of a camel you, you upset our tent. My man 's very angry."
"Phew!" said the bullocks. "He must be white?"
"Of course he is," said Vixen. "Do you suppose I 'm looked after by a black bullock-driver?"
"Huah! Ouach! Ugh!" said the bullocks. "Let us get away quickly."
They plunged forward in the mud, and managed somehow to run their yoke on the pole of an ammunition-wagon, where it jammed.
"Now you have done it," said Billy calmly.
"Don't struggle. You 're hung up till daylight. What on earth 's the matter?"
The bullocks went off into the long hissing snorts that Indian cattle give, and pushed and crowded and slued and stamped and slipped and nearly fell down in the mud, grunting savagely.
"You 'll break your necks in a minute," said the troop-horse. "What 's the matter with white men? I live with 'em."
"They—eat—us! Pull!" said the near bullock: the yoke snapped with a twang, and they lumbered off together.
I never knew before what made Indian cattle so afraid of Englishmen. We eat beef—a thing
