The doctor's elephant rose and began to shuffle off, its companion following its example and uttering an angry trumpeting sound upon being checked.
"Here, Hal," said Mr. Kenyon, "you may as well ride."
"Yes, of course, father. Good-night, Phra." Then mischievously,
"They'll have to send us if they want that tiger shot."
"Yes, Mr. Kenyon, we don't think much of you and Doctor Cameron as tiger-hunters."
The merchant laughed, as the elephant knelt once more and Harry scrambled up into the howdah, Sree, who was holding on behind, giving the boy a hand. Then there was a heave and a pitch to and fro, and the huge beast was on its legs again, shambling off towards the bungalow, a pleasant enough sight in the moonlight, and welcome enough to Harry, who was pretty well tired out.
"Didn't you see the tiger at all, father?" he asked.
"No, or most likely I should have shot it," replied Mr. Kenyon. "The brute has evidently gone off to the country on the slope of the mountains and saved his stripes this time. What have you been doing with yourself?"
Harry briefly told of his adventures.
"Then you have some decent specimens for me?"
"Yes, father; beauties."