Nobody answered, and the troop-horse said, to change the conversation, "Where's that little dog? A dog means a man somewhere about."
"Here I am," yapped Vixen
Cheap Newports, "under the gun tail with my man. You big, blundering beast of a camel you, you upset our tent. My man's very angry."
"Phew!" said the bullocks. "He must be white!"
"Of course he is
Marlboro Red," said Vixen. "Do you suppose I'm looked after by a black bullock-driver?"
"Huah! Ouach! Ugh!" said the bullocks. "Let us get away quickly."