She had braced herself against the front of the chariot and was pulling back with all her might. With a quick, sharp turn, the cazique reined up in front of the vehicle just as Yermah caught the bit of one of the caribou. The sudden stop threw Kerœcia across the dashboard. She quickly recovered her footing, bruised and shaken, but much more concerned for the steaming, panting, high-strung winners than for herself. She spoke soothingly to the animals, as she stroked their ugly proboscis-like snouts, while they champed their foam-flecked bits and gazed at her with still a gleam of terror in their eyes. As soon as the ring was cleared, the people settled themselves back and looked expectant. Familiar as they were with a mammoth elephant there was always something fascinating in its unwieldly bulk. The crowd had waited all day with characteristic patience to see the tricks of some performing elephants, brought down by the Mazamas from the far north, especially to honor Kerœcia. Zoyara, Cezardis and Zombra came through the entrance dressed in black skin-tight garments ablaze with mica spangles and barbaric jewels. They wore gayly striped sashes around their waists, and ostrich feathers in the silver headbands, while their arms and ankles jingled with bracelets and bells. Back of them came two keepers leading a pair of tremendously large rusty-black, shaggy-coated elephants, with long, ivory tusks, which curved out and curled up viciously. Zombra and Zoyara stepped to one side. Cezardis called: “Hear ye all! These young and tender creatures are in love. Sven here is about to offer himself to the shapely Loke, whom he loves to distraction. Bashful young men, please take notice! This exhibition is for thy especial benefit.” He gave both elephants a sharp prod with a bronze-tipped goad which he carried. Sven began to tremble all over. His huge loose skin, much too big for his ponderous body, moved forth and back mechanically, in well-simulated emotion, and the hair raised in every direction as he approached Loke. “Down on your knees, sir! Down, sir,” shouted Cezardis, hitting him a heavy whack across his forelegs. The elephant fairly shook the ground beneath him as he came to a kneeling posture. “Bow your head respectfully, sir!” commanded Cezardis. Sven laid his ears close to his head, and drew his trunk well under, giving himself a ludicrously shamefaced expression. “Give Sven his answer, Loke. Answer, I say!” Loke stuck her trunk up in the air, and with a disdainful toss of her head, waddled off in an opposite direction, to the delight of the audience. Their shouts of laughter were a signal to Sven. He fell over on his side, and stiffened himself out as if he were dead. “Oh, poor fellow! P-o-o-r fellow!” cried Cezardis, with mock pathos. “I know how it is myself, sir.” The elephant raised its head and looked at him.