he saw the oxen coming up. He was like those fussy 

 people who drive every one else crazy and waste a lot 

 of time by always being half an hour early, and then 

 annoy you by boasting that they have never missed 

 a train in their lives. 



But there was one way in which Pezulu used to get 

 caught. Just as he knew that inspanning meant 

 starting, so, too, he knew that outspanning meant 

 stopping ; and whenever the waggons stopped 

 even for a few minutes out would pop his head, 

 just like the fussy red-faced father of the big family 

 looking out to see if it was their station or an accident 

 on the line. Right and left he would look, giving 

 excited inquisitive clucks from time to time, and if 

 they did not start in another minute or two, he would 

 get right out and walk anxiously to the edge of the load 

 and have another good look around as the nervous 

 old gentleman gets half out, and then right out, to 

 look for the guard, but will not let go the handle of the 

 door for fear of being left. Unless he saw the boys 

 outspanning he would not get off, and if one of the 

 hens ventured out he would rush back at her in a 

 great state and try to bustle her back into the coop. 

 But often it happens while trekking that something 

 goes wrong with the gear a yokeskey or a nekstrop 

 breaks, or an ox will not pull kindly or pulls too hard 

 where he is, and you want to change his place ; and in 

 that way it comes about that sometimes you have to 

 outspan one or two or even more oxen in the middle 

 of a trek. 



That is how Pezulu used to get caught : the minute 



95 



