He had no vice, yet was as full of mischief as he could possibly pack.

His mischief, or rather playfulness, finally cost him his life, as he once got to teasing a bull, the bull charged, and that was his end.
It was with this team too that when driving in New Mexico through a district where white men were seldom seen, but on a road which I had often selected as a shorter route to my destination, I came on a Mexican ill-treating his donkey.

His actions were so deliberate as to rouse my ire, and I got down, took the club from him and threatened castigation.
On proceeding on the road I passed another Mexican mounted on a horse and carrying a rifle.

Happening by-and-by to look back much was my surprise, or perhaps not very much, to see the gun and horse handed over to the first man, and himself mounted and galloping after me.

Knowing at once what it meant, that his game was to bushwhack me in the rough canon immediately in front, I put the whip to my team to such good purpose that we galloped through that canon as it had never been galloped through before.