When, however, Billie tried to put the packs on Bray he instantly met with the most strenuous
objection. The mule backed away from him, snorting, and with his long ears put forward. In fact he exhibited all the evidences of terror.
“Hey! what’s the matter with you, Bray, you silly old thing? Think I’m going to take a bite out of you, mebbe? Well, you’ve got another guess coming then; because that’s the last thing I’d have in my mind. Stand still, can’t you, and let me put your pack on. Whether you like it or not, you’ve just got to carry our things. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you crazy thing. Hold still, can’t you? It’s the same pack you had before, only a little fresh venison, and that fine pelt aboard.”
The other boys were laughing at the comical exertions of Billie, as he found himself swung around by the prancing mule, with which he was struggling so valiantly.
“That’s just what he’s objecting to so hard, Billie,” remarked Adrian, presently.
“What, that fine venison? Well, if he could only have a taste, perhaps then Bray wouldn’t be so mad at being made to carry it,” Billie panted, as he still yanked at the stout bridle of the snorting mule.
“It’s the panther skin, more than the venison, though I have known horses to object to carrying home meat,” Donald told him. “You see, they don’t like the smell of the fresh blood; and that skin just gets poor old Bray wild. He knows just
by his instinct that it came from a terrible wild beast, that would jump on his back, and claw him, if it ever had the chance. And the mule isn’t intelligent enough to understand that it’s dead now, and couldn’t hurt him.”
“But he’s just got to carry it, Donald; you wouldn’t think of throwing away such an elegant skin that’ll make so fine a rug, just because an old mule makes up his mind he wants to kick?” Billie entreated.
“Yes, and we’ll lend you a helping hand, old fellow,” declared Adrian.