“On the Mammoth’s back?” Gonch pretended to be joking.
“No, indeed,” Kutnar laughed. “None but my father ever sat astride him. Hairi would never permit any other to do such a thing.”
“Your father? Ugh.” Gonch felt the humor all knocked out of him.
“Yes, he rides the Mammoth when he wishes to go far and fast. Hairi appears slow and clumsy, but none but a swift-footed animal can keep up with him. Why? What made you think of him?”
“Um, nothing,” replied Gonch, quickening his pace. His fun was now thoroughly spoiled.
He now understood why the big elephant had been able to pick up the trail once more. A man had helped him—a man familiar with human trickery. Gonch’s position was rapidly becoming a desperate one. The Mammoth’s speed, combined with his rider’s intelligence, would soon bring the chase to an end.
Gonch and Kutnar hurried through the woods and arrived at the river bank. The former waded into the water with the latter close behind him. The lad was preparing to swim across when Gonch whispered, “Not that way,” and waded upstream as fast as he could. The two had progressed fifty yards or more when Gonch stopped at the sound of a violent commotion among the trees. His pursuers were almost upon him. Beckoning Kutnar to follow, he waded back to the bank, climbed up and dashed into the woods. Again sounded the snapping of branches and brush trodden under foot. Man and boy dropped flat to earth and lay still.
The Pursuit