Away darted M'ngulu's terrified horse, making better pace than ever it had made before this day, straining every nerve to keep ahead of the mad brute behind it. Even old M looked a little nervous, I thought, glancing back over his shoulder at the pursuing "rogue," and shouting something to me as he flew by. I did not catch what he said. The elephant was distinctly closer to his horse's heels now, than when, a few minutes ago, they had disappeared in the jungle, and it certainly seemed to me that it gained at every stride; no wonder poor M looked nervous. A considerable responsibility attached to my shot, I felt; for if I could not stop the brute he would undoubtedly have M or his horse in another minute unless they contrived to dodge him.
I could still hear Jack's horse crashing away in the distance, and Jack's voice remonstrating with it very loudly and heartily; there was no help to be expected from him in this crisis.
All this takes so long to describe, while the thoughts themselves passed like lightning through the brain.
I brought my rifle to bear upon the brute as well as I could for the trembling of my horse, and pulled the trigger just as it passed within thirty yards of me, aiming for its heart, which I hoped and believed was to be found just outside the top of the shoulder. I pulled both triggers at once, feeling that this was a crisis, and that I should not get another chance of putting two heavy balls in at a favourable distance and in a vulnerable spot.
The immediate effect of my shot was twofold. In the first place, the recoil of the rifle from the double discharge was so great and unexpected as to cause me to lose my balance and fall backwards clean out of the saddle. That was the effect as it concerned myself. As for the elephant, it stopped short in its career, falling forward upon its knees, and smashing both of its fine tusks with the concussion.
For a moment I fancied that I had killed it outright at a shot; but the next I discovered that this was far from being the case, for in an instant the great beast struggled to its feet and looked about it with the nastiest expression in its eyes that ever disfigured the optics of man or brute. Blood streamed down its side, but not from the shoulder or near it; I had missed my mark by a good foot, and wounded it in the ribs—badly no doubt, but not in such a manner as to render it immediately harmless.
I had fallen off my horse, as I explained, and was at this moment behind it, with one foot in the stirrup, about to remount, watching the elephant over the top of the saddle, uncertain whether it would be wiser to trust to my horse's legs or my own; and whether, indeed, there would be time to mount and get under way before the brute discovered us and charged.
The elephant did not allow much opportunity for reflection. He turned his head in our direction as soon as he was upon his feet, and of course saw my terrified horse.
Up went his trunk, out went his great ears, forth bellowed his scream of rage. Silenced as he had been, for a moment or two, by the sudden shock of his wound and his fall, he was doubly furious and vindictive now by reason of the pain he had been caused, and in less time than is occupied by the pious British man who calls at need upon his patron saint, Jack Robinson, the great animal was in full descent upon my horse.
CHAPTER XXII