MY WIFE HOLDS THE GUN 227 



home. In the early days on a former expedition, I 

 used to collect a little ivory occasionally. One day 

 we came on a small herd in an open space that 

 promised easy shooting. Looming above the females 

 was an old bull with a fine long gleaming pair of tusks 

 below his chin. 



None of the elephants saw us. I whispered to Osa 

 to stay by the camera while I went in closer for a shot. 

 I knew there was a good chance of some interesting 

 film if one of the beasts charged me. 



As I crept forward I kept my gim at ready. One 

 can never tell whether an elephant will charge or run 

 away and I did not want to lose my tusker. 



Suddenly the big fellow glanced up and saw me. 

 As I was very close, I fired. I thought I had hit him 

 in a vital spot. Indeed, had Osa been the hunter, 

 the victim would probably have fallen then and there. 

 But somehow I missed the small brain area which 

 the bullet must penetrate to be fatal. 



The bull jumped and charged. I ran at top speed 

 toward Osa. She was cranking the camera, getting 

 priceless film as I fled for my life. It may seem to 

 the reader that she was callous in letting the charging 

 elephant come after me and doing nothing about it 

 except take my picture. But her quick eye caught 

 the fact instantly that the elephant was not gaining 

 much. 



The great danger to me lay in the possibility that I 



