man there.

"What can you do for the poor brute!" cried Uncle Denny.

"Wait till the hombre gets back," said Henderson. "If he can hang on
that long, we can save him. Nothing like this happens to a mule very
often. You can't get a mule to try a trail that isn't wide enough for
his pack. They can reason, the old fools! Bill Evans' auto shoved this
fellow over. The steering gear broke."

At this moment a panting hombre arrived with two coils of rope. The men
hastily fastened one rope under the Mexican's arms. He seized the other
and they lowered him into the canyon. He talked to the mule in soft
Spanish all the way down and the great beast began to answer him with
deep groans. With infinite care, the hombre cut the packs loose and they
went crashing into the river bed. Still the mule did not move. His
driver carefully made the rope fast round the mule. The waiting men then
drew the little Mexican up, and when he was safe all hands, including
Uncle Denny, drew the mule up. When the big gray reached the road, he
tried each leg with a gentle shake, walked over to the inside edge of
the road and lifted his voice in a bray that shook the heavens.

The men laughed and patted him. "When I was in the Verde river country
one spring, years ago," said Henderson, in his tender, singing voice, "I
had a mule train up in the hills. They was none of them broke and they
wouldn't cross the river till I took off my clothes and swam with 'em,
one at a time. It was fearful cold. The water was just melted snow and I
was some mad. But I finally got all but one across. He was a big gray
like this. I was so cold and so hungry and so mad, I tied his head up a
tree and swam off and left him to die.

"I made camp across the river and two or three times in the night I woke
up and thought of that old gray mule. I was still sore at him, but I
made up my mind I wouldn't go off and leave him to starve to death,
that I'd shoot him in the morning. But in the morning I got to looking
at him and I was afraid a shot from across the river would just wound
him. I wouldn't risk my gun again in the water, so I takes off my
clothes, takes my knife in my teeth and," Henderson's voice was very
sweet as he scratched the mule's ear, "and swims back to cut his throat.
When I got up to him I cussed him out good. And I says, 'I'll give you
one more chance. Either you swim or I cut your throat.' I untied him and
that old gray walked down to the water's edge and you'd