At The Same Time He Discharged A Shower Of Blows Upon His
Mules, Who Hastily Dived Into The Mud And Drew The Wagon Lumbering
After Them.
For a moment the issue was dubious.
Wright writhed
about in his saddle, and swore and lashed like a madman; but who can
count on a team of half-broken mules? At the most critical point,
when all should have been harmony and combined effort, the perverse
brutes fell into lamentable disorder, and huddled together in
confusion on the farther bank. There was the wagon up to the hub in
mud, and visibly settling every instant. There was nothing for it
but to unload; then to dig away the mud from before the wheels with a
spade, and lay a causeway of bushes and branches. This agreeable
labor accomplished, the wagon at last emerged; but if I mention that
some interruption of this sort occurred at least four or five times a
day for a fortnight, the reader will understand that our progress
toward the Platte was not without its obstacles.
We traveled six or seven miles farther, and "nooned" near a brook.
On the point of resuming our journey, when the horses were all driven
down to water, my homesick charger, Pontiac, made a sudden leap
across, and set off at a round trot for the settlements. I mounted
my remaining horse, and started in pursuit. Making a circuit, I
headed the runaway, hoping to drive him back to camp; but he
instantly broke into a gallop, made a wide tour on the prairie, and
got past me again.
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