“The same,” answered Moto.
“Eyah, eyah!” murmured the group, while Kalulu seemed lost in astonishment, and could not utter a word more.
“Selim stands waiting to shew them to his brother, Kalulu,” said Moto.
“Oh, I shall come. Why Selim is a hero, a lion, an elephant! Is he not, Moto?”
“He is a brave young Arab, and the son of an Arab chief,” answered Moto.
When the young chief started off, all but a few Watuta, who remained to extract the tusks, followed him to see the wonderful three dead elephants.
In the same position in which he had first fallen lay Selim’s first prize, with his tusks half buried in the ground. Kalulu gazed at the wide wound in his head, put his fist into it until it was buried up to the wrist, and then turned to Moto with wondering eyes, and said:
“Kalulu has seen dead men in his father’s village, pierced to the heart with the leaden balls which the rifles of Kisesa threw, but what gun is this that makes such big holes in the elephant’s head?”
Then Moto told him that Selim had fired the two barrels of the gun at once, at such a short distance from the elephant, that the two big bullets went into the head as one, and that this was the reason there was such a big hole, which quite satisfied the young chief.
Leaving ten men to extract the tusks, Kalulu proceeded to where Selim and Simba stood, close to the former’s second prize; and here, again, Kalulu saw the wide rent and savage wound in the same spot as that found in the first elephant.