And it took them even longer to capture the wily mule and to get their equipment wagon off the road and to cover it with cut brush. They were still two miles out from Piedras Negras, and it was near dark when they met the southbound stagecoach. It was traveling at a high clip, and Kizzy felt in danger of being run down and barely managed to pull the living quarters wagon to the side of the road before the stagecoach came flying past with the driver up in the seat and hauling on his ribbons in a unsuccessful attempt to slow his runaway team. Through the cloud of choking dust both of them noticed that the stage was pulled mostly by the mules formerly belonging to them. “Those mules never did mind well,” Fonzo said. “I’m almost glad the rurales stole them.” “Knotheads or not, they were our knotheads,” Kizzy said. “We’d have to rob a bank to buy more mules.” “Those rurales must have sold them to the stage company as soon as they hit town.” Kizzy nodded. “They won’t suspect that we will do anything about it,”
