“Say, what are you two talking about back there?” Adair MacKenzie suddenly became conscious of the fact that two in his party were paying no attention whatsoever to him and his troubles with his mule. Had he had a horse, he would liked to have galloped back beside them, but with a mule there was no galloping. As it was he turned the mule’s head sharply.
It was just too much. The mule was tired of his burden anyway, so before anyone realized at all what was happening, Adair was deposited firmly on the ground and the mule, with more intelligence perhaps than he had been given credit for, was gazing at him soberly.
CHAPTER XXIII
IN A PATIO
“Are you hurt? Daddy, are you hurt?” Alice cried, but even as she did, tears of laughter were rolling down her cheeks. She had never in her life seen her father in such a ridiculous position, which was saying something, for Adair MacKenzie had a knack of getting himself in more absurd situations than anyone else in the world.
“Stop your blubbering.” Adair was thoroughly irritated this time. “I’ll conquer you yet.” He scolded the mule. “Think you can vanquish Adair MacKenzie, do you? I’ll show you.” But to all of this scolding that fell dully on the tropical verdure about them, that sounded harsh and out of place in the soft greenness of the scene, the mule never blinked an eyelash.
“Daddy, are you hurt?” Alice repeated her question as she took hold of one arm while Walker Jamieson took the other.
But their offers of assistance went unappreciated. Adair MacKenzie merely shook off their hands, used his own to push himself up, and then stood, brushing himself off while he continued his tirade.
“Now, you’re going home, and you’re going to stay there.” Adair spluttered off into the kind of scolding that he might have given an erring child. With this, he about faced and walked, leading the mule beside him the three miles back to the hacienda.