A panther had broken out of its cage,
when a wagon overset.
He came down the middle of the highway, keeping to it, as everyone ran off
it to right and left. I had strolled some distance from where I had
tethered my horse. Naturally, as I could not mount and dash off, I did not
run. I stepped into the middle of the road and faced the beast. Of course,
he stopped, stood still and stared at me. I walked towards him, very
deliberately, even pausing between paces, till I was an arm's length from
him. He cringed and cowered. I took him by the scruff of his neck, turned
him round, led him back to his cage, which was not broken, only jarred
open, made him enter it, and closed the door on him.
Thereupon the fugitives flocked back, acclaiming me as a sorcerer. The
superintendent of that caravan insisted on my giving him my name. I told
him I was Felix, the horse-wrangler of the Imperial estate. He gave me a
broad gold piece.
Unable to elicit anything from the natives or the teamsters I resorted to
the outlaws. I had been admonished before I saw any of them that it was
not according to the etiquette of the district for anyone to ride a horse
into the outlaws' camp. If anywhere near it one visited it on foot. If too
far one carefully avoided appearing to ride towards it or from it.
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