Part 35 (1/2)
”It is right for you to know,” the master-mahout went on, ”that mahouts are a kind of men by themselves apart. Their knowledges are of elephants--sealed--not open to those from without. Yet I speak as one of my kind, being qualified, if in the future you have need of anything from us--it is yours.”
And without giving Skag a chance to answer him, but with a stately gesture of salaam, the master-mahout had returned to his place and was calling another elephant.
Skag turned toward Horace, who was drawing a fine looking native forward by the hand. The boy spoke with repressed excitement--otherwise showing no sign of Nut Kut's strenuous handling:
”Skag Sahib, I want you to know Kudrat Sharif, the malik of the Chief Commissioner's elephant stockades. It is not known, you understand--meaning my father--but the malik has always been very wonderful to me.”
Kudrat Sharif smiled with frank affection on the boy, as he drew his right hand away, to touch his forehead in the Indian salaam. The gesture showed both grace and dignity--as d.i.c.kson Sahib had said.
”I am exalted to carry back to my stockades the story of the manner of your work, Son-of-Power,” he began.
”My name is Sanford Hantee,” Skag deprecated gently.
”But you will always be known to Indians of India as Son-of-Power!”
Kudrat Sharif protested. ”It is a lofty t.i.tle, yet you have established it before many.”
Just then a great elephant came near, playfully reaching for Kudrat Sharif with his trunk.
”And this is Neela Deo, the leader of the caravan!” laughed Horace.
”It is my shame that there is no howdah on him to carry you; we came like flight, when Nut Kut's escape was known,” Kudrat Sharif apologised. ”But after some days, when Nut Kut's excitement sleeps, we shall be distinguished if Son-of-Power chooses to come to the stockades and consider him.
”I heard your judgment of his nature, Sahib; and I say with humility that I shall remember it, in what I have to do with the most strange elephant I have ever met. Truly we are not sure of Nut Kut, whether he is a mighty being of extreme exaltation, above others of his kind in the world, or--a prince from the pit!”
Kudrat Sharif salaamed again; and Neela Deo lifted him to his great neck and carried him away.
Walking home, Horace expressed himself to his friend--as the heart of a boy may be expressed; and Skag dropped his arm about the slender shoulders, speaking softly:
”Remember, son, a little more--would have been too much.”
”All right, Skag Sahib, because now you understand; but--isn't he interesting?”
Knowing well what the boy meant about the great strange creature--more than his fighting propensities, deeper than his physical might--Skag a.s.sented thoughtfully:
”Yes; I would like to know him better.”
CHAPTER XII
_Blue Beast_
Across the river at the military camp, the cavalry outfits were preparing for a jungle outing. It isn't easy to name the thing they contemplated. Pig-sticking couldn't be called a quest, yet there are ”cracks” at the game, quite the same as at polo or billiards.
Horse and man carry their lives on the outside, so to speak. The trick of it all is that a man never knows what the tusker will do. You can't even count on him doing the opposite. And he does it quick. Often he sniffs first, but you don't hear that until after it is done. Men have heard that sniff as they lay under a horse that was kicking its life out; yet the sniff really sounded while they were still in the saddle--the horse still whole.
All the words that have to do with this sport are ugly. It's more like a snort than a sniff. . . . You really must see it. A trampled place in the jungle--tusker at bay---a mounted sticker on each side waiting for the move. The tusker stands still. He looks nowhere, out of eyes like burning cellars. That is as near as you can come with words--trapdoors opening into cellars, smoke and flame below.
At this moment you are like a negative, being exposed. There is filmed among your enduring pictures thereafter, the raking curving snout, yellow tusks, blue bristling hollows from which the eyes burn. The lances glint green from the creepers. . . .