“Fust an’ only man at ever ducked me, I’m here ter say ter ye,” Tolliver went on, in a cheery, half-bantering tone, and sitting sidewise on the mule. “Ye mus’ hev’ a sight o’ muscle onto them duck legs and bantam arms o’ your’n.”
He had the last word still in his mouth when the little beast suddenly put down its head and flung high its hind feet.
“Woirp!” they heard him cry, as he whirled over in the air and fell sprawling on the ground.
Dufour leaped forward to see if the man was hurt, but Tolliver was upright in an instant and grinning sheepishly.
“Thet’s right, Bonus,” he said to the mule which stood quite still in its place, “thet’s right ole fel, try ter ac’ smart in comp’ny. Yer a beauty now, ain’t ye?”
He replaced his hat, which had fallen from his head, patted the mule caressingly on the neck, then lightly vaulting to the old saddle-tree, he waved his hand to the company and turning dashed at a gallop down the mountain road, his spurs jingling merrily as he went.
“What a delicious character!”
“What precious dialect!”
“How typically American!”
“A veritable hero!”