tation and the crashing sounds of the great animals' progress
through the undergrowth were evidence of its reality. The need for
action had not passed. The rogue might return, for a fight between wild
bull-elephants often lasts a whole day and consists of short and
desperate encounters, retreats, pursuits, and fresh battles. So he
hurriedly searched for his rifle, which he eventually found some
distance away. He opened the breach and replaced the soft-nosed bullets
with solid ones, more suitable for such big game. Then, once more
feeling a strong man armed, he waited expectantly. The sounds of the
chase had died away. But after a while he heard a heavy body forcing a
passage through the undergrowth and held his rifle ready. Then through
the tangle of bushes and creepers Badshah's head appeared. The elephant
came straight to him and touched him all over with outstretched trunk,
just as mother-elephants do their calves, as if to assure himself of his
man's safety.

Dermot could have kissed the soft, snake-like proboscis, and he patted the
animal affectionately and murmured his thanks to him. Badshah seemed to
understand him and wrapped his trunk around his friend's shoulders. Then,
apparently satisfied, he moved away and began to graze calmly, as if
nothing out of the common had taken place.

Dermot pulled himself together. Near the foot of the tree at which he had
sunk down he found the cord-like strips of bark which he had cut. Picking
them up he went to the carcase of the buck and tied its legs together. A
whistle brought the elephant to him, and, hoisting the deer on to the pad,
he fastened it to the surcingle. Then, grasping the elephant's ears, he was
lifted to his place on the neck.

Turning Badshah's head towards home he started off; but, as he went, he
looked back at the trampled glade and thanked Heaven that his body was not
lying there, crushed and lifeless.

CHAPTER III

A GIRL OF THE TERAI

"How beautiful! How wonderful!" murmured the girl on the verandah, her eyes
turned to the long line of the Himalayas filling the horizon to the north.

Clear against the blue sky the shining, ice-clad peaks of Kinchinjunga, a
hundred miles away, towered high in air. Mystic, lovely, they seemed to
float above the earth, as unsubstantial as the clouds from which they rose.
They belonged to another world, a fairy world altogether apart from the
rugged, tumbled masses, the awe-inspiring precipices and tremendous c