Chapter XX: A Failure

Had Dr. Baird Avery and George Harking been alone, they would have felt pleasure in their singular adventure with the elephant, which was bearing them so swiftly away from their friends.

"He'll get tired after a while," called out Harkins, "and then maybe we can persuade him to change his course."

"Yes, but we can't afford to wait until he reaches some point on the other side of Kurnal: why can't he turn now, when it will do some good?"

And the surgeon threw his whole might into a number of gesticulations meant to reach the understanding of the brute.

The huge animals are capable of great speed, as the one ridden by our friends proved. The night was still, but the air fanned the faces of the two, who knew they were carried at a gait nearly equal to that of a running horse.

There was danger in dismounting at such a time, though should it become necessary, neither would hesitate to run the risk of receiving some severe bruises.

The report of a gun was heard behind them, followed by a shrill cry.

"They are pursuing us," said Harkins, looking back in the moonlight; "they have missed the elephant, and are chasing him on horseback."

"I'm afraid this enterprise is not a success," replied the doctor; "the beast has found out that the mahout is not here with his sharp goad, and he doesn't catch on to what we are trying to tell him: we had better jump."

"He is going so fast that we are likely to be hurt; is an elephant very long winded?"

"Not specially so."

"He isn't likely to keep this gait much longer, and when he moderates it we will slip off."

The strange cry from the rear was repeated. It must have been a call to the elephant which he recognized, for he stopped so short that the consequences to those on his back were disastrous.

Dr. Avery, who was in the howdah, was leaning over, the better to talk with Harkins, who was astride the neck of the animal. Like a flash he shot out of the saddle, describing a complete somersault. Providentially he landed on his feet, much shaken but unharmed.

Harkins grasped the edge of the howdah just in time to save himself from going off. Confused as to what had become of his companion, he clung to the support, and the elephant, swinging about like the rapid turning of a bridge, started down the road with greater speed than before.

It was now a question whether Harkins was running away with the elephant or whether the latter was making off with him. Neither had any control over the other.

But the rider saw that the situation was serious. The brute was obeying the call of the mahout with great enthusiasm, and if the rider remained on his back he was sure to be carried directly among the friends of the elephant, to whom he would find it hard to make a satisfactory explanation.

"I must leave," was his sensible conclusion.

The elephant showed a desire to help him. The position of the saddle, its size and elevation were such that he could not reach the interloper with his trunk, so he made at full speed for a large tree alongside the road.

The sagacious animal meant to dislodge him by scraping off the whole howdah. When that came tumbling to the earth, Mr. Harkins would be likely to go too. And that explains why the brute made for the branches like a runaway locomotive.

With all his natural shrewdness the rider did not suspect the elephant's purpose in time to save himself. The first that he saw and felt was the switching of the branches about his face and then the scraping, sawing and banging of the heavy limbs. Almost at the same instant he saw the howdah was going.

Amid the general wreck and crash his actions were governed by that instinct which guides one when he knows he is struggling for life.

One of his outstretched hands seized a strong branch. The rifle which he grasped with the other was an encumbrance, but he was able to hold on while the howdah passed from under him and crashed to the ground. The elephant, never ceasing his ponderous progress, lumbered down the road, caring nothing for the wreck he left behind.

Harkins easily held himself by means of the strong limb which he had grasped, and, drawing himself up among the branches, where the leaves sheltered him from sight, he waited to learn what the pursuers--who were but a short distance away--would do. Indeed, they were so near that the Englishman saw they numbered five horsemen.

Naturally they were in no very amiable mood. Having stopped the runaway, they turned him back to the tree, where an inventory of damages was taken.

While the natives were making the inspection they gave constant expression to their anger. They called the elephant all kinds of bad names, and even abused his ancestors, thereby plainly slurring the purity of his descent. The big beast took it all meekly, probably aware that his conduct deserved such reproach.

It is not to be supposed that any of the pursuers suspected the presence of the _cowen_ in the limbs above. Most likely they believed the elephant had taken a whim to run away on his own account. Had they known the guilty Feringhee was perched above their heads, they would have been quick to visit their vengeance upon him.

But the brute was aware that the rascal was hiding there, and he tried to make it known to his masters. He walked about among the limbs, thrusting his trunk among them, and betraying an uneasiness which it would seem ought to have given a hint of the truth, but it did not. They started back, driving the runaway before them, and Harkins, waiting till they were beyond sight, descended from the tree.