“Well, I guess the electric rifle will come up to expectations. Say, Mr. Durban, they seem to be heading this way!” excitedly cried Tom, as the herd of big beasts suddenly turned and changed their course.
“Yes, they are,” admitted the old elephant hunter calmly. “But that won’t matter. Take it easy. Kill all you can.”
“But we don’t want to put too many out of business,” said Tom, who was not needlessly cruel, even in hunting.
“I know that,” answered Mr. Durban. “But this is a case of necessity. I’ve got to get ivory, and we have to kill quite a few elephants to accomplish this. Besides the brutes will head for the village and the natives’ grain fields, and trample them down, if they’re not headed back. So all together now, we’ll give them a volley. This is a good place! There they are. All line up now. Get ready!”
He halted, and the others followed his example. The natives had come to a stop some time before, and were huddled together in the jungle back of our friends, waiting to see the result of the white men’s shots.
Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, and the two older hunters were on an irregular line in the forest. Before them was the mass of elephants advancing slowly, and feeding on the tender leaves of trees as they came on. They would reach up with their long trunks, strip off the foliage, and stuff it into their mouths. Sometimes, they even pulled up small trees by the roots for the purpose of stripping them more easily.
“Jove! There are some big tuskers in that bunch!” cried Mr. Durban. “Aim for the bulls, every one, don’t kill the mothers or little ones.” Tom now saw that there were a number of baby Elephants in the herd, and he appreciated the hunter’s desire to spare them and their mothers.
“Here we go!” exclaimed Mr. Durban, as he saw that Tom and the others were ready. “Aim! Fire!”
There were thundering reports that awoke the echoes of the jungle, and the sounds of the rifles were followed by shrill trumpets of rage. When the smoke blew away three elephants were seen prostrate, or, rather two, and part of another one. The last was almost blown to pieces by Tom Swift’s electric rifle; for the young inventor had used a little too heavy charge, and the big beast had been almost annihilated.
Mr. Durban had dropped his bull with a well-directed shot, and Mr. Anderson had a smaller one to his credit.