"Good night's work that, Tiny, old bird," remarked Colin.
"Yes, you lucky beggar," agreed his chum enviously. "Of course, it's jolly sporting of you to divide your share, and I'm grateful. At the same time, 'tisn't the same, if you can understand. S'posing, for instance, it had been my lucky shot, you'd understand then."
"It was a jolly good thing I picked up those explosive cartridges by accident," conceded Sinclair. "It was a fluke—absolutely."
"Colonel Narfield would have been snuffed out if you hadn't," said Tiny. "The ordinary .303's had no more effect than tickling a wild cat with a straw. By Jove! I am sleepy ... aren't those niggers kicking up an infernal row?"
"Let's slow down a bit and miss most of the dust and noise," suggested Colin. "We can keep an eye on the bearers just as well, if not better."
Checking their horses, the two chums allowed the bearers to draw on ahead. It was a case of distance lending enchantment to the scene, as the early sunlight glinted on the muscular, copper skins of the wildly-excited natives.
"Ugh! The flies!" exclaimed Tiny. "That one nearly jumped down my throat. 'Tain't all jam being in the rear of a procession—eh, what?"
"I'm going to have the best piece of the ivory sawn off," declared Colin, ignoring his companion's complaint and reverting to the subject of the spoils of the chase. "Then I'll send it home to my people. And a chunk for Dr. Narfield, too. Probably the head will shove it in the school museum with a notice on it, 'Shot by an Old Boy,' sort of thing. My word, I'm jolly glad I came out here, aren't you?"
"Better'n fooling round in an office, any old day," declared Tiny. "More than likely I'd have been under the turf now if I'd stopped at home."
"And now you're quite fit," remarked his chum.