The Boy Chums in the Florida Jungle: or, Charlie West and Walter Hazard with the Seminole IndiansEly, Wilmer M. (Wilmer Mateo)
General
The Boy Chums in the Florida Jungle: or, Charlie West and Walter Hazard with the Seminole Indians
Ely, Wilmer M. (Wilmer Mateo)
Seminole Indians -- Juvenile fiction
Slowly he picked himself up, and, rubbing the sand out of his eyes,
looked back. The mule was nibbling placidly at a bit of grass, and
behind it the whole camp was howling with laughter.
"I really think," remarked the teamster critically, "that you could do
better with a saddle on."
"Saddle," exclaimed Charley wrathfully, "have you got a saddle?"
"Got a good one over in my tent. I 'lowed you preferred to ride bare
back. Some do, you know."
Charley glared at him with suspicion, but the Missourian's pale-blue
eyes met his with a look of entire innocence.
"I guess I could do better with a saddle," agreed the lad dryly. "Go
and get it, if you please."
Even with the saddle on, it was all he could do to retain his seat as
the mule bucked up and down. But the teamster at last gave it a whack
with a stick over the hind quarters and started it off on a run. For
one fleeting second Charley glanced back at the grinning faces behind,
then he settled down in the saddle and strove to master the vicious
brute.
CHAPTER XIV.
SCOUTING.
FORTUNATELY for Charley the newly-leveled road was still so unpacked
and soft that the mule quickly tired, with its feet at every stride
sinking to the fetlocks, and, before it reached the end of the grade,
the lad had it under control. At the end of the grade lay the heaps of
soft sand and mud the machine had lately thrown out. He must cross the
ditch in order to get around the machine and do it before he reached
the ant-like hills of dirt. He rose in his stirrups and surveyed the
ditch ahead. It was about eight feet wide and several feet in depth,
and in many places the bottom was nothing more than liquid mud. Picking
out a place where the bottom showed white sand, the lad headed the
mule for the ditch, and, as it hesitated for a moment on the edge, he
brought his whip down smartly on its flank. With a snort of rage the
mule leaped forward, clearing the ditch by a full two feet. It was a
wonderful jump, and Charley settled back in the saddle with a sigh of
relief. "You're sure some jumper, Violet," he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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