strange," the Adjutant repeated. "It is, past any doubt, a new
breed of bullock. Some day it will not be able to keep its
foothold up yonder, and will fall as the men did. The old Mugger
will then be ready."

The Jackal looked at the Adjutant and the Adjutant looked at the
Jackal. If there was one thing they were more certain of than
another, it was that the engine was everything in the wide world
except a bullock. The Jackal had watched it time and again from
the aloe hedges by the side of the line, and the Adjutant had
seen engines since the first locomotive ran in India. But the
Mugger had only looked up at the thing from below, where the
brass dome seemed rather like a bullock"s hump.

"M--yes, a new kind of bullock," the Mugger repeated
ponderously, to make himself quite sure in his own mind;
and "Certainly it is a bullock," said the Jackal.

"And again it might be----" began the Mugger pettishly.

"Certainly--most certainly," said the Jackal, without waiting
for the other to finish.

"What?" said the Mugger angrily, for he could feel that the
others knew more than he did. "What might it be? _I_ never
finished my words. You said it was a bullock."

"It is anything the Protector of the Poor pleases. I am HIS
servant--not the servant of the thing that crosses the river."