Our hero had decided to take the lieutenant’s advice, and make his mule do duty as a hunting-horse. That would be taking a long step backward, Oscar thought; for, judging by the actions of his long-eared friend, there was about as much speed in him as there was in a cow. His gait in the wagon was a lumbering trot, which he was obliged to assume in order to keep pace with the fast-walking little beast on which the guide was mounted. He scraped his hind feet on the ground as he went along, allowed his ears to bob back and forth in the laziest kind of a way, and if by chance the pony increased his lead by a few yards, the mule, instead of quickening his own pace in order to overtake him, would utter a mournful bray, as if begging him to slacken up a little. Oscar was not at all pleased with him, but he could not afford to pay fifty dollars for another mustang; and, as the mule would not be required to draw the wagon after the foot-hills were reached, it was nothing more than fair that he should earn his living and pay for himself, by carrying his master in pursuit of game. He was not satisfied with his guide, either. The latter kept just far enough ahead of the wagon to make conversation impossible, and Oscar was left to the companionship of his own thoughts, which were not of the most agreeable nature. The officers of the post, having taken a deep interest in him and his business, had tried hard to make his sojourn with them an occasion long to be remembered; and to give up his familiar intercourse with them for the society of this uncongenial man was by no means a pleasant thing to do. The prospect before him was gloomy enough, Oscar thought; but, fortunately, things did not turn out as badly as he anticipated. The guide misunderstood him, just as Oscar misunderstood the guide and the mule. They were both better than they seemed to be. It needed trouble to bring out their good qualities; and that came soon enough. Shortly after noon, by Oscar’s watch, the guide halted on the banks of a small stream; and, after removing the saddle and bridle from his pony, turned the animal loose to graze. He said nothing to Oscar; and the boy, who now began to feel provoked at his studied neglect, said nothing to him. “I can hold my tongue as long as he can hold his,” was Oscar’s mental reflection. “If I must depend upon myself for companionship I can do it; but he’ll attend to all the camp-work, I tell you, because that was what he was hired for.” Stopping the wagon near the place where the guide was starting a fire, Oscar unhitched the mule, turned him loose without removing any part of the harness except the bridle, and throwing himself down between the roots of a convenient tree, watched the motions of his guide, who now began preparations for dinner. He filled the frying-pan with bacon for Oscar, the slices he intended for himself being impaled upon a stick, which was thrust into the ground in such a way that the meat hung over the flames.