“I told him what you said, and he says nobody could make an elephant step out of them. Look back; the other one is doing just the same.”
That was plain enough, and Ned now turned his eyes on Tim, who was seated cross-legged in the hind corner of the howdah, with his arms resting on the edge.
“Ye’ll soon get used to it, sor,” he said, smiling. “Shakes ye up wondherful though at first. They’re great onaisy pigs to ride. Would either of you gentlemen object to my shmoking my pipe?”
“Oh no, smoke away, Tim, but don’t make a noise with the match.”
“Nivver fear,” was the reply; and the man began to prepare his bamboo-pipe, while Ned gazed wonderingly at the narrow view of the dense growth on either side, and the way in which the trees were laced together over their heads by rattan-canes and other creepers, whose leafage helped the spreading boughs far overhead to shut out the faintest ray of sunshine. In front, the way was blocked by the hind-quarters of the elephant Murray was on; behind, the smaller elephant with the provisions shut in the track, so that the spearmen who followed could only at intervals be seen, and the gloom grew deeper as suck, suck, the elephants drew their great limbs from the track holes, or plunged them in, sending a gush of mud and water flying out on either side.
“Is the forest all like this?” said Ned at last.
“The jungle is.”
“But are there no other paths?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then how do the animals get about?”