CHAPTER XVIII
“AS STUBBORN AS A MULE”
“THERE is nothing like starting early,” said the Ranger one day, “when it comes to training animals and children. I am going to break young Bucky to the pack saddle.”
The little donkey was accordingly fitted with a pair of kyacks, almost empty to start with. So far, so good. But Bucky would not budge.
Meekly he stood there, his long ears pointed inquiringly at the Ranger and his eyes rolling till the whites showed. He made no protest, but neither could he be made to move. The Ranger did not believe in beating him. Besides, he knew from watching others that it would do no good. A burro will die under your blows, but he will not give in.
The Ranger tried coaxing, he tried commanding, he tried pulling on the halter rope and shoving from behind, but still that mite of a donkey stood with hoofs braced and refused to go one step with that pack saddle on his back.
It occurred to the Ranger that perhaps he had tried too heavy a load, for a burro knows better than any man what he can carry. He emptied the kyacks entirely. Sure enough, they had been too heavy,—light as they were.—Bucky now followed him with ears wagging peacefully, back and forth, back and forth, as is the way of burros.
He followed the Ranger, as docile as a puppy, planting his small hoofs carefully on the rocky trail. After perhaps half an hour he stopped. The Ranger coaxed him with a biscuit from his lunch, but the burro would not budge; he switched his heels, but Bucky would not move. He simply felt that it was time for a rest, and he used the one argument at his command. When he had rested long enough, he started on again of his own accord.
“‘He’s as stubborn as a mule,’” laughed the Ranger. “But I guess he knows better than I do when he’s had enough. I wouldn’t urge him beyond his strength for anything.”
Bucky certainly had a mind of his own. Fuzzy had been frog hunting down along the creek one day when the Ranger came along on horseback, with the big burros and young Bucky following after. He was on his way to bring in firewood from a clearing where he had chopped up a fallen tree, and though Bucky was not to carry more than one stick on each side, he thought it good training for him to go along and learn to follow a pack train.
They came to a corduroy bridge across the creek. Now burros are afraid of water. Their ancestors were desert animals, and every last donkey of them has to be taught to cross a bridge. It was no different with young Bucky.
Tripping daintily along behind his mother, he stopped when he came to the first log of that bridge, and planted his fore hoofs firmly against it.
The Ranger was prepared to offer him an apple, but Bucky would only stretch his neck toward the fruit and beg without being willing to come one inch nearer for it. Then the Ranger tried to pull him by his halter rope, but he tugged and he pulled till he was afraid he would pull the rascal’s head off, without being able to budge him.
The Ranger set his wits to work once more. He had heard of people actually lighting a fire under the stubborn animals, but though the flame singed their fur, they were more afraid of the bridge.
At last, in disgust, he simply took the young burro on his back by getting under him and drawing his fore legs over his shoulders, and carried him across.
Fuzzy, watching, enjoyed it hugely.