“Burned if ever I thought I'd git astraddle o' any four-legged critter agin,” he said, rubbing himself as if in sudden and painful recollection of the past. “But I sorter picked up this yere muel down et ther corral, an' he 's tew durn wore out a totin' things fer you uns ter ever move offen a walk. I sorter reckon it's a heap easier a sittin' yere than ter take it afut all ther way ter ther mountings.” “He certainly has the appearance of being perfectly safe, but you know a mule is always full of tricks.” “Oh, this en ain't,” confidently. “Why, he 's so durn wore out a yankin' things 'round thet he 's bin plum asleep all ther way out yere. Say, Cap, be it true thet a muel will wake up an' git a move on itself if ye blow in his ear?” “Who told you that?” “The feller down et ther quartermaster's corral. He said as how thet wus ther way ther niggers got 'em ter go 'long whin they got tew durn lazy. Blamed if I don't b'lieve I'll try it jist fer onst, fer I 'd like durn well ter git ahead out o' this pesky dust.” I had never before seen such an experiment tried, but a slight knowledge of the nature of the animal involved induced me to rein back my horse, and to that precaution I have no doubt I owe my life. Jed blew only once; he lacked opportunity to do more, for a shock of electricity could never have more quickly aroused that mule. His long ears were erected with a snap, his short, spike tail shot out straight, while his heels cut the air in furious semicircles, as he backed viciously. I heard a yell from Jed, saw him clasp his arms lovingly about the animal's neck, caught a confused glimpse of the wildly cavorting figure amid the red dust cloud, and then, rear on, and lashing out crazily, that juggernaut of a mule struck the unsuspecting advancing column of troopers, and plunged half through their close-set ranks before they even realized what had happened. Horses plunged wildly to escape; here and there a man went down in the crush; oaths, blows, shouts of anger rang out, while beneath the dense dust cloud frightened horses and startled riders struggled fiercely to escape. For the moment it was pandemonium in earnest, and I could only trace the disastrous passage of Bungay by the shouts of angry men and the sharp cries of injured horses. “Captain Wayne, what does all this mean, sir? What is the cause of the disorder in your troop?” It was the Major's voice, stern, indignant, commanding. I dashed the tears of laughter from my eyes, and strove to face him decorously. “A mule, sir, which has taken a fit of kicking. I will straighten them out in a moment.” I wheeled, and peered into the rolling, surging mass of dust, out of which there arose such a hubbub of sounds as to make the noise of battle tame by comparison. “Catch the brute by the bridle, two of you,” I roared stoutly. “Craig, Whortley, what are you hanging back for? Go in there! Take hold of the devil from in front; there is no danger at that end.”