Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Ceasing from these agricultural efforts with a deep rumble of rage, he
adopted yet a third expedient. Rearing his huge bulk into the air he
brought down his forefeet with all the tremendous weight of his great
body behind them on to the sloping trunk of the tree just below where
the branches sprang, perhaps twelve or thirteen feet above the ground.
The shock was so heavy that for a moment I thought the tree would be
uprooted or snapped in two. Thank Heaven! it held, but the vibration
was such that Hans and I were nearly shaken out of the upper branches,
like autumn apples from a bough. Indeed, I think I should have gone had
not the monkey-like Hans, who had toes to cling with as well as
fingers, gripped me by the collar.
Thrice did Jana repeat this manoeuvre, and at the third onslaught I saw
to my horror that the roots were loosening. I heard some of them snap,
and a crack appeared in the ground not far from the bole. Fortunately
Jana never noted these symptoms, for abandoning a plan which he
considered unavailing, he stood for a while swaying his trunk and lost
in gentle thought.
“Hans,” I whispered, “load the rifle quick! I can get him in the spine
or the other eye.”
“Wet powder won’t go off, Baas,” groaned Hans. “The water got to it in
the river.”
“No,” I answered, “and it is all your fault for making me shoot at him
when I could take no aim.”
“It would have been just the same, Baas, for the rifle went under water
also when we fell from the camel, and the cap would have been damp, and
perhaps the powder too. Also the shot made Jana stop for a moment.”
This was true, but it was maddening to be obliged to sit there with an
empty gun, when if I had but one charge, or even my pistol, I was sure
that I could have blinded or crippled this satanic pachyderm.
A few minutes later Jana played his last card. Coming quite close to
the trunk of the tree he reared himself up as before, but this time
stretched out his forelegs so that these and his body were supported on
the broad bole. Then he elongated his trunk and with it began to break
off boughs which grew between us and him.
“I don’t think he can reach us,” I said doubtfully to Hans, “that is,
unless he brings a stone to stand on.”
“Oh! Baas, pray be silent,” answered Hans, “or he will understand and
fetch one.”
Although the idea seemed absurd, on the whole I thought it well to take
the hint, for who knew how much this experienced beast did or did not
understand? Then, as we could go no higher, we wriggled as far as we
dared along our boughs and waited.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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