The voice and a venomous whip-cracking came out of a pillar of
dust fifty yards away, where a cart had broken down. A thin, high
Kathiawar mare, with eyes and nostrils aflame, rocketed out of
the jam, snorting and wincing as her rider bent her across the
road in chase of a shouting man. He was tall and grey-bearded,
sitting the almost mad beast as a piece of her, and scientifically
lashing his victim between plunges.

The old man's face lit with pride. 'My child!' said he briefly, and
strove to rein the pony's neck to a fitting arch.

'Am I to be beaten before the police?' cried the carter. 'Justice!
I will have Justice -'

'Am I to be blocked by a shouting ape who upsets ten thousand sacks
under a young horse's nose? That is the way to ruin a mare.'

'He speaks truth. He speaks truth. But she follows her man close,'
said the old man. The carter ran under the wheels of his cart and
thence threatened all sorts of vengeance.

'They are strong men, thy sons,' said the policeman serenely,
picking his teeth.

The horseman delivered one last vicious cut with his whip and came
on at a canter.

'My father!' He reigned back ten yards and dismounted.