Dermot, plucked at the last moment from the most terrible of deaths,
staggered panting to a tree and tried to stand, supporting himself against
the trunk. But the strain had been too great. He turned faint and sank
exhausted to the earth, almost unconscious. But the remembrance of
Badshah's peril from a better-armed antagonist--for the possession of two
tusks gave the rogue a great advantage--nerved him. Holding on to the tree
he dragged himself up and looked around for his rifle. He could not see it,
and he dared not cross the arena in which the two huge combatants were
fighting.
As Badshah drew back to gain impetus for another charge, the rogue regained
its feet and prepared to hurl itself on the unexpected assailant. Dermot
was in despair at being unable to aid his saviour, who he feared must
succumb to the superior weapons of his opponent. He gazed fascinated at the
titanic combat.
The rogue trumpeted a shrill challenge. Then it curled its trunk between
its tusks out of harm's way and with ears cocked forward and tail erect
rushed to the assault. But suddenly it propped on stiffened forelegs and
stopped dead. It stared at Badshah, who was about to charge again, and
backed slowly, seemingly panic-stricken. Then as the tame elephant moved
forward to the attack the rogue screamed with terror, swung about, and with
ears and tail dropped, bolted into the undergrowth.
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