Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her
mount waiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the
heat she let her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they
proceeded quite slowly up the hill road, both absorbed in
meditation, which ceased only when the mule started an argument
about a turn in the trail. He was a well-bred trotting mule,
worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man's money, and he was
self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He brought a singular
firmness of purpose to the support of the negative of her
proposition, which was that he should swing north from the broad
into the narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John the
Baptist--this, I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth,
was the spirited animal's name--was considerably chastened, and
Miss Brewster more than a trifle flushed. She left him tied to a
ceiba branch at the exit from the dried creek bed, with strict
instructions not to kick, lest a worse thing befall him. Miss
Brewster's fighting blood was up, when, ten minutes late, because
of the episode, she reached the summit of the rock.
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