, anything to
create the illusion of purpose, of--

"_Tembo!_" shrieked the boy, excited beyond all pretense of caution.
"Up ahead, in river. You come quick, you see!"

No. It couldn't be. The government surveys were thorough. The last
record of a specimen dated back over a half-dozen years ago. It was
impossible that any survivors remained. And all during the safari
these past days, not a sign or a print or a spoor.

"_Tembo!_" shrilled the boy. "Come quick!"

Mike cradled the gun and started forward. The other bearers shuffled
behind him, unable to keep pace because of their short legs and--he
suspected--unwilling to do so for fear of what might lie ahead.

Halfway towards the river bank, Mike halted. Now he could hear the
rumbling, the unmistakable rumbling. And now he could smell the rank
mustiness borne on the hot breeze. Well, at least he was down-wind.

The boy behind him trembled, eyes wide. He _had_ seen something, all
right. Maybe just a crocodile, though. Still some crocs around. And he
doubted if a young native would know the difference.

Nevertheless, Mike felt a sudden surge of unfamiliar excitement, half
expectancy and half fear. _Something_ wallowed in the river; something
that rumbled and exuded the stench of life.

Now they were approaching the trees bordering the bank. Mike checked
his gun carefully. Then he advanced until his body was aligned with
the trees. From here he could see and not be seen. He could peer down
at the river--or the place where the river had been, during the rainy
season long past. Now it was nothing but a mudwallow under the glaring
sun; a huge mudwallow, pitted with deep, circular indentations and
dotted with dung.

But in the middle of it stood _tembo_.

_Tembo_ was a mountain, _tembo_ was a black block of breathing basalt.
_Tembo_ roared and snorted and rolled red eyes.

Mike gasped.

He was a white hunter, but he'd never seen a bull elephant before. And
this one stood eleven feet at the shoulders if it stood an inch; the
biggest creature walking the face of the earth.

It had risen from the mud, abandoned its wallowing as its trunk curled
about, sensitive to the unfamiliar scent of man. Its ears rose like
the outspread wings of some gigantic jungle bat. Mike could see the
flies buzzing around the ragged edges. He stared at the great tusks
that were veined and yellowed and broken--once men had hunted
elephants for ivory, he remembered.

But how could they? E