FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND ACRES 173 
holes far down in the mud. Then, after long and 
circuitous marching, we would find ourselves tra¬ 
versing spots where we had been an hour before. 
The elephant apparently moves about without 
much definition of purpose, at least when he is 
idling away his time, and the trail we were follow¬ 
ing led in all directions like a mystic maze. At this 
time I was hopelessly lost, and if left alone could 
probably never have found my way out again. So 
we quickened our steps lest the guides should get 
too far ahead of us. In those cool depths of the 
forest, into which only occasional shafts of sun¬ 
light filtered, the air was cold and damp, so much so 
that even the old Wanderobo got cold. It made me 
cold to look at his thin, old bare legs, but then I 
suppose his legs were as much accustomed to expo¬ 
sure as my hands were, and it’s all a matter of get¬ 
ting used to it. 
Our porters, especially those that were most 
heavily loaded, were falling behind and there was 
grave danger of losing them. In fact, a little later 
we did lose them. The trail became fresher and, 
to my dismay, led downward again and into that 
hopeless mass of underbrush which at this point ex¬ 
tended some distance into the lower levels of the 
forest. We could not see in any direction more 
than twenty-five feet—except above. If our lives 
had depended on it we could not have penetrated 
the dense matted barriers of vegetation on each side 
of the narrow trail. The bare thought of meeting 
an elephant in such a place sent a cold chill down the 
