Israel led the old, gray, stocky mule deeper into the shade of the leafing cottonwoods along the creek they had been following southwest. Sunlight, warm with the coming summer, seeped through the alleys in the trees, its bright rays dissipated by unfurling leaves and muted by the dark, course bark of the riparian forest. He paused before leaving the tree line they had been skirting, carefully searching the nearby creek bottom for any danger, now and again casting quick glances over both shoulders and behind the mule.
“Let me help you down off that mule, wife.”
“You are gonna have to, Israel, I think my bottom might be glued to this critter. I’m not sure what’s worse, walking or riding.” Hunching over the forequarters of the mule, Lucy reached down and rubbed her swollen left knee, barely visible below the hem of her skirt.