"You're right enough there. It's just a mass of nerves, for all they can use it so hard. My father told me that you'11 see 'em in India takin' soundings when they have to go over rough ground—they tap with the trunk-tip on the ground for stones before putting a foot down. Oh, they're cute enough. You know how old Ram saved the show from a weak bridge?"
"I don't," cried Hugh. "Teil me, George."
"Well, we were on the march one day, an' the Boss took it into his head to let the bull-vans go first to make a good show comin' into a township. An' the queer thing is, he did it that one time an' never again, 'cause all the rest of the procession was near smothered in their dust, includin' his own wagon, an' Mrs. Dan didn't like it. She told him before the start how it would be, but you know what your Dad is, Nita."
"Yes—we do," said Nita.
"Well, it was a mercy he was set on his own way that day, at all events. Off we went, an' it was a very nice trip for me, 'cause I generally have to eat the dust of the whole procession, but this time I sat up in front like the Queen of the May. An' it was an unmetaled bush road that about a million sheep had been travelin' on, an' the dust was like gray flour, an' as deep as deep. So we came to this bridge, an' I never thought anything about it, bein' half-asleep with the heat. But old Ram Singh did my thinkin' as well as his own."
"What did he do?" Hugh asked.