224

THE WICKED ARMY MULE.

Buffalo Bill Gives a Bit of His Experiences as a Dispatch Carrier.

I started once more of the road for Fort Larued, and proceeded without interruption to Coon creek, thirty miles from Fort Dodge.

Here I dismounted and led my mule to a pool to give him some water. I also stood myself a drink, using my hat for a dipper, and while engaged in procuring this refreshment my mule suddenly jerked off and rambled away down to the creek. Then it flashed across my mind that in the hurry of departure I had omitted to make my larait fast to him and that he was at large.

I followed him gently, in the hopes of getting hold of his bridle, and that he would perchance stop. He did not. He made straight for the wagon road, but instead of making for Fort dodge, as I expected he would, he turned toward Fort Larned and jogged merrily along with a most happy and unconcerned air. Several times I succeeded in getting just up to him when he would put on a sport and go ahead, easy slacking down as soon as I gave up chase. I was sorely tempted to shoot him with my fun, which I fortunately held in my hand, but the report would have probably brought the Indians down on me, and as he was besides company for me, I restrained. And thus the mule marched on and I followed on foot cursing.

From Coon creek to Fort Larned is thirty-five miles, and we - that is the mile and myself - made pretty good time. There was nothing to hold the mule, and I was striving hard to catch him, which urged him on. In addition to the excitement of this pedestrian competition I had the knowledge that I might at any moement be pounced on by Indians and have my hair lifted.

The mule stuck on the road and I stuck to the mule. Just as day began to break we found ourselves still in the same order of procession on a hill looking down on the the calley of Pawnee fork, with Fort Larnedd looing up in the distance, and as I surveyed the scene, and the mule surveyed me, the morning gun belched forth half a mile away.

We took a stock of each other with expressions of mutual distrust. Then, addressing my opposite neighbor, I spoke.

"Time's up," I said, "and it's my turn. I am deeply indebted to you for your company, and we must part." Then I reaised my gun to my shoulder and blazed away, hitting the beast on the hip. Inserting a second cartridge I fired into him again, and twice more, until at last he lay stretched out nice and comfortable. Like all government mules, he was a tough one, and died hard.

My shots brought out the treops, and when they learned what had happened they all said it served him right. I then walked into headquarters and delivered my dispatchers, and received the compliments of the general. -Chicago Times.