Part 53 (1/2)

”It's me.”

He came slowly on his horse, and by the light of the stars Joe saw that he was leading a black mule. The horse mule called softly, walked to the end of his rope, and stared. The mule knew what was coming and he would welcome one of his own kind where he would not tolerate a horse.

Joe said, ”You got one, huh?”

”I got one.”

”Where'd you get him?”

”Stole him,” Ellis replied tersely.

Joe stood rooted in his tracks. Ellis's statement hit him like a thunderbolt. He licked dry lips.

”That's right,” Ellis said. ”A couple of trappers have about forty mules in a corral up the trail. When I asked them to sell me one they didn't seem interested. I waited until nightfall and took one.” He fixed Joe with a tired and angry glare. ”Any complaints?”

Joe's jaw worked. The boy's headstrong action, and the cool way he told about it, frightened Joe anew. What other willful and dishonest actions was he capable of? What was his Bobby getting into?

He tried to control himself. ”You shouldn't have done that, Ellis.”

Ellis squared around to face him. ”I expected you to say exactly that,”

he muttered. ”Just how did you expect us to move on without another mule?”

Joe had no immediate answer. He stood quiet, staring unhappily into Ellis's sullen face. ”We'll take him back,” he said.

”If that's the way you want it,” Ellis said.

In the darkness, Joe walked to the black mule and laid a hand on his powerful neck. The mule smelled him over and nibbled Joe's arm with his lips. Ellis had brought no bronco, but a harness-broken mule. Joe tied a rope to his halter and picketed him in the gra.s.s. The horse did not protest when he was led away from the mare and picketed near.

Joe said shortly, ”Better turn in, Ellis.”

”All right.”

Ellis spread his bedroll beside the wagon while Joe sought his bed inside. It was true that they had to have a mule and, in Ellis's place, he didn't know what he might have done. He supposed he'd have continued on farther until he could buy a mule, even if it took another day or two. But it wasn't only the stealing of the mule--it was Ellis's calm way of reporting it that shocked him. The calm way, he knew, was a cover-up for real anger. But why the anger? The whole thing worried him and it was some time before he could fall asleep. When he awakened the soft light of early dawn had found its way into the wagon. Joe lay quietly for a few minutes. They must return the stolen mule, or else arrange to pay for it, but they might as well hitch both and drive down to the trappers' corral. Joe climbed out the rear of the wagon and made his way to the front.

He heard the crack of the rifle, and felt the bullet smack into the ground at his feet. Shocked with surprise, Joe stood still and for a moment his mind was incapable of directing his body. Still half asleep, Ellis sat up in his bedroll. There came a voice.

”Don't neither of ye move thar! Stand right still thar!”

They came from behind a huge boulder whose arched back lifted from the earth about sixty yards away. They were two men dressed in greasy buckskin and with long black hair brus.h.i.+ng their shoulders. The man who had shot carried a rifle in the crook of his arm but there was a pistol in his hand. They advanced purposefully, menacingly, and the morning wind ruffled their s.h.a.ggy hair.

”Move,” the smaller one said, ”an' I'll drill ye clean. Bring him up, Pete.”

Holstering his revolver, the tall man untethered the black mule and brought him up to the wagon. Joe had a glance for the mule, a powerful beast that had not yet shed his long winter hair. The brisk wind played with it, laying it back along the black mule's flank and ribs. The smaller man looked at Joe's horse mule.

”Mought's well have 'em both. Git that one too.”

”Now wait a minute--” Joe began.

”Don't 'wait a minute' me. My finger's right oneasy on this trigger an'