The ambulance gave a
lurch, forward, as the mules started on a run, but Tiburcio dexterously
threw them on to a heavy bed of sand, poured the whip into them as they
labored through it; they crossed the sand bed, Glenn Gallup and Theodore
Quayle, riding, at their heads, pointed the team into the road, and they
were off.
The rest of us busied ourselves getting up saddle horses and dressing
for the occasion. In the latter we had no little trouble, for dress
occasions like this were rare with us. Miss Jean had been thoughtful
enough to lay our clothes out, but there was a busy borrowing of collars
and collar buttons, and a blacking of boots which made the sweat stand
out on our foreheads in beads. After we were dressed and ready to start,
Uncle Lance could not be induced to depart from his usual custom, and
wear his trousers outside his boots. Then we had to pull the boots off
and polish them clear up to the ears in order to make him presentable.
But we were in no particular hurry about starting, as we expected to out
across the country and would overtake the ambulance at the mouth of the
Arroyo Seco in time for the noonday lunch. There were six in our party,
consisting of Dan Happersett, Aaron Scales, John Cotton, June Deweese,
Uncle Lance, and myself.
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