Part 2

“Huh,” said Sheriff Cook solemnly, “yuh can thank _this_ mule, Shorty, that we found yuh. We’d been clear up the trail to the mines an’ hadn’t spotted yuh, an’ we was headed back to town when we heard the foghorn o’ this ol’ mule. He kept signalin’ at intervals, an’ we follered his bray until we locates yuh an’ him.”

“He was laughin’ at me,” said Shorty. “The ol’ fool was laughin’ his head off at me.”

“Fool er no fool, that mule saved yuhr life,” said the sheriff, “an’ yuh’re a fool ef yuh don’t believe it. A fool that’s all.”

“I believe it, but I’m a fool,” answered Shorty, and there were tears in his eyes. “I’m just fool enough to insist, gents, that Rudolph be hauled up first. Mules first, is my motter; I refuses to be saved until my pal, Rudy, is saved first! An’ I’m hereby apologizin’ to Rudy an’ to all mules in general for anything I may have said agin’ ’em. My hoss Lobo Loco is smart, blamed smart, but here while I was duckin’ up and down in the snow, not havin’ sense enough to holler for help, wise ol’ Rudy here was broadcastin’ a distress call fer an hour an’ I didn’t know it. Up with him, gents, git a rope around him. Women an’ children--naw, confound it, guess I’m excited--mules first, by golly, especially a smart mule like Rudy. Rudy, I--I--well, I just can’t tell yuh how----”

And Rudolph, laying back his ears, raised a quivering upper lip over yellow teeth, sucking in a mighty breath.

“Haw he-ee-ee haw!” he brayed.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 27, 1924 issue of _Western Story Magazine_.]