Casting the sapling from it, the elephant, as if satisfied with the lesson it had given, came down to drink. Coming to the spot where the panther and springbok had struggled, and where the grass and reeds were beaten down, the animal halted, evidently suspecting one of the native traps, and kneeling down on the edge it struck the ground all round with its trunk. It was now within thirty paces, but still the hunter's rifle remained silent. Hoping to meet with an elephant, the heavier rifle was loaded accordingly, the right-hand barrel with the usual ball, but the left carrying one of Devisme's explosive cartridges. Not able to detect anything wrong in the trampled ground, still the cautious creature would not tread on it, but circling round, broke her way through the bush, coming, as she did so, on the carcass of the dead panther. This she examined very carefully, turning it over with her trunk, and it was only when she had fully satisfied herself that it was dead, that she called her little one to her side. Standing in the bed of the stream, the two sucked in vast volumes of water, discharging it into their mouths, and having satisfied their thirst, the old one began spouting the water over the back of its young. Ever ready to fire, the hunter watched them, for a quarter of an hour; but now the increasing coldness of the morning warned him that dawn was at hand. The heavier rifle had not yet been used. Taking a deliberate aim, he fired. For a moment the huge mass stood firm and unmoved; the next, turning, the elephant crashed through the bush towards the forest, the young one remaining standing in the river, as though wondering what all the noise was about. Covering him with the second barrel, and dreadfully vexed at his failure, Captain Hughes was about to fire, when the larger elephant, missing its young, stopped, and began calling it. Quickly changing his aim, the report of the rifle rang out, the explosive ball striking the elephant behind the shoulder, and taking an upward direction. Moving heavily forward, the enormous bulk of the animal seemed to waver, and sway from side to side. Once it fell on its knees, recovered itself, and then gained the forest, disappearing with her young under the trees, the crash of breaking wood making itself heard once, and then all was still. The cries of the jackals and hyenas gradually ceased, the air became colder and colder as the dawn appeared, the light of the moon paled, and the noise of the falling water, with the occasional croak of a frog along the river bank, were soon the only sounds disturbing the stillness of the African plain, as, covered with the blood of the wounded baboon, soiled with wet and sand, his limbs stiff with cold and watching, as well as worn out with excitement, the weary hunter took his way up the mountain slopes, to where he knew he should find the camp. Volume 1, Chapter VIII. THE RUINS AT SOFALA.