[CHAPTER SIX—A MULE’S PLEASANTRIES]
Long’s Peak had been “done” to every one’s satisfaction, and other neighboring peaks had been scaled. Estes Park was now becoming so familiar an environment that the scouts no longer thrilled at each new experience, but were eagerly looking forward to fresh excitement.
“Well, Tally, how about trekking northwards?” asked Mr. Gilroy of the guide, one night after supper.
“All ’leddy,” returned the Indian.
“Frolic and Jolt seem to be deucedly gay after this long vacation,” ventured Mr. Vernon, eyeing the frisky pack-mules.
“Um—Jolt him big kick,” said Tally, signifying with a hand held above his head, how high the animal kicked that day.
“Our next lap of the journey will take all this freshness out of him, never fear!” laughed Mr. Gilroy.
That night while the scouts slept heavily, Tally heard a sound from the corral where he kept the horses and mules. He jumped up and ran over, but Jolt had broken his halter and had disappeared. He roused Mr. Gilroy and told him the news.
“Oh, let the old rascal go!” mumbled he, then turned over on his side and was fast asleep again. So Tally literally obeyed.
In the morning, however, Mr. Gilroy thought differently about his advice. Jolt was the best and strongest of the two mules, and the luggage of so many tourists was too much for Frolic, the smaller of the pack-animals.