The Indian merely nodded and went into the building after the first load. In all, there were about seventy-five cases, and he knew it would be necessary to make several trips.
“That mule doesn’t look any too willing to pull the load,” observed Joe with a laugh. “Be funny if he’d stop still when only about halfway there.”
When the cart was loaded with about fifteen or twenty of the boxes, the Indian called for the animal to pull ahead. But the stubborn mule refused to budge.
“Now what will he do?” mused Joe, looking at the impatient Indian.
He soon saw. The native removed five boxes and carried them back into the station. Then, with the cart lighter, he again attempted to make the mule move ahead.
But apparently it was still too much of a load, at least for comfort.
“That crazy donkey just doesn’t want to go, that’s all.” Mr. Dunn had been taking in the incident with a great deal of interest.
The Indian was becoming impatient. He had apparently removed all he was going to from the cart and intended to resort to force.
Walking to one side, he pushed with all his strength on the balky animal, at the same time saying something in Quichua that the whites guessed was not pleasant.
Slowly, very slowly, the mule struggled forward, snorting as if in rage. Gradually he quickened his pace, but never exceeded a walk.