the procession. It was a killing pace, too, for the horses, which did
not possess the staying power of the mule. Will was half regretting
that he had ridden the animal, and was wondering how he could crowd on
another pound or two of steam, when, suddenly glancing at Custer, he
caught a gleam of mischief in the general's eye. Plainly the latter was
seeking to compel an acknowledgment of error, but Will only patted the
mouse-colored flanks.

Fifteen miles were told off; Custer's thoroughbred horse was still in
fine fettle, but the mule had got the second of its three or four winds,
and was ready for a century run.

"Can you push along a little faster, General?" asked Will, slyly.

"If that mule of yours can stand it, go ahead," was the reply.

To the general's surprise, the long-eared animal did go ahead, and when
the party got into the hills, and the traveling grew heavy, it set a
pace that seriously annoyed the general's thoroughbred.

Fifteen miles more were pounded out, and a halt was called for luncheon.
The horses needed the rest, but the mouse-colored mule wore an impatient
expression. Having got its third wind, it wanted to use it.

"Well, General," said Will, when they swung off on the trail again,
"what do you think of my mount?"

Custer laughed. "It's not very handsome," said he, "but it seems to know
what it's about, and so does the rider. You're a fine guide, Cody.
Like the Indian, you seem to go by instinct, rather than by trails and