Fools and Mules --------------- [A Shorty McKay Story] By Ray Humphreys Author of “In the Wrong Pasture,” etc. Snow, which had first capped the higher peaks of the Sangre de Cristos late in August, had unrolled its fleecy blanket down the slopes of the mountains, as the weeks went by, and had now smothered Monte Vista in huge crystal drifts that had all but buried the snug little town. The high roads that wound out of the village up to the various silver mines were hopelessly blocked for any sort of conveyance and open only to the most daring of horsemen, or the slow, plodding snowshoer. So, when the First State Bank of Monte Vista found it necessary to get the three-thousand-dollar pay roll up to the Consolidated, back in the very heart of the snow country, it called upon Sheriff Joe Cook for two reasons: one, it wanted a suggestion as to the best method of procedure, snowshoes or saddle horses, and the other, it wanted an armed escort for the cash, for there were rumors that “Buck” Bancroft, road agent de luxe, who had been operating on the western slope in the autumn, had been seen on the valley side of the range, and the pay roll would be pickings for him. “Blah!” snorted Sheriff Cook, when the possibility of Bancroft’s being in the vicinity was mentioned to him. “That jasper has a reward o’ five hundred berries on his head, and he ain’t venturin’ nowhere near my district, where law an’ order reign supreme, even ef I do say so myself, as shouldn’t, an’ further, what is thar to rob or hold up on this side o’ the Sangre? Nuthin’ but a few minin’ shacks an’ isolated ranches, where he might git bacon or git shot, but no dough. Don’t yuh worry none about no Bancroft. He’s plumb across the range!” But the bank officials, as they were responsible for the pay roll until it was delivered at the Consolidated office, were mildly insistent that the sheriff furnish an escort and likewise suggest a responsible man to carry the cash itself, and the sheriff, having been driven out of his warm office that very morning by his deputy, “Shorty” McKay, who was endeavoring, out loud, to make certain strange words fit into a rhyme for a new “pome,” had up and suggested that the bank save money by letting Shorty go as their messenger with the money. “But who’ll be his escort?” they asked. “He’ll guard himself,” retorted the sheriff hopefully, “seein’ he’s a deputy an’ everythin’. The only thing he’ll have to look out fer is the mountain sheep, which are grazin’ low on account o’ the extra severe snows, and which may dispute the road with him, buttin’ him kerplunk into a drift somewheres!” So, immediately after Sheriff Cook had nominated him, the nominations were closed and Shorty was elected to go up the lariat trail, through the dazzling white, to the Consolidated, where the miners were still digging in the soft “innards” of the earth and wanted their pay, snow or no snow.