts