"All right."
Ellis spread his bedroll beside the wagon while Joe sought his bed
inside. It was true that they had to have a mule and, in Ellis's place,
he didn't know what he might have done. He supposed he'd have continued
on farther until he could buy a mule, even if it took another day or
two. But it wasn't only the stealing of the mule--it was Ellis's calm
way of reporting it that shocked him. The calm way, he knew, was a
cover-up for real anger. But why the anger? The whole thing worried him
and it was some time before he could fall asleep. When he awakened the
soft light of early dawn had found its way into the wagon. Joe lay
quietly for a few minutes. They must return the stolen mule, or else
arrange to pay for it, but they might as well hitch both and drive down
to the trappers' corral. Joe climbed out the rear of the wagon and made
his way to the front.
He heard the crack of the rifle, and felt the bullet smack into the
ground at his feet. Shocked with surprise, Joe stood still and for a
moment his mind was incapable of directing his body. Still half asleep,
Ellis sat up in his bedroll. There came a voice.
"Don't neither of ye move thar! Stand right still thar!"
They came from behind a huge boulder whose arched back lifted from the
earth about sixty yards away. They were two men dressed in greasy
buckskin and with long black hair brushing their shoulders. The man who
had shot carried a rifle in the crook of his arm but there was a pistol
in his hand. They advanced purposefully, menacingly, and the morning
wind ruffled their shaggy hair.
"Move," the smaller one said, "an' I'll drill ye clean. Bring him up,
Pete."
Holstering his revolver, the tall man untethered the black mule and
brought him up to the wagon. Joe had a glance for the mule, a powerful
beast that had not yet shed his long winter hair. The brisk wind played
with it, laying it back along the black mule's flank and ribs. The
smaller man looked at Joe's horse mule.
"Mought's well have 'em both. Git that one too."
"Now wait a minute--" Joe began.
"Don't 'wait a minute' me. My finger's right oneasy on this trigger an'
I'd just as soon shoot a mule rustler."
"We were going to bring him back."
The smaller man laughed jeeringly and another rifle cracked as Tad shot
from behind the wagon. There was a sodden "splat" as the bullet struck
the muzzle of the rifle covering Joe and Ellis. It snapped out of the
short man's hands, dropped to the ground, and as it did the black mule
began to rear. The man holding him reached frantically for his revolver,
but he needed both hands on the rope. Ellis dived to his bedroll and
rose to a kneeling position with his own rifle.
"Suppose," he said almost pleasantly, "that you two take a turn at not
moving! I can shoot, too."
Rage overspread the smaller man's face. The mule quieted, and the man
holding him tried to slip beside him. But Joe had his rifle and Tad was
reloading.