He had applied first aid to William’s knee in the form of chewed tobacco, which if it did no more at least discouraged the pestering flies.  Now he collected a ride for his pay.  He had reasoned that William was probably subdued to the point of permitting the liberty, and that he had other things to think of more important than protecting his mulish dignity.  Casey guessed right.  William merely switched his tail pettishly, as mules will, and went on picking his way through brush and rocks along the ridge.

It was perhaps nine o’clock when Casey saw the light.  William also spied it and stopped still, his long left ear pointed that way, his broken right ear dropping over his eye.  William lifted his nose and brayed as if he were tearing loose all his vitals and the operation hurt like the mischief.  Casey kicked him in the flanks and urged him on.  It must be a camp fire, Casey thought.  He did not connect it with that moving light he had seen the night before; that phantom car was a mystery which he would probably never solve, and in Casey’s opinion it had nothing to do with a camp fire that twinkled upon a distant hilltop.

From the look of it, Casey judged that it was perhaps eight miles off,—­ possibly less.  But there was a rocky canyon or two between them, and William was lame and Casey was too exhausted to walk more than half a mile before he must lie down and own himself whipped.  Casey Ryan had never done that for a man, and he did not propose to do it for Nature.  He thought that William ought to have enough stamina to make the trip if he were given time enough.  And at the last, if William gave out, then Casey would manage somehow to walk the rest of the way.  It all depended upon giving William time enough.

You know, mules are the greatest mind readers in the world.  I have always heard that, and now Casey swears that it is so.  William immediately began taking his time.  Casey told me that a turtle starting nose to nose with William would have had to pull in his feet and wait for him every half mile or so.  William must have been very thirsty, too.

The light burned steadily, hearteningly.  Whenever they crawled to high ground where a view was possible, Casey saw it there, just under a certain star which he had used for a marker at first.  And whenever William saw the light he brayed and tried to swing around and go the other way.  But Casey would not permit that, naturally.  Nor did he wonder why William acted so queerly.  You never wonder why a mule does things; you just fight it out and are satisfied if you win, and let it go at that.

Casey does not remember clearly the details of that night.  He knows that during the long hours William balked at a particularly steep climb, and that Casey was finally obliged to get off and lead the Way.  It established an unfortunate precedent, for William refused to let Casey on again, and Casey was too weak to mount in spite of William.  They compromised at last; that is, they both walked.