I followed him, trusting that he would catch his foot in the bridle rein and stop, but he made straight for the wagon road, where I feared Indians would be lurking, without a pause.

At last he struck the road, but instead of turning back toward Fort Dodge he headed for Fort Larned, keeping up a jogtrot that was just too fast to permit me to overtake him.
I had my gun in hand, and was sorely tempted to shoot him more than once, and probably would have done so but for the fear of bringing the Indians down on me.

But he was going my way, so I trudged along after him mile after mile, indulging from time to time in strong language regarding the entire mule fraternity.

The mule stuck to the road and kept on for Fort Larned, and I did the same thing.

The distance was thirty-five miles.