ELEPHANTS 89 
took care to thrust my hook always in the same spot, 
tearing a raw wound in his side, while the other 
men caught him on the legs and on the trunk. We 
had to work fast to keep away from the big trunk 
as it cut through the air, and his feet, when he 
kicked. Each of us was sent sprawling several 
times before the fight was over. 
At last I could see that the elephant was paying 
more attention to the wound I was making than to 
anything else we were doing; he favored the hurt 
side and tried to shield it. Then, with a bellow, he 
knelt down and dropped on his side to cover the 
wound. 
While I kept him down, Ali arranged the hob- 
bles; then we petted him and allowed him to stand. 
He got to his feet doubtfully, as if he weren’t sure 
that we were not playing a trick on him—urging 
him to stand up so that we could jab him again. 
The wound I had torn in his side was large enough 
for two fists, and it must have pained him terribly. 
He was worn out by the fight and he hobbled off 
to his new stall, much subdued. Several days later 
he came out of the “must” period, which rarely 
lasts for more than a week, and became again the 
docile elephant that took children on his back for a 
ride. 
I went to see him several times before I returned 
to Singapore, and, when I entered the stall, he edged 
away from me, protecting his side. Years later, I 
went to Sydney and entered his stall. He didn’t 
