48 Wild Beasts 



What he sees would be nothing to eyes less practised, but 

 it is an elephant's spoor. If one were in Africa, the 

 trackers would now smooth off a little spot of ground, 

 make a few incantations, and throw magic dice to find 

 out all about this animal. But here nothing of that kind 

 is done, and yet the guide will follow the trail unerringly, 

 and the hunter may count upon being brought to his game. 

 "When you know," says Captain A. W. Drayson, "that 

 the giant of the forest is not inferior in the senses of 

 hearing and smell to any creature in creation, and has 

 besides intelligence enough to know that you are his 

 enemy, and also for what purpose you have come, it be- 

 comes a matter of great moment how, when, and where 

 you approach him." 



Elephants, unless they have some definite end in view, 

 stroll about in the most desultory, and, if one is following 

 them, the most exasperating manner. Their big round 

 footprints go up hill and down dale in utterly aimless and 

 devious meanderings. Here the brute stops to dig a tuber 

 or break a branch, there for the purpose of tearing down a 

 clump of bamboos, in another place with no object in view 

 except to drive its tusks into a bank. Sportsmen often 

 spend a day and night upon their trail. 



No one can foresee the issue of a contest with an ele- 

 phant. It ' may fall to a single shot, but no matter how 

 brave and cool and well instructed the hunter may be, how 

 stanch are his gun-bearers, how perfect his weapons and 

 the skill with which they are used, when that wavering 

 trunk becomes fixed in his direction, and the huge head 

 turns toward him, his breath is in his nostrils. More than 



