hit the ground, but I needed the exercise.

"The old man was alone in his office when they dragged me in, and he
sent my guards out.

"'So you found your voice, did you?' he says.

"'Yes, sir," I answers. 'It came back unexpected, regular miracle.'

"'He drummed on the table for a long time, and then says, sort of
immaterial and irreverent, 'You're a pretty good mule puncher, eh?'

"'It ain't for me to say I'm the best in the Territory,' I says; 'but
I'm curious to meet the feller that claims the title.'

"He continues, 'It reminds me of an exhibition I saw once, back in
New Mexico, long time ago, at the little Flatwater Canyon.'

"'Maybe you've heard tell of the fight there when the Apaches were
up? Yes? Well, I happened to be in that scrimmage.'

"'I was detailed with ten men to convoy a wagon train through to Fort
Lewis. We had no trouble till we came to the end of that canyon,
just where she breaks out onto the flats. There we got it. They
were hidden up on the ridges; we lost two men and one wagon before we
could get out onto the prairie.

"'I got touched up in the neck, first clatter, and was bleeding
pretty badly; still I hung to my horse, and we stood 'em off till the
teams made it out of the gulch; but just as we came out my horse fell
and threw me--broke his leg. I yelled to the boys:

"'"Go on! For God's sake go on!" Any delay there meant loss of the
whole outfit. Besides, the boys had more than they could manage,
Injuns on three sides.

"'We had a young Texan driving the last wagon. When I went down he
swung those six mules of his and came back up that trail into the
gut, where the bullets snapped like grasshoppers.

"'It was the prettiest bit of driving I ever saw, not to mention
nerve. He whirled the outfit between me and the bluff on two wheels,
yelling, "Climb on! Climb on! We ain't going to stay long!" I was
just able to make it onto the seat. In the turn they dropped one of
his wheelers. He ran out on the tongue and cut the brute loose. We
went rattling down the gulch behind five mules. All the time there
came out of that man's lungs the fiercest stream of profanity my ears
ever burned under. I was pretty sick for a few weeks, so I never got
a chance to thank that teamster. He certainly knew the mind of an
army mule, though. His name was--let me see--Wiggins--yes, Wiggins.

"'Oh, no it wasn't,' I breaks in, foolish; 'it was Joyce.'

"Then I stopped and felt like a