result we were, I believe, the most muddied and bedraggled crew on
earth. We tried walking, but could not get on at all. Occasionally we
came to a steep little ravine down and up the slippery banks of which we
slid and scrambled. Yank and his mule once landed in a heap, plump in
the middle of a stream.

In the course of these tribulations we became somewhat separated. Johnny
and I found ourselves riding along in company, and much too busy to
talk. As we neared a small group of natives under a tree, three of them
started toward us on a run, shouting something. We stopped, and drew
together.

One of the assailants seized Johnny's animal by the bit, and another's
gesture commanded him to dismount.

"Get out of that!" shouted Johnny threateningly; and as the men did not
obey his emphatic tone, he snatched out his Colt's pistol. I closed in
next him and did the same.

Our threatening attitude caused the men to draw back a trifle; but they
redoubled their vociferations. Johnny attempted to spur his mule
forward; but all three threw themselves in his way. The rest of the
natives, four in number, joined the group. They pointed at Johnny's
animal, motioned peremptorily for him to descend; and one of them
ventured again to seize his bridle.

"I don't believe it's robbery, anyhow," said I. "They seem to recognize
your mule. Probably you're riding a stolen animal."

"I don't know anything about that," said Johnny, a trifle angrily, "but
I do know I hired it to go to Panama with: and to Panama I'm going. They
can settle their mule question afterward."

But when he gathered his reins again, he was prevented from going on.
Johnny reached suddenly forward and struck with his pistol barrel at the
head of the man holding his rein. He missed by the fraction of an inch;
and the man leaped back with a cry of rage. Everybody yelled and drew
near as though for a rush. Johnny and I cocked our weapons.

At this moment we heard Talbot Ward's voice from beyond. "Take 'em from
that side!" yelled Johnny excitedly. "Give it to 'em, Tal!"

Talbot shouted again, in Spanish. Every brigand in the lot immediately
turned in his direction, shouting perfect fountains of words. After a
moment Talbot, afoot, emerged from the jungle and calmly picked his way
through the mud toward us.

"Put up your shooting irons," he grinned at us. "These men tell me your
saddle pad is on crooked and they want to straighten it for you."

Johnny, and I am sure my