ed load going into place on the volunteer. It was
almost finished, when a trumpet blast sounded directly behind
him--toward Hurda. Several elephants answered from the regiment; and
many mahouts called to each other.

"Is that the bad fighter coming?" Skag asked.

"Yes, Skag Sahib, that's Nut Kut. But I don't know just what you're
going to see--the ones who ought to handle him are all gone."

The master-mahout's voice was rising up into the vault of heaven and
falling over upon the horizon. It seemed to Skag the like was never
heard before.

"He's calling the two big tuskers back," Horace chuckled, "but there'll
be doings on before they get here! Will you listen to Nut Kut's
challenge?"

Skag turned to face the looming trumpet tones. There were no tones
behind him like them. Smooth and mellow, they were yet so full of
power as to make all the others sound insignificant. They were like
love-tones translated into thunder.

But when Nut Kut came in sight, Skag caught his breath. The shape was
made of gleaming bronze. No detail showed; it was a thing that took
the eye and the breath and the blood. There was no look of effort in
its inscrutable motion.

They stood in the open, between this thing and the regiment behind.
There was no obstruction. And Skag moved to be between it and
Horace--when it should pass them on its way. The regiment of
thoroughly trained elephants were standing firmly in their places; but
they were making the welkin ring with a thousand trumpets in the air.

Certainly Skag knew that this incredible thing before him--bigger every
second--was Nut Kut. He looked to see why the great challenge-tones
had stopped, and revelation went through him--like an explosion. Nut
Kut had seen Horace and was coming straight for him.

Skag leaped to meet Nut Kut first, but he couldn't catch the elephant's
eye. The huge shape was upon him and he was flung aside. Recovering
himself almost instantly, he got around in time to see--but not in time
to prevent.

Horace lifted both arms and leaned forward--his grey eyes gone
black--as Nut Kut's trunk caught him. A little broken cry came from
him and his death-white face hung down an instant--from high up.

Then, backing away, swaying from side to side, Nut Kut set his eyes on
the man who followed--his red eyes, blazing with red warning. The
American animal trainer did not fail to understand; he paused.

Slowly the great bronze trunk curled and cud