A friendly rib-binder he’d well understand.
Each strap was in place, each buckle was right,
As is custom with me ere I ride for the night.
I started at noon, and at Panda’s old kraal
We stayed, where there tinkled a thin waterfall,
To wash out our mouths; and I ran for a spell,
With my hand on the pommel, then into the selle—
The stouter the pair of us, so for the rest—
We swished through the grass to the crimsoning west.
By the river, and up through the pass in the range;