In a few words the General explained that the elephants had returned upon their track to the forest in front, and upon cautiously creeping from bush to bush to stalk them, each of the party under the guidance of a Zulu, they found that the dense thicket was a mere band, and that all beyond it was open park-like land, with several pools scattered about, in which the elephants were standing, splashing the water, sucking it up and squirting it over their dark skins, uttering a low sigh of satisfaction from time to time.
Dick was in an unlucky position, for, while both his father and Jack were so placed as to get an easy shot at an elephant, he could only fire at long range. This, however, he decided to do as soon as his father and brother had had a shot.
Meanwhile Mr Rogers had marked out for himself a fine young elephant with moderate tusks. There was one with bigger tusks behind, but not being armed with an elephant gun he felt that it would be better to make sure of the smaller one than risk the loss of all; so approaching cautiously he did not perceive that the ground before him was swampy, and fell headlong in the mud and water.
He lay perfectly still, though, and fortunately—unfortunately for him—the herd did not take flight, but attributing the noise to one of their fellows, they went on splashing and cooling their sides, breaking off boughs to tuck into their capacious mouths, writhing and twisting their probosces about the while.
After a few moments Dick saw his father rise, walk forward to the side of some bushes, take aim at the elephant he had marked down, and just as it was passing along towards one of the pools he fired.
The piece made such a strange noise that it alarmed Jack and the General. As for Dick, to his horror he saw the rifle fly to pieces, and his father fall backwards upon the grass.
Dick took no notice of the elephants, which went crashing amongst the trees, Jack getting a bullet home as they broke towards Dick, nearly trampling him down in their course as he ran to his father’s side.
To his horror Mr Rogers was insensible, surrounded by the fragments of his shattered gun, his face bleeding profusely, and for the moment Dick was ready to stand there wringing his hands.
But common sense prevailed.
There was no running into the next street to fetch a doctor, so he hastily knelt down, and began to pour the contents of his bottle upon his handkerchief, washing away the blood, and bandaging up the cuts upon his father’s forehead.