206 MULE-HUNTING EXPEDITION. 
mense cigar, was seated in readiness, his legs 
resting on the splash-board. Without removing 
the cigar from his mouth, he drawled out, ‘ Say, 
Cap’en, guess you'd better hurry up if you mean 
making the ranch before sundown. Bet your 
pants this child ain’t agwine that road in the dark 
nohow.’ ‘ What’s to happen?’ I mildly enqnired. 
‘Happen! Wal, maybe upset; maybe chawed 
up by a grisly; maybe cleaned slick out by the 
greasers. You'd better believe a man has to 
keep his eye skinned in the daytime; so hurry 
up, Cap.’ Without further parley I scrambled 
in, and away we went. | 
Our road lay over broad plains and through 
occasional belts of timber; deep, gravelly ar- 
royos, in and out of which we dashed with a 
plunging scramble, marked the course of the 
floods. Everything was steaming hot; the baked 
ground reflected back the scorching sun-rays, 
until the atmosphere quivered as one sees it over 
a limekiln; the mustangs in a fog of perspira- 
tion; the Jehu, denuded of coat and vest, con- 
tinually yelled ‘A git along,’ with a rein in each 
hand, steering rather than driving, was red-hot in 
body and temper. But this was nothing to my 
state of broil. Exposed to a temperature that 
would have made one perspire sitting in the 
