“Maybe it was Shoup again.”
“Did the fellow you saw with the one who looked like Lenning resemble Billy Shoup?” asked Frank.
“No more than I do,” said Blunt. “He was a square, chunk of a man. Of course, you understand we weren’t near enough to see either of ’em very clearly.”
“I understand that. Well, let’s get to town, fellows. I’m all worked up about this thing. The professor’s check was in that batch of stolen mail, and if he doesn’t get it back we’ll have to hang out here until another check can come on from New York.”
“How many more will that mule carry?” inquired Ballard, looking at Uncle Sam wistfully.
“He’s loaded to the guards now, Pink,” answered Clancy. “If you got on with Chip and me, we’d swamp him. Besides,” and here the red-headed chap’s voice grew rather lofty, “you don’t know how to ride a mule, anyway. There’s a knack about it that only comes of long practice.”
“Oh, splash!” grunted Ballard. “You’re sitting up there like a frog on a toadstool. Let’s see what sort of a mule rider you are.”
He was standing within arm’s length of Uncle Sam, and he reached out suddenly and touched the mule’s flank with one end of the ear of corn. Thereupon Uncle Sam tried to stand on his head, Blunt had to dodge his flying heels, and Ballard, in trying to get out of the way, stumbled over the pig and fell flat. As for Clancy, in spite of his implied prowess as a mule rider, he was jolted off, and Merriwell had all he could do to stick in the saddle.
“There, Pink, cut that out!” cried Merry. “We want to get back to town, and we don’t want any more foolishness. This business of Lenning’s needs attention.”
“I’m anxious to get back to town, too,” said Ballard, picking himself up, “but we can’t leave Woo Sing. Suppose we rope the pig and let it ride in Clancy’s place, Chip? I don’t believe the mule will know the difference.”