He came down the middle of the highway, keeping to it, as everyone ran off it to right and left. I had strolled some distance from where I had tethered my horse. Naturally, as I could not mount and dash off, I did not run. I stepped into the middle of the road and faced the beast. Of course, he stopped, stood still and stared at me. I walked towards him, very deliberately, even pausing between paces, till I was an arm's length from him. He cringed and cowered. I took him by the scruff of his neck, turned him round, led him back to his cage, which was not broken, only jarred open, made him enter it, and closed the door on him. Thereupon the fugitives flocked back, acclaiming me as a sorcerer. The superintendent of that caravan insisted on my giving him my name. I told him I was Felix, the horse-wrangler of the Imperial estate. He gave me a broad gold piece. Unable to elicit anything from the natives or the teamsters I resorted to the outlaws. I had been admonished before I saw any of them that it was not according to the etiquette of the district for anyone to ride a horse into the outlaws' camp. If anywhere near it one visited it on foot. If too far one carefully avoided appearing to ride towards it or from it. When the camp, for instance, happened to be south of my cottage I would ride off north, east, or west, fetch a long compass about, tether my horse at least half a mile from the camp, generally farther away, and stroll towards it. On leaving I invariably departed by a path different from that by which I had come. When I reached my horse I was careful similarly to choose a return route which would bring me home some direction other than that towards which I had gone off. Of course, I always observed these precautions, since any neglect of them, if known, would have not only made me unwelcome to the brigands, but also gotten me into disfavor with the whole countryside.