Joe reached the stables. One of the stable detail, a red-haired private whose name Joe did not remember, grinned at him.
"Good morning, Mr. Tower."
"Good morning, son. Can I borrow a currycomb and brush?"
"You don't need any," the redhead assured him. "We've already groomed your mules."
"Well—thanks."
"Look them over," the redhead invited.
The mules turned friendly heads and blew through their noses when Joe approached the stalls in which they were tied. The stable detail had not only groomed them, but had done so with all the painstaking care they'd have lavished on the colonel's horse if they were readying for a parade. Every hair was in place and the mules' coats shone. The red-haired private, who had followed Joe, lingered a little way behind him and tried to be very casual.
"Are they all right?"
"They're fine. I'd say they're absolutely perfect. And I'm certainly obliged to you."
"It's nothing—nothing at all.—Uh—May I ask you a question?"