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<h3>Chapter Twelve.</h3> <h4>Chris has a Fit.</h4> Every one made a dash to avert the disaster on hearing their leader’s words, but the stampede had already begun. Disaster of a serious kind was about to fall upon the little expedition, and but for the energy of Griggs and Chris matters would have been worse than they were. For panic had seized upon two or three of the mules, which took alarm from the startled mustangs, and directly after they would all have been in headlong flight, kicking wildly as they tore away, when the same thought came to two of the party who had the energy and nerve to put it into action. The idea was that even then, frightened as they were, the mules would obey their old habit, so driving their heels into their snorting mustangs’ sides, Griggs and Chris raced after Skeeter as he was tearing along at full speed, shaking his load loose, and making his bell jangle loudly as he squealed and galloped. Almost at the same moment the two pursuers grasped the mule’s rein on either side and drew their own, with the result that with the bell ringing still loudly, three animals were going along swiftly close abreast, but moment by moment becoming more and more under control, Skeeter the calmest of all, for he acted as if he felt comparatively safe with a stout cob pressing against each side. The rest of the mules were still galloping, but Skeeter led, and his behaviour began to influence his companions to such an extent that as they grew farther from the object of their alarm the kicking and plunging gradually subsided. The effort of going full speed under loads generally carried at a walk began to tell, and at the end of half-a-mile all were under control and following their bell-bearing leader, till Skeeter was checked, no serpents were in view, and the controllers of the wild race sat panting upon their mustangs, ready to round up any mule which made a fresh start, and every living thing panting from their late exertions, the bipeds eagerly calculating the damage that had been done. “Sit fast,” cried the doctor, “and be ready in case they make a fresh dash. Griggs! Chris! splendid; but keep fast hold of that bell-mule’s rein.” “Got him tight, father,” cried Chris. “Same here, doctor,” panted Griggs. “He’ll have to leave his head behind this time if he tries to make a start. Say, Squire Ned,” he continued to the boy, who now joined him, “you were grumbling about having no adventures. What do you say to this for a regular red-hot one, quite noo out of nature’s oven?” “Oh, I don’t know,” cried Ned excitedly. “Do you think the rattlesnakes will pursue us?” “No that I don’t, my lad; but I say, doctor, just look.” The leader was already gazing back over the ground they had covered, to see that it was dotted with packs and various odds and ends sent flying from the mules’ loads, from a tin cross-handled kettle to bags of meal and a great elongated roll which represented the tent. The doctor groaned, for there lay the scattered objects in sight, while how many lay beyond his ken he was afraid to think. Of course he felt that they could be collected again, and that they were not of a nature to have suffered much damage, but it would probably be the beginning of another stampede to force any of the animals back along a track infested by serpents, and a task that would try the nerves of the stoutest of them seeing how horribly insidious was the danger, when the lifting of a bale might mean the incurring of a deadly stroke from a hidden foe. In all probability no reader of this ever encountered a mule team represented by so many sets of four legs, a head, and tail, and a body hidden by the load secured upon the backs of the owners of the legs by means of cords tied with what a mule-driver calls the diamond-hitch. The reader has also probably never seen a mule dissatisfied with the load it has been called upon to bear, and doing its best to shed the same load. Every one is aware of the brute’s kicking powers, but in this respect it is at its best when, plunging and flinging out its legs, it squeezes itself up tightly within its skin and tries its best—worst would be the proper term—to shoot itself out through the diamonds of rope which form the hitch. Griggs had secured most of the loads that day, and he had done well; but all did not stand the strain, and the appearance of the mules standing, hanging of head, stamping, twitching their ears and whisking their tails to get rid of the flies, was painfully ludicrous. Skeeter, as became him, being leader, and, thanks to the way in which he had been checked, was the most reputable-looking of the team, for others were horrible. Here stood one mule with his load resting upon the sand, the animal striding across it, head and fore-legs in front, hind-legs and tail behind, and nothing upon its back but tightened ropes. A little farther on was one which had shed its load and stood with drooping head, looking as if it had been ornamented with a tangle of rope. Again, not many yards away was another snuffling and nuzzling at the sand, which it blew aside now and then with a snort which raised a little cloud—doing all this under difficulties, being nearly overbalanced by its load, which had slipped over till it bulged straight out from its side. Another sat up like a cat, being held in position by its pack, which had slipped over its tail, while again another had kicked till it went down upon its nose, kneeling, so to speak, with its hind-quarters high up, and its load like a pair of panniers resting upon its neck. “What a horrible confusion!” cried the doctor, and he was going to say something more, but his words were drowned by Skeeter, who had evidently been surveying the wreck of the train and the dismal condition of his companions, especially that of the one farthest off, which had tried to roll its load off till it had been brought up short by getting its legs perpendicular to paw the air—being unable to get over to right or left, consequent upon the two packs thoroughly wedging it up, so that its razor back resembled the hull of a boat whose keel was fitted in the chocks, the pawing legs looking like so many motive masts. All this seemed to be too much for Skeeter, who stretched out his neck till his muzzle was in a line therewith, literally shed tears, opened his mouth, distended his nostrils, and with ears quivering, emitted the most startling sound ever heard. It was not a neigh like his mother would have given, nor a bray such as his father would have uttered, but a hoarse yell made up of the most discordant elements of both, and it was no wonder that the doctor’s voice was drowned. “Be quiet, you brute!” he cried angrily, making a pretence of kicking it in the pack; and then he stared in wonder, for it seemed as if a fresh misfortune had affected one member of the expedition in a peculiar way. That member was Chris, who suddenly dropped his hold of Skeeter’s rein, and with his face horribly distorted, began to roll about in his saddle. “Oh, Griggs!” he gasped. “Ned! Somebody! Hold me on.” “What is it, boy?” cried the doctor—“Bitten?” “N–n–n–n–no, father,” he panted. And then, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I—I—I—I—I can’t help it. I—” There were other words, but they were confused and strange; but though they did not convey in words the meaning of the seizure, they pointed out what was the matter. For it became evident that Chris was laughing wildly—madly—hysterically, and to such an extent that he had lost all control of himself, and had hard work to keep in the saddle. To make matters worse, the mirth proved contagious to such an extent that Griggs sat looking at him, then at the mules, and back again, with his mouth expanding into a broad grin, while Ned slid off his mustang quietly, held on to the rein, and then lay down in the sand, to laugh in the same uncontrolled fashion. “Well,” cried Bourne angrily, “this is a nice way to treat our misfortunes!” “I—I—I can’t help it, father,” panted Ned, and he laughed more than ever, while Wilton’s lips as he sat looking on began to quiver and then widen out. “Here, stop it, you two,” he growled at last. “Come and help collect the things.” “I—I can’t yet,” panted Ned, who laughed more than ever, till Wilton gave the doctor and Bourne a sharp look, and then said aloud— “Oh, let them laugh it out; but I say, are those some of the rattlesnakes coming after us?” “Eh?” cried Ned, who was sobered in an instant, and sat up to exclaim, “Which way? Whereabouts?” “I—I—I can’t help it if they do come,” gurgled out Chris. “Oh, father, plea–please stop me; it hurts. Gi–give me something—a drop of water.” “Yes, the boy’s quite hysterical,” said the doctor. “Water. Ah! Where are the kegs?” All looked round, but no kegs were visible. There was the mule that should have borne them, though, with the rough pack-saddle upon which they had been lashed one on each side, twisting its head round and striving to reach a fly that was busy at work depositing its eggs in the animal’s coat, the teeth being not long enough to scrape it out. “Why, the water-kegs have gone!” cried the doctor wildly. “Here, catch hold of the mule, somebody,” cried Griggs, and Chris was sobered in an instant, for the water represented life to all, and it was no time for laughing then. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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