Just at this moment the noise of trampling was heard again, close at hand. But no report rang out.
So Jack either had not decided to use his gun yet, or had not been able to.
It would be difficult, however, to overtake him, and it was impossible to pick up his tracks here, where the ground was covered with dead branches and dry leaves.
The tumult gradually died away in the distance. A few branches which had been set a-swaying became still again, and once more the silence of the forest was unbroken.
Mr. Wolston and Ernest beat the fringe of the clearing until evening, wormed their way into the thickest brakes, and shouted to Jack.
Had the unhappy lad fallen a victim to his imprudence? Had he been unable to avoid the elephants' charge? Was he lying motionless, perhaps dead, in some corner of the dark forest?
No cry, no call, reached Mr. Wolston's or Ernest's ears. A few shots, fired at intervals, remained unanswered.
At nightfall, both men, exhausted by fatigue and overwhelmed by anxiety, sank at the foot of the tree, listening intently and trying to catch the faintest sound. They lighted a large fire, hoping that Jack might find his way by its light and join them again, and they did not close their eyes until day.
Throughout these weary hours incessant howling betrayed the proximity of wild beasts. They could not help dreading that if Jack had not been driven to defend himself against the elephants, he still might have fallen in a more dangerous attack by tigers, lions, or pumas.
But he could not be left to his fate. The whole of the following day was spent in seeking his tracks through the pinewood.