Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
On he came as docilely as any Indian elephant used for carrying teak
logs, passing through the centre of the host up a wide lane which had
been left, I suppose for his convenience, and intelligently avoiding
the pitfalls filled with dead. I thought that he would stop among the
first ranks. But not so. Slackening his pace to a walk he marched
forwards towards our fortifications. Now, of course, I saw my chance
and made sure that my double-barrelled elephant rifle was ready and
that Hans held a second rifle, also double-barrelled and of similar
calibre, full-cocked in such a position that I could snatch it from him
in a moment.
“I am going to kill that elephant,” I said. “Let no one else fire.
Stand still and you shall see the god Jana die.”
Still the enormous beast floundered forward; up to that moment I had
never realized how truly huge it was, not even when it stood over me in
the moonlight about to crush me with its foot. Of this I am sure, that
none to equal it ever lived in Africa, at least in any times of which I
have knowledge.
“Fire, Baas,” whispered Hans, “it is near enough.”
But like the Frenchman and the cock pheasant, I determined to wait
until it stopped, wishing to finish it with a single ball, if only for
the prestige of the thing.
At length it did stop and, opening its cavern of a mouth, lifted its
great trunk and trumpeted, while Simba, standing up in his chair, began
to shout out some command to us to surrender to the god Jana, “the
Invincible, the Invulnerable.”
“I will show you if you are invulnerable, my boy,” said I to myself,
glancing round to make sure that Hans had the second rifle ready and
catching sight of Ragnall and Harût and all the White Kendah standing
up in their trenches, breathlessly awaiting the end, as were the Black
Kendah a few hundred yards away. Never could there have been a fairer
shot and one more certain to result in a fatal wound. The brute’s head
was up and its mouth was open. All I had to do was to send a
hard-tipped bullet crashing through the palate to the brain behind. It
was so easy that I would have made a bet that I could have finished him
with one hand tied behind me.
I lifted the heavy rifle. I got the sights dead on to a certain spot at
the back of that red cave. I pressed the trigger; the charge boomed—and
nothing happened! I heard no bullet strike and Jana did not even take
the trouble to close his mouth.
An exclamation of “O-oh!” went up from the watchers. Before it had died
away the second bullet followed the first, with the same result or
rather lack of result, and another louder “O-oh!” arose. Then Jana
tranquilly shut his mouth, having finished trumpeting, and as though to
give me a still better target, turned broadside on and stood quite
still.
With an inward curse I snatched the second rifle and aiming behind the
ear at a spot which long experience told me covered the heart let drive
again, first one barrel and then the other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account