Poeskop crept up to his young master's side.
"Now, Baas Guy," he said, his narrow eyes gleaming with the light of battle and the fierce instincts of the savage hunter, "we shall have him. Come along!"
Throughout this somewhat trying episode Guy had never once lost his head. Now he felt as cool as possible. Something told him the danger was past and the victory near. They ran on in the wake of the elephant, and presently, going more cautiously, came up with it again. The bull could go no farther. He was standing in a little clearing among some machabel trees, swaying from side to side, the blood dropping from his mouth.
"He is very sick, baas," whispered Poeskop. "He will die soon."
"I can't wait," returned the lad. "I shall put him out of his misery."
"Pas op!" whispered the Bushman. "You can never trust an elephant. He may charge again."
But Guy was not to be gainsaid. Creeping within thirty paces of the sick monster, he took careful aim for the head shot again, between the eye and the ear, and pulled trigger. The bull knelt quietly down upon his fore-legs, his hind-legs sank under him, and there, resting in that attitude, he gave up the ghost.
"He is dood, baas," cried Poeskop joyfully. "You have done well. Two good bulls for your first elephant hunt is as much as any man can desire. This bull's teeth will weigh forty pounds apiece; the other's are much heavier. Hark!"
As he spoke there came sounds of firing in front of them, first one shot, then two others.
"Come on, Poeskop!" cried Guy. "They are still hard at it. We may come in for more of the fun."