rough necks of the beasts, who feeling the deep friend-
liness of his touch would nuzzle his shoulder, them-
selves become friendly. And one day there suddenly
came upon Christophe an urgent desire to care for
these creatures, to minister to their poor, simple needs:
to sponge them and groom them, and change their
bedding; to see that their water was clean and sweet,
their food free from dust and of generous measure;
since who could foretell what might lie ahead of
hunger and thirst, of terror and wounds? And they
not able to comprehend the reason for so much un-
merited affliction.
The Transport men were a rough lot of fellows,
coarse-mouthed, coarse-fibred and none too patient.
They would grin to hear Christophe telling their
mules to be docile and cease from biting the mangers,
to hear him addressing some trace-galled horse as
gravely as though he spoke with a General. All the
same they would let him help with their jobs, standing
by and chewing straws while he worked, but watching
to see that he did no mischief.
The Transport sergeant watched also, it seemed, and
the Transport sergeant was very attentive. He had
been short-handed in the stables for some time,
whereas there were pioneers and to spare, an
odd carpenter would never be missed; and. besides,
many men could be found to hack wood while how
few had a real understanding of horses. This queer
fellow, for all his ridiculous ways with the zebras,
knew how to avoid cracked heels — most painstaking
he would be over drying. He knew also, it seemed,
how to cope with a mule that had learned to aim kicks
with baleful precision — Gaby would let him do
anything with her, even to grooming her ticklish
stomach. Oh, well, he was welcome to the rancid old
cow, no one else would vie with him for her favours!
The Transport sergeant was a man of action, and
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