“I’m not much of a mule when it comes to holding a grudge, and certain that’s a fact,” admitted Jeems.
“You’re all right,” declared Jim with earnestness.
“Sure you are,” said the chorus, and Jeems in acknowledgment bowed low.
“I thank your Royal Highnesses for your appreciation of your humble servant,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” replied Jim briefly.
Jim and Juarez were soon on their chargers, and they made a fine appearance; Jim on his powerful animal, Caliente, with his strong, arched neck, body and hindquarters built for speed, and shoulders to crash through all barriers of an enemy; his gray mottled coat fairly glistened in the sun.
Juarez’s roan was a smaller horse than Caliente, but he, too, was fleet and of tireless endurance. He was somewhat wall-eyed and vicious at times, but Juarez was the master. The story of the capture of the horses is told in “Frontier Boys in Mexico,” so I will not rehearse it here.
No sooner had the two horsemen left the hill than they whirled their rifles over their heads and gave their horses the rein. Away they dashed at full speed over the level meadows, near the edge of the dark tree-clad slopes, as though they were reviewing the vast army of the pines.
“There they go like wild Indians,” said Tom. “We will have a quiet day now.”