So I trudged on after the obstinate "critter," and if there ever was a government mule that deserved and received a good round cursing it was that one.

I had neglected the precaution of tying one end of my lariat to his bit and the other to my belt, as I had done a few nights before, and I blamed myself for this gross piece of negligence.
Mile after mile I kept on after that mule, and every once in a while I indulged in strong language respecting the whole mule fraternity.

From Coon Creek to Fort Larned it was thirty-five miles, and I finally concluded that my prospects were good for "hoofing" the whole distance.
We--that is to say, the confounded mule and myself--were making pretty good time.

There was nothing to hold the mule, and I was all the time trying to catch him--which urged him on.

I made every step count, for I wanted to reach Fort Larned before daylight, in order to avoid if possible the Indians, to whom it would have been "pie" to have caught me there on foot.
The mule stuck to the road and kept on for Larned, and I did the same thing.