Before sunup Rob had the camp fire going, while Jesse brought in water and wood and John bent over his cooking. Uncle Dick walked up the river to where he had landed his boat the evening previous, and dropped down closer to the camp. The day still was young when the tent was struck and everything packed aboard the boat, which presently landed them on the farther shore, ready for the next lap of their journey and the new transportation that was now in order.
They were met by their new companion, the young rancher, Billy Williams, who had struck his own camp and brought the animals down to meet them. They found him a quiet, pleasant-spoken young man of perhaps thirty, lean and hardy, dressed much like a farmer except that he wore a pair of well-worn, plain, calfskin chaps to protect his legs in riding—something in which the boys could not imitate him, for they were cut down to their Scout uniforms; which, however, did very well.
They shook hands all around, the young rancher quietly estimating his young charges, and they in turn making up their opinions regarding him, which, needless to say, were not unfavorable, for none were quicker than they to know a good outdoor man when they saw him.
“So this is old Sleepy?” said Jesse, going up to the sleek big white mule that stood with drooping head, the stalk of a thistle hanging out of a corner of his mouth. “He’s fat and strong, isn’t he? What makes him look so sad? And aren’t you afraid he’ll run away? He hasn’t even a halter on him.”
“No, he won’t run away,” replied Billy. “You couldn’t drive him away from the packs. He always comes up every morning to be packed, and he always stands around like he was going to die—but he isn’t. Sleepy’ll live another hundred years, anyhow.
“I never hobble or tie or picket Sleepy at night; he sticks close to old Fox. That’s my horse, the red one. You’d think Fox was going to die, too, but he isn’t. He used to be a cow horse; and a mean one, too, they say; but all at once he reformed and since then he’s led a Christian life, same as Sleepy.
“About that thistle. Sleepy is very fond of thistles—he’ll stop the whole train to eat one. Usually he carries one hanging in his mouth, so’s to eat it when he gets hungry. He’s a wise one, that mule. I’ll bet you, an hour before camp to-night you’ll see him wake up and get frisky; all his tired look is just a bluff. And I’ll bet you, too, you can’t manage to ride ahead of Sleepy on the trail. He never will take the last place on the trail.”
“Why, how’s that?” said Jesse. “I should think he’d like to loaf behind, if he’s so wise.”
“No, Sleepy has got brains. He knows that if he gets a stone in his foot, or if his pack slips, a man is his best friend. So he just goes ahead where folks can see that he’s comfortable. You can’t ride ahead of him; he’ll gallop on and won’t let you pass him; so don’t try.