But it only lifted its nose and turned aside. It would not take the stream. Pancrazio seized the leading rope angrily and turned upstream.
“Why were donkeys made! They are beasts without sense,” his voice floated angrily across the chill darkness.
Ciccio laughed. He and Alvina stood in the wide, stony river-bed, in the strong starlight, watching the dim figures of the ass and the men crawl upstream with the lantern.
Again the same performance, the white muzzle of the ass stooping down to sniff the water suspiciously, his hind-quarters tilted up with the load. Again the angry yells and blows from Pancrazio. And the ass seemed to be taking the water. But no! After a long deliberation he drew back. Angry language sounded through the crystal air. The group with the lantern moved again upstream, becoming smaller.
Alvina and Ciccio stood and watched. The lantern looked small up the distance. But there—a clocking, shouting, splashing sound.
“He is going over,” said Ciccio.
Pancrazio came hurrying back to the plank with the lantern.
“Oh the stupid beast! I could kill him!” cried he.
“Isn’t he used to the water?” said Alvina.
“Yes, he is. But he won’t go except where he thinks he will go. You might kill him before he should go.”