The huge Elephant raised his trunk aloft. “Owk, owk; see all,” he thundered. “Look upon the chosen one, come in all his glory to help me guard your future and preserve the peace! Behold my friend, adviser and fellow-worker, the Woolly Rhinoceros!”
All eyes were now turned upon the small haystack which until this moment had not shown the slightest interest in what was going on. The Mammoth held the center of the stage and meanwhile the Rhinoceros was entirely ignored. His huge companion’s stirring eloquence rumbled like thunder above him, a dull flow of meaningless words; then suddenly his own name rang out loud and clear, followed by death-like silence.
He raised his head from the grass-tufts which had hitherto claimed his attention and blinked at the herd of animals as though observing them for the first time; then with slow and measured steps he advanced to the Mammoth’s side and looked up at him inquiringly. This was the signal for a great buzz of excitement which swept over the vast assemblage like a rustling breeze. A heavy-set individual with flaring nostrils and bloodshot eyes suddenly stepped forward. It was the Bison.
“May the rocks fall upon his head,” he roared in great wrath. “One is enough to swallow; two, more than we can chew. Let this Tundr-pig be cast out in the snow.”
The Mammoth turned quickly to his companion. “There, Wulli, did you hear what he said? It is high time you asserted yourself.”
Wulli’s eyes glistened. He glared savagely at the Bison. The latter caught sight of the sharp horn poised threateningly on the Rhino’s nose. He trembled and looked at the ground.
“I spoke the name of my future helper,” the Mammoth bellowed. “Do you all agree? If not, why not?”
“Your friend is not acceptable,” snorted the Bison, taking fresh courage at the interruption. “His horns are not the same size and they grow out of his nose.”
“Horns?” The Mammoth bent forward and studied Wulli’s face with wondering interest; “How remarkable! I thought he had only one, but there is another—a little horn trying to hide behind the big one. Hold your head down Wulli so that all can see. Two horns; just the right number—no more, no less.”
The Rhinoceros bowed his head, too confused to express the resentment that raged within his breast. What the Mammoth had said was true enough. Horn Number Two was a small affair—no more than a knob—but its silent eloquence was convincing. All gazed upon it wonderingly; all but the Moose and Bison who appeared to have taken a sudden and strong dislike to their new champions.