“Hau!” he said. “There he is!”
Ahead of them they saw the wounded elephant lying against a tree that seemed to bend with his huge weight.
“He is dead!” Sihkulumi cried, and he rushed forward. Zitu spoke a restraining word; then he raced after Sihkulumi.
Even as the hunter reached him, the elephant heaved his huge bulk upright. His trunk shot out, enveloping Sihkulumi. He would surely be killed, crushed to death by the powerful trunk.
Nomusa saw her father, fearfully close to the elephant, taking sure aim. Then his bow twanged, and the arrow sped to the elephant’s brain.
The beast dropped dead, and Sihkulumi’s body fell to the ground. Zitu was beside him in a moment. Soon Sihkulumi sat up, not hurt, only shaken and frightened. But he could not look at the chief, and when he spoke his voice was full of shame.
“I was not worth risking your life for,” he said. “If I had remembered to wait for your orders, there would have been no danger.”
Zitu helped him to his feet. “I am thankful that you are alive,” he said simply. “I believe you will never be foolish again.”
He turned to the others. “We shall stay here tonight. We shall need a very large fire to frighten away animals.”
Nomusa went about gathering wood with the others, but she could not forget the sight of Zitu as he faced the elephant. This was a story that would be told about the evening fires for many moons.