“He isn’t as large,” was the reply. “The Saghatherium was bigger, and he was a fighter, too. Herds of them ran over this plain in Eocene times, and with their fighting tusks, a pack of them would have been an ugly foe to meet. Do you remember the tusks, Perry?”
“I think I do,” answered the lad truthfully, “but I’m not quite sure. I didn’t pay much heed to them, when I was in the Museum. But I will when I get back, you bet.”
“You needn’t go to the Zoo to see a coney,” said the professor, squinting in the bright sunlight. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s one off there amid the rocks. See him?” and he pointed to a crevice.
Perry shaded his eyes with his hand.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “I spot him. He’s hard to see, though, against the rock. Looks a little like a rabbit.”
“And yet he’s more nearly related to an elephant than a rabbit,” the professor commented. “As I was telling you, Perry, looks don’t count for a great deal.”
Conversation dropped as the ascent became stiffer. The caravan was going up the steep ravines which form the only way between the level on which the ruined temple stands and the next bench, atop of the great cliff rising four hundred feet above them. One of the baggage camels, which had a pair of weak hind-legs, refused at first to try to make the climb and had to be pushed from behind by all the drivers together, while its bubbling roar filled the ravine with hideous noise. The steep slopes also put a strain on the loads and many of them came off.
“Seems to me these camel-drivers ought to learn to throw the diamond hitch,” suggested Perry, as the second load fell to the ground.
His uncle looked at him quizzically.
“Did you ever throw one?” he asked.