Chapter XI: Water Buffalo

We were all so tired when we came out of the wood to the canal, that Fil's father told us to wait until a buffalo cart came down the white shell road.

"A buffalo cart!" I exclaimed. "I'm afraid to ride in that. We used to shoot buffaloes in our country, and the few now remaining we guard behind iron fences in zoo gardens."

"Here he comes!" exclaimed Fil and Moro together.

"Boys, boys, be careful!" I cried.

"Let us frighten our guest," whispered Moro.

The buffalo sniffed at me, a stranger, and would have charged with his head down; but the man who had a rope tied to a ring in the buffalo's soft nose, pulled the animal back.

"Get down, you foolish boy!" I exclaimed.

But before I could stop him, brave little Moro had climbed up between the fierce looking animal's thick, long, sweeping horns, which extended from his large head back to his shoulders.

"Please get into the cart, everybody," Fil's father ordered, in a hospitable manner, bowing and waving his arm. It was indeed a high step.

The cart had solid wooden wheels, made out of one thick section that had been cut from a mahogany tree. There was no iron rim around the edge of the wheel. The sides of the cart, however, were light, as they were made from bamboo posts with rattan vine woven between them.

The driver sat on the shafts, and directed the heavy animal, just as much by words as by pulling the long rope.

"Why do you call these strong animals water buffaloes?" I asked Fil.

"Because, to escape the flies and the heat, the animal refuses to work during the heat of the day, and rushes off into a stream, or into the sea, to cover himself with mud and sand and water and weeds. All you can see above the stirred-up water are his large eyes and two wicked looking horns, which are as thick as a branch of a tree."

"What an odd tail he has, much like a mule's hairless tail. It looks like a piece of hose-pipe," I exclaimed.

Moro, way up on the buffalo's neck, heard me and laughed: "He can't reach me with his rubber tail."

"But I'll reach you, Sir, if you don't get down soon from your dangerous perch," said Fil's father.

The Padre explained: "We sometimes call these animals carabao. We use them for plowing, for drawing our sugar to market, for pressing our hemp mill, for turning our water wheels and sugar rollers, for pulling the huge logs of hardwood out of the thick forest. When the roads are too muddy for wheeled carts, we make a mud sleigh with runners; and the water buffalo with his thick hoofs pulls our loads of rice bags through the ooze."

"And we eat him too, though his steaks are tougher than cow meat," laughed Fil.

"And we make taws and whips out of his thick hide to correct little boys, if they have too much to say sometimes," remarked Fil's father, who winked at me, showing that his words were more severe than were his intentions or acts. Like the terrier, he just liked to frighten people; his bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is.