“I w’irls the chain on high an’ lays it along Jerry’s evil ribs, kerwhillup!  Every other link bites through the hide an’ the chain plows a most excellent an’ wholesome furrow.  As the chain descends, the sympathetic Tom jumps an’ gives a groan.  Tom feels a mighty sight worse than his companero.  At the sixth wallop Tom can’t b’ar no more, but with tears an’ protests comes an’ stands over Jerry an’ puts it up he’ll take the rest himse’f.  This evidence of brotherly love stands me off, an’ for Tom’s sake I desists an’ throws Jerry loose.  That old scoundrel—­while I sees he’s onforgivin’ an’ a-harbourin’ of hatreds ag’in me—­don’t forget the trace-chain an’ comports himse’f like a law-abidin’ mule for months.  He even quits bitin’ an’ kickin’ Tom, an’ that lovin’ beast seems like he’s goin’ to break his heart over it, ‘cause he looks on it as a sign that Jerry’s gettin’ cold.

“But thar comes a day when I loses both Tom an’ Jerry.  It’s about second drink time one August mornin’ an’ me an’ my eight mules goes scamperin’ through a little Mexican plaza called Tramperos on our way to the Canadian.  Over by a ’doby stands a old fleabitten gray mare; she’s shore hideous.

“Now if mules has one overmasterin’ deloosion it’s a gray mare; she’s the religion an’ the goddess of the mules.  This knowledge is common; if you-all is ever out to create a upheaval in the bosom of a mule the handiest, quickest lever is a old gray mare.  The gov’ment takes advantage of this aberration of the mules.  Thar’s trains of pack mules freightin’ to the gov’ment posts in the Rockies.  They figgers on three hundred pounds to the mule an’ the freight is packed in panniers.  The gov’ment freighters not bein’ equal to the manifold mysteries of a diamond-hitch, don’t use no reg’lar shore-enough pack saddle but takes refooge with their ignorance in panniers.

“Speakin’ gen’ral, thar’s mebby two hundred mules in one of these gov’ment pack trains.  An’ in the lead, followed, waited on an’ worshipped by the mules, is a aged gray mare.  She don’t pack nothin’ but her virchoo an’ a little bell, which last is hung ’round her neck.  This old mare, with nothin’ but her character an’ that bell to encumber her, goes fa’rly flyin’ light.  But go as fast an’ as far as she pleases, them long-y’eared locoed worshippers of her’s won’t let her outen their raptured sight.  The last one of ’em, panniers, freight an’ all, would go surgin’ to the topmost pinnacle of the Rockies if she leads the way.

“An’ at that this gray mare don’t like mules none; she abhors their company an’ kicks an’ abooses ’em to a standstill whenever they draws near.  But the fool mules don’t care; it’s ecstacy to simply know she’s livin’ an’ that mule’s cup of joy is runnin’ over who finds himse’f permitted to crop grass within forty foot of his old, gray bell-bedecked idol.

“We travels all day, followin’ glimpsin’ that flea-bitten cayouse at Tramperos.  But the mules can’t think or talk of nothin’ else.  It arouses their religious enthoosiasm to highest pitch; even the cynic Jerry gets half-way keyed up over it.  I looks for trouble that night; an’ partic’lar I pegs out Jerry plenty deep and strong.  The rest is hobbled, all except Tom.  Gray mare or not, I’ll gamble the outfit Tom wouldn’t abandon Jerry, let the indoocement be ever so alloorin’.