You dream in spite of yourself, and walk through a world no more than half real, a world peopled with your thoughts.
Casey did, when the burros left him in peace long enough.

They were misleading, pot-bellied animals that Casey hazed before him toward the Tippipahs.

They never showed more than slits of eyes beneath their drooping lids, yet they never missed seeing whatever there was to see, and taking advantage of every absent-minded moment when Casey was thinking of the Injun Jim, perhaps.

They were fast-walking burros when they were following a beaten trail and Casey was hard upon their heels, but when his attention wandered they showed a remarkable amount of energy in finding blind trails and following them into some impracticable wash where Casey wasted a good deal of time in extricating them.

He said he never saw burros that hated so to turn around and go back into the road, and he never saw two burros get out of sight as quickly as they could when they thought he wasn't watching.