Grace Harlowes Overland Riders Among the Kentucky Mountaineers | Page 3

there he sat, still mouthing his harmonica, lost to
everything but the music he was creating.
"Your logic is unassailable," nodded Miss Briggs. "I was wondering
why, while we are about it, we don't hire a brass band. We at least
would not be obliged to listen to the same tune all the time. Does any
one know of a way to put a mute on a harmonica?"

"Ah reckon Ah do," mimicked Emma Dean, taking careful aim and
shying a pebble at Wash.
The pebble went rather wide of the mark--that is, the mark for which it
was intended, but it reached another and a fully as satisfactory one. The
pebble hit Washington's pack mule on the tender part of its hind leg,
galvanizing that member into instant and vigorous action.
The eyes of the Overlanders were not quick enough to see the
movement that followed. What they did see, however, was Washington
Washington lifted from the ground and pitched head first into a clump
of laurel, where the light foot of an outraged mule had landed him.
"He's killed!" cried Anne, voicing the thought that was in the mind of
each of her companions, and a concerted rush was made for the clump
of laurel.
They found the colored boy somewhat dazed when they dragged him
from the bushes.
"Wha--whar dat 'monica?" he gasped, referring to the harmonica that he
was playing when the mule kicked him.
"Maybe he swallowed it," suggested Emma. "I hope not, for he surely
would have musical indigestion. Wouldn't that be terrible--for us?"
"No great loss if it has landed over in the Cumberlands," observed Tom
Gray. "Wash, where did the mule hit you?"
"Ah reckons all ovah, 'cept on de bean. Why dat fool mule kick me?
Hain't nevah done nothin' laik that befo'. Ah ask yuh why he do dat?"
insisted Washington.
They glanced at Emma, whose face reddened.
"I threw a stone at you and hit the mule, if you must know," she said.
"The mule passed it on, hitting you with his foot. That mule must have
played tag when he was a child. I'm sorry, Wash--but if you had been

attending to your business you would not have been hit."
Washington's first thought upon recovering from his daze had been for
the harmonica, and his first act, after getting to his feet, was to go in
search of it. He found it after considerable effort, and ran the scales on
it.
"Glory be!" cried the boy. "Dat fool mule ain't done kicked de music
out ob it."
"Listen to me, Washington," demanded Grace, stepping over and laying
a firm hand on the lad's shoulder. "You will put that instrument away--"
"'Tain't no inst'ment. Hit's a 'monica," he interrupted.
"I am speaking. Put it away, and do not let me see you touch it again
until you have finished your work. Do you understand?"
"Uh-huh."
"See that you do not forget. Unpack both mule packs, but look out for
the mules' heels, and remember that we did not hire you for an
ornament. Emma Dean, let this be a warning to you," admonished
Grace, turning to her companion. "Never trifle with a mule. They are
all notoriously devoid of a sense of humor."
Washington, in the meantime, had shuffled away and had leisurely
begun removing the packs.
"Speaking of ornaments, I suppose I am the only real ornament in this
outfit," observed Hippy.
"You mean the kind that they pack away in the garret with broken
chairs and old chromos," suggested Emma.
Hippy shrugged his shoulders and walked away, followed by the
laughter of his companions. Emma had scored again, as she frequently
did, and Hippy, instead of being ruffled, took keen delight, as usual, in
her repartee.

"I fear that boy is not going to do at all," said Grace's husband with a
shake of the head. "As I have remarked before, you should have a man
for a guide, a man who knows these mountains and who is able to
protect and look out for you girls in the event of your getting into
trouble."
"But, Tom dear, don't you think the Overland girls by this time should
be quite able to look out for themselves?" begged Grace.
"Ordinarily, yes. You are, however, going into territory that is rather
wild, going among people that do not value human life or liberty
according to our standards. My friend, Colonel Spotsworth, of
Louisville, strongly advised against you folks crossing the eastern end
of the range, which would take you through mountains where
moonshiners and feudists hold forth. I agree with him."
"We have Hippy," suggested Elfreda. "In an emergency he is worth half
a dozen of the ordinary kind."
"Yes, but Hippy is not a woodsman. He knows nothing at all about