IN THE BIG HORN MOUNTAINS. 85 



" Oh, I'm the artist from Miles City, and this my 

 precious plunder. And fast upon these saddle mules three 

 days we've rode together, and should he wet them in the 

 creek they wouldn't be worth a feather." 



Outspoke the hardy Emerald wight, "I'll go, my chief, 

 I'm ready. It is not for your dollar bright, but for some 

 pretty pictures ; and by my word, that cussed mule in the 

 water shall not tarry, so though the waves are raging white, 

 I'll drive him over the ferry or break his blanked neck! 

 G'lang, Nig, git out of there, you son-of-a-gun ! " But still, 

 as wilder blew the wind, and as the artist grew madder, 

 ad own the stream walked that pesky mule where the water 

 still was deeper. 



"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the artist cries. "Though 

 tempests round us gather, I'll meet the raging of the 

 water, but if I lose that outfit I'll walk home to-night." 



The mule has left a sultry land, a cool bath is before him, 

 when oh ! too strong for human hands, he don't care how 

 many clubs come o'er him. And still they howled amidst 

 the roar of waters fast prevailing, the artist reached that fatal 

 shore, his wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismayed 

 through storm and shade his mule he did discover, one lovely 

 hand he stretched for the bridle but, oh, he couldn't reach it. 



"Come back, come back," he cried in grief across this 

 muddy river, "and I'll forgive the wayward cuss, my 

 donkey, oh, my donkey." 'Twas vain; the loud waves 

 lashed his sides, return or aid suggesting, the waters wild 

 kind o' frightened him, and he turned and came out on the 

 bank o. k. 



We took his load off, opened it, and found that though 

 the lower corners of both boxes were wet, the moisture had 

 not reached their contents. We congratulated Huffman on 

 the fact that his dry goods were still dry that his stock 



