Looking at Maud S from all angles I’d opine that she was the second mule.
Maudie was long. I don’t think I ever seen so much mule all in one piece. Maud’s neck was long and looked like it might fall off any old time and bust her crop-eared head. Her feet never wore shoes, and the ends of her hoofs turned up like the ends of ski snowshoes. Maud was cock-eyed in her one glass-eye, and her heart was bitter toward mankind.
Wick Smith owned her. He tried to sell her to a Piegan Indian, but the old buck got one look at her and said—
“Diaub seahhost! Klahowya!”
The same of which means—
“Eyes of the devil! Good-by!”
Of course Maud ain’t no cam-el, but she ain’t so danged far removed as yuh might think. The next morning Magpie gets a heap enthused over their meeting.
“We sure planned out some hy-iu festival. Goin’ to be great, Ike. Sacred, solemn and satisfactory from all points of the compass.”
“Undertakingly speaking?”
“Not this time. There ain’t going to be no guns allowed. Every puncher will have to leave his gun at the door. See the idea? Bill Thatcher says he won’t bring no orchestra, but we’ll have one just as good. Ricky Henderson has mastered the flute, and Wick Smith’s new drum is due here today.”