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"Don't the knives hurt?" said the young mule.

"Well, I got one cut across the chest once, but that wasn't Dick's fault-"

"A lot I should have cared whose fault it was, if it hurt!" said the young mule.

"You must," said the troop horse.

"If you don't trust your man, you may as well run away at once.

That's what some of our horses do, and I don't blame them.

As I was saying, it wasn't Dick's fault.

The man was lying on the ground, and I stretched myself not to tread on him, and he slashed up at me.

Next time I have to go over a man lying down I shall step on him-hard."

"H'm!" said Billy.

"It sounds very foolish.

Knives are dirty things at any time.

The proper thing to do is to climb up a mountain with a well-balanced saddle, hang on by all four feet and your ears too, and creep and crawl and wriggle along, till you come out hundreds of feet above anyone else on a ledge where there's just room enough for your hoofs.

Then you stand still and keep quiet-never ask a man to hold your head, young un-keep quiet while the guns are being put together, and then you watch the little poppy shells drop down into the tree-tops ever so far below."

"Don't you ever trip?" said the troop-horse.

"They say that when a mule trips you can split a hen's ear," said Billy.

"Now and again perhaps a badly packed saddle will upset a mule, but it's very seldom.

I wish I could show you our business.

It's beautiful.

Why, it took me three years to find out what the men were driving at.

The science of the thing is never to show up against the sky line, because, if you do, you may get fired at.

Remember that, young un.

Always keep hidden as much as possible, even if you have to go a mile out of your way.

I lead the battery when it comes to that sort of climbing."

"Fired at without the chance of running into the people who are firing!" said the troop-horse, thinking hard. "I couldn't stand that. I should want to charge-with Dick."

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