Part 2

“Yuh sure got inter a nice mess,” commented the sheriff, and Shorty realized that in the joyous prospect of being rescued he had forgotten that he had been held up and had lost three thousand dollars of the Consolidated mines pay roll. He wilted at the thought of it now.

“Yes sir,” admitted Shorty, “I sure did get into a nice mess. How did yuh happen to start up the trail?”

Sheriff Cook clutched him by the shoulders. “That hoss o’ yuhrs, Shorty, that Lobo Loco, he came tearin’ in afore dawn this mawnin’, runnin’ like the wind itself.”

Shorty’s face lit up. “So he got away, did he?” he cried. “Smart hoss. Blamed smart hoss--smarter’n any fool mule.” Shorty cast a contemptuous glance at Rudolph.

“He didn’t get away from the bandit, ef that’s what yuh mean,” corrected Sheriff Cook. “He brought Bancroft in. Guess Bancroft was asleep in the saddle, an’ Lobo scraped him off as he bolted under the door into the stable. The jolt stunned Bancroft an’ the rumpus aroused some folks, an’ we found Bancroft on the ground----”

“Get the dough back?” asked Shorty.

“Sure enough. Then, knowin’ something had happened to yuh we started out to look fer yuh, but----”

“Smart hoss, smart hoss!” cried Shorty, louder than ever now as he recognized Bradley and Robinson of the bank on the trail high above. “Blamed smart hoss--smarter’n any mule--any two mules--any three mules--as ever lived. Lobo Loco takes Bancroft in. Reckon we splits that five-hundred-dollar reward. An’ lookit this ol’ fool mule here--all he got me into was trouble. Lookit that empty-lookin’ mug, them ears----”

“Huh,” said Sheriff Cook solemnly, “yuh can thank _this_ mule, Shorty, that we found yuh. We’d been clear up the trail to the mines an’ hadn’t spotted yuh, an’ we was headed back to town when we heard the foghorn o’ this ol’ mule. He kept signalin’ at intervals, an’ we follered his bray until we locates yuh an’ him.”

“He was laughin’ at me,” said Shorty. “The ol’ fool was laughin’ his head off at me.”

“Fool er no fool, that mule saved yuhr life,” said the sheriff, “an’ yuh’re a fool ef yuh don’t believe it. A fool that’s all.”

“I believe it, but I’m a fool,” answered Shorty, and there were tears in his eyes. “I’m just fool enough to insist, gents, that Rudolph be hauled up first. Mules first, is my motter; I refuses to be saved until my pal, Rudy, is saved first! An’ I’m hereby apologizin’ to Rudy an’ to all mules in general for anything I may have said agin’ ’em. My hoss Lobo Loco is smart, blamed smart, but here while I was duckin’ up and down in the snow, not havin’ sense enough to holler for help, wise ol’ Rudy here was broadcastin’ a distress call fer an hour an’ I didn’t know it. Up with him, gents, git a rope around him. Women an’ children--naw, confound it, guess I’m excited--mules first, by golly, especially a smart mule like Rudy. Rudy, I--I--well, I just can’t tell yuh how----”

And Rudolph, laying back his ears, raised a quivering upper lip over yellow teeth, sucking in a mighty breath.

“Haw he-ee-ee haw!” he brayed.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 27, 1924 issue of _Western Story Magazine_.]