unted and led the mule by the bridle down to the
water, where I took a drink, using my hat for a dipper. While I was
engaged in getting the water, the mule jerked loose and struck out down
the creek. I followed him in hopes that he would catch his foot in the
bridle rein and stop, but this he seemed to have no idea of doing. He was
making straight for the wagon road, and I did not know what minute he
might run into a band of Indians. He finally got on the road, but instead
of going back toward Fort Dodge, as I naturally expected he would do, he
turned eastward toward Fort Larned, and kept up a little jog trot just
ahead of me, but would not let me come up to him, although I tried it
again and again. I had my gun in my hand, and several times I was
strongly tempted to shoot him, and would probably have done so had it not
been for fear of bringing Indians down upon me, and besides he was
carrying the saddle for me. So I trudged on after the obstinate
"critter," and if there ever was a government mule that deserved and
received a good round cursing it was that one. I had neglected the
precaution of tying one end of my lariat to his bit and the other to my
belt, as I had done a few nights before, and I blamed myself for this
gross piece of negligence.

Mile after mile I kept on after that mule, and every once in a while I
indulged in strong language respecting the whole mule fraternity. From
Coon Creek to Fort Larned it was thirty-five miles, and I finally
concluded that my prospects were good for "hoofing" the whole distance.
We--that is to say, the confounded mule and myself--were making pretty
good time. There was nothing to hold the mule, and I was all the time
trying to catch him--which urged him on. I made every step count, for I
wanted to reach Fort Larned before daylight, in order to avoid if
possible the Indians, to whom it would have been "pie" to have caught me
there on foot.

The mule stuck to the road and kept on for Larned, and I did the
same thing. Just as day was beginning to break, we--that is the mule
and myself--found ourselves on a hill looking down into the valley
of the Pawnee Fork, in which Fort Larned was located, only four
miles away; and when the morning gun belched forth we were within
half a mile of the post.

"Now," said I, "Mr. Mule, it is my turn," and raising my gun to my
shoulder, in "dead earnest" this time, I blazed away, hitting the animal
in the hip. Throwing a second cartridge into t