At this moment, above the noise of the waggons, as they bumped and lurched along, there came the whine and beat of barbaric music. The waggons drew to the side of the track, while the music grew louder and went by. Some hundreds of horses in twos went by, with a scuffling up of dust and the stink of sweat, horses and hot leather.
“Pitubas moving out,” the American said. “I told you the Whites are coming. They’ll fight this day and the Whites’ll whip.”
“How do you know?” the Englishman asked.
“Because I’ve been in the fighting business; had three years of it, and I know fighters when I see them. Man for man, the Whites will put rings round these yellow devils.”
“You lie,” the old drunken woman said suddenly, in very good English, blinking like an owl. “Damn your soul, you lie.” She blinked, but said no more; as it happened, it was all the English she knew. The waggon halted by the side of the track as other music drew nearer.
“Their darned national anthem,” the American said, beginning to sing to the tune.
We will rally to the banner of our fathers,
In the land that we lo—o—o—ove so well;
We will rally to the banner of our fathers,
In the land where our lo—o—oved ones dwell.