As his eyes fell upon the formidable hedge of bristling horns, he momentarily slackened his pace and took stock of the seemingly overwhelming odds upon which he was advancing. Fight? Yes and no. The Mammoth well knew the full measure of his own gigantic strength and how to make good use of it when occasion demanded; but there are always more ways than one to accomplish desired results—so the Mammoth reasoned—and he was a creature of far from low intelligence.
Crunch, crunch, his ponderous feet rose and fell amid the flying snow-clods as he bore down upon the group of horned animals, calmly and deliberately as though without fear or thought of hostile purpose.
Another and smaller individual trailed in the giant’s wake. Like the latter, its head and body were buried in masses of tangled hair, so thick and matted that the creature resembled a small haystack supported by four short peg-legs, which latter were barely visible beneath the mass. But none heeded this the smaller of the pair. All eyes were centered upon the shaggy giant with the snake-like trunk and curling tusks.
The latter was only ten paces distant when suddenly two of the horned heads detached themselves from their fellows as their owners sprang forward to meet him. One of them was a thick-set individual almost hidden beneath a flowing hair-mantle and bearing two hook-like horns plastered across his brow; the other a more slender animal with short hair and long scraggly antlers. They were the Musk Ox and Reindeer, migrants from the northern ranges.
“The Mammoth!” they cried joyfully. “Hail Hairi, lord of the Tundr! Does the Storm Wind drive the mightiest of the grass-eaters before it as it does us more humble folk?”
The Mammoth, who had halted momentarily with trunk and tasks thrown into a defensive posture, now emitted an astonished bellow. His ears flapped violently and his trunk waved in joyful recognition.
“Hail, old comrades! Peace be with you and yours,” he replied. “Good indeed it is to see once more two of the Northland’s best and bravest. The Storm Wind? Aye. The Mammoth finds no favor there. But it is not from it that I flee, nor snow nor the frost which thickens the waters and makes all trees look like dead sticks. It is because of the ice-mountains that have sealed every drinking hole and food patch. I must eat and drink to live and as Death is my last choice, I made haste to seek this land of plenty—and friends.”
As he concluded, his gaze shifted inquiringly from the Musk Ox and Reindeer to their associates. Sunshine by the cubic yard now exuded from every pore of the huge body—ten-hundred weight of concentrated benevolence and good will. His two friends of the tundras gazed apprehensively at their horned associates, then at the shaggy colossus. In the latter’s beaming features and breezy manner was no vestige of the caution and timidity which might have been expected of him in a situation fraught with such grave uncertainties; but he had staked all on his sound judgment of animal nature and had already determined how the present occasion should be dealt with.
“Comrades,” he began in a deep voice. “Fate was kind to reunite me with two life-long friends and with their friends all gathered together to do me honor. Words fail me; but I am mightily pleased.”
He paused, gazing benignly upon the serried host. Every horned head lifted; every pair of eyes looked up in astonishment. Even the small haystack behind the Mammoth raised its head in amazement at the latter’s eloquent outburst, then its attention shifted to the array of hoofed and horned animals.