It was a comical tableau, but Will realized that it was but a step from
farce to tragedy. A rifle-shot dropped one of the Indians, and the other
darted off into the darkness.

Another bray from the mule, this time a paean of triumph, as Will
jumped into the saddle, with an arrow from the bow of the wounded Indian
through his coat-sleeve. He declined to return the fire of the wounded
wretch, and rode away into the timber, while all around the sound of
Indians in pursuit came to his ears.

"Now, my mouse-colored friend," said Will, "if you win this race your
name is Custer."

The mule seemed to understand; at all events, it settled down to work
that combined the speed of a racer with the endurance of a buffalo. The
Indians shortly abandoned the pursuit, as they could not see their game.

Will reached Fort Hayes in the early morning, to report the safe arrival
of Custer at Larned and the discovery of the Indian band, which he
estimated at two hundred braves. The mule received "honorable mention"
in his report, and was brevetted a thoroughbred.

The colonel prepared to dispatch troops against the Indians, and
requested Will to guide the expedition, if he were sufficiently rested,
adding, with a smile:

"You may ride your mule if you like."

"No, thank you," laughed Will. "It isn't safe, sir, to hunt Indians with