Hughes shouted loudly, but without effect; the girl, wholly absorbed with her astonishment, knew not her danger. For a second the elephant paused, then, trumpeting with rage, dashed after her.
The right moment had been lost. Captain Hughes, in his endeavours to make Isabel turn, had neglected it, and when he did raise his rifle to fire, the elephant was at forty paces distant, turned from him, and going at full speed. To level his rifle, aim, and fire, was the work of a second. The elephant slackened its pace, but only for a moment, the soldier, his rifle at the trail, dashing madly after it. On swept the pony at top speed, but the elephant gained on it. Isabel’s hat had fallen, her long, jet-black hair was floating on the wind. The forest lay before her, through which she could not ride many paces; but she knew it not, for her gaze was still rivetted on the elephant. On they swept, the soldier dashing after them madly, shouting to her yet to turn for the open. The forest line was reached, and in a moment, swept from her saddle by the branches, Dona Isabel lay on the ground, the riderless pony dashing on. On, too, came the elephant, after the horse, trumpeting furiously. It passed over the prostrate form, its huge foot within an inch of the fair head, and the next moment its tusks were buried in the flanks of the agonised horse, which had been stopped by the forest undergrowth. Bearing it down, the huge elephant actually pinned the animal to the ground, where it held it impaled and writhing with agony, then deliberately kneeling on the bleeding carcass literally crushed it into a shapeless mass. Rising, the elephant turned from the dead pony, trumpeting once more as it saw lying on the ground, quite inanimate, the form of the rider. Dom Francisco and Assevédo were hurrying up, but were yet distant. They both fired, but the bullets served but to enrage still further the infuriated animal, as it came on, the blood dripping in large gouts from its reddened tusks. It was a race between it and the soldier—a race won by the man, as, breathless, and with only one barrel of his rifle loaded, he stood between the senseless Isabel and the charging animal. On it came, right upon him; if it passed it must tread down the fair girl’s body. The thought gave him nerve, it steadied his hand as he aimed right for the centre of the forehead. The report rang out, the elephant halted suddenly, swaying from side to side, and then fell with a heavy thud. A loud shout from the two men advancing over the plain, and Hughes knew that Dona Isabel was safe. Throwing aside his now useless rifle, he knelt by her side, raising her on his arm, and leaning her head back against his knee; a small red stream was flowing from her forehead, and she had fainted.
“My child—my Isabel!” moaned the old man, forgetting his pride in his sorrow, as he threw himself by his daughter’s side, panting and breathless.
“It is nothing, she has fainted. I go for water!” exclaimed Assevédo, as he hastened towards the river.
Slowly the blue veins beneath the clear olive skin began to beat again. Once more the eyes opened and closed. Hughes was busy sponging away the blood, which flowed rather freely, with a handkerchief. Dom Francisco and Assevédo, kneeling by Isabel’s side, were using the cool water of the Shire river; and close beside them, its tusks red with blood, the enormous bulk of the dead elephant; while, fifty paces away—a crushed and unsightly mass—lay the pony.
Isabel opened her eyes, and seemed for a moment utterly astonished. “Santa Maria!” she ejaculated, “where am I?”
Then suddenly the whole affair seemed to flash on her memory, and, raising herself gently, she smiled.
“I was not frightened, only astonished,” said the brave girl, as the red blood mantled in her cheeks. “Where is the elephant?”
“There,” answered her father; “and you may thank the Senhor Capitano Inglesi that it lies there.”