Some Burmese, driving bullocks, were resting beside it, while in the distance were a few mud huts.
Nicomar, who was footsore and faint, sank down at the foot of a banana tree.
His garments were torn by branches and brambles, his sight was blinded by the sun, his mouth parched with thirst.
Idly he watched the Burmese from where he sat.
Soon it became apparent that they desired to cross that glittering expanse of water, but evidently knew not how to accomplish it.
Nicomar, tired of thinking of his own miseries, grew unconsciously interested.
Three of them twisted their silk pasohs up about their waists, and tried to wade the river; but it was too deep, and they returned, seemingly much perplexed.
Then they consulted together; whereupon one among them—evidently against the desire of his companions, as their gestures betokened—took the rope of his bullock between his teeth, and diving into the river, with a good imitation of swimming reached the other side.
His fellows watched the performance with open-eyed wonder, but could not be induced to follow his example.
Nicomar, looking on, thought that the young man must have a mind full of resource, and so determined to seek him and consult with him. He could not have told what was exactly the impulse that urged him to this course, but he rose, and staggering a little because he was faint, made his way to the river bank.