“Oh, some use these tracks, but the tigers and bears creep along under and through the trees and bushes. They can go anywhere. We couldn’t, without the men cut a way for us.”
Skrit, skrat, skrat! went Tim’s match loudly, and the elephant uttered a tremendous squeal, plunged forward, and ran its head against the hind-quarters of the one in front, which trumpeted shrilly, and catching the panic rushed on; the store elephant following, in spite of the mahouts, who strove hard to check them in their headlong course, but in vain.
“Down, down!” shouted Frank. “Hold tight.”
His advice was needed, for the plunging and rolling of the great frightened animals was terrible, and for a while they tore on along the narrow track with the mud and water flying, and the growth from the sides and roof threatening to drag the occupants of the howdahs from their seats.
At the end of about a mile, the first elephant was checked, and of necessity the second and third had to stand, which they did with their heads pressed against the other’s tail.
“Any one hurt?” cried Murray, looking back.
“No, all right—all right,” cried the boys.
“What was it scared your elephant?”
“Oh murther, don’t tell him, Masther Frank,” whispered Tim, who then desperately told the truth.
“It’s all right, sor. I sthruck a match to light me pipe. That’s all.”