The wicked old mule knew nothing of all this. No coyotes annoyed him or his command, but not a mouthful to eat did they find until they came out where they could see the ancient ruins. At sight of these, hinting of human presence, they halted briefly and then sheered away so as not to approach too nearly so very unpleasant a suggestion. The bisons had led them well, whether or not the mule got the credit of it. Also, there was a fair degree of justification of the instinct concerning beaten paths. New ones may be better, and somebody must hunt them up all the while, but the old roads will do very well for most people until the new ones are fairly mapped out. Christopher Columbus had a hard time of it, and Captain Cook got himself eaten up at last, after finding ever so many new things. It was a matter of course that the runaways should feel their way farther and farther down the valley, and all sorts of happiness seemed to be before them. Grass, water, nice weather, no masters, no responsibilities, and plenty of good company among themselves. It was a time to grow fat, and to think well of the world they lived in. The wicked old mule had done his work, but he had gained neither name nor fame by it. He looked sidewise more slyly, whisked his ropy tail more demurely, and kicked his nearest neighbors more viciously than ever. Still, all he or they had gained was a vacation; no work to do for anybody but themselves, but with winter only a few months ahead and with a certainty that wolves, buzzards, coyotes, cougars, grislies, frost, snow-storms, and all the other unknown possibilities of the mountain country were only holding off for a season. CHAPTER XVI VISITING Two Arrows was treated to an excellent breakfast the morning after his capture. He also saw a white man eat with a knife and fork, and had all the sugar he wanted for the first time. It was a wonderful morning, and a very brilliant pair of eyes were drinking in its marvels greedily. Rifles, pistols, and all that sort of thing were familiar enough to the young Nez Perce, but he saw new patterns of them and gained tremendous notions of the wealth and skill of the pale-faces who could make such weapons. "Father," said Sile, "I wish he could read. He's a bright fellow." "Show him everything you have with a picture in it."