“Then what for are ye always poonishin’ me, an’ tellin’ me to be coot, when ye say it won’t make me coot?” asked Donald.
“Because, Tonal’, it iss my duty to tell ye to be coot, although I cannot make ye coot, ye rascal!” answered the fisherman, sternly; “but I can make ye obey me by poonishin’ you—ay, an’ I wull do it too.”
Donald knew too well from experience that it was not safe to attempt arguing the question, but he gave a peculiarly defiant shake of his ragged head, which said as plainly as words that the time was coming when “poonishment” would cease to secure even obedience—at least in his case!
“You are right, Ian,” said Jackman, turning round, for he had overheard the conversation. “Punishment compelled Mowla Buksh to walk to his standing-place and submit to be tied up, for he did not dare to disobey with Isri Pershad and Raj Mungul standing guard over him, but it certainly did not make him good. I went, with many others, to see him the next morning. On the way over to the elephant camp, I saw the huge trees which he had smashed down in his rage lying about in all directions, and on reaching his standing-place, found him looking decidedly vicious and bad-tempered. It was quite evident that any one venturing within reach of his trunk would receive harsh treatment and no mercy. A small red spot in his great forehead showed that our Director’s aim had been a fairly good one, though it had not hit the deadly spot in the centre.”
“But I want to know,” said Junkie, who kept close to Jackman’s side, thirsting for every word that fell from his lips, “why did the bullet not go in and kill Bowly Muksh?”
“Because the head of Mowla Buksh was too thick,” said Jackman, laughing. “You see, to be a thick-head is not always a disadvantage.”
“There, you ought to take comfort from that, Junkie,” remarked his brother Archie, with that fine spirit of tenderness which is so often observable in brothers.
“Ha! ha! ha!” yelled Eddie, with that delicacy of feeling which is equally common.
“Hold your tongues!” growled Junkie—the more classic “shut up” not having at that time found its way to the Western Isles.
“You must know, Junkie, that all parts of an elephant’s head are not of equal thickness,” said Jackman in that kindly confidential tone which tends so powerfully to soothe a ruffled spirit. “The only point in an elephant’s forehead that can be pierced by a rifle ball is exactly in the centre. It is about the size of a saucer, and if you miss that, you might as well fire against the Eagle Cliff itself, for the ball would only stick in the skull.”