A Bit of Blue Sky.
The task of getting the mules together was simple enough, the irritable beasts making their usual objections, but following their old leader Skeeter quietly enough in spite of the bell not being in use; and in a short time they were trudging along with their loads down the steep slope till the gulch was reached, and Chris came after them with the ponies, to bring his charge to a halt.
“Like to change places, Ned?” he said archly.
“No; I’m going to do my part without that.”
“Good-bye, Chris, my lad,” said Bourne sadly. “I don’t like going off and leaving you.”
“And I don’t like you to go, Mr Bourne,” said Chris, holding out his hand, which was warmly grasped. “Take care of yourself, Ned.”
“Yes; and you,” said the boy sadly.
The next minute Chris was standing by his mustang’s head, watching the mules file away.
“Look at that,” said Chris, as he noted that his charge displayed no desire to follow the mules. “Why, if that old Skeeter isn’t actually sneering at my ponies! He deserves to be kicked for his conceit.”
Ned turned to wave his hand just before a bend in the gulch hid the mule-train from sight, and then Chris mounted and rode towards the pointed rock close to which the spring gurgled out of the rock. Here he took the precaution of drinking deeply himself before letting the ponies have their fill of the refreshing water, after which they began grazing in their quiet, inoffensive way, leaving their guardian to his thoughts, which were many and troubled.