Part 40 (2/2)

Suddenly the Gul Moti was aware of a strong earth-smell. There was no stench about. It had a quality of incense made of tree-gums and sandalwood and perfume-barks, all together. Then a dull thudding caught her ear--almost rhythmic.

. . . The earth-smells deepened and the thudding thickened. Mitha Baba was not climbing any more; moving smoothly, on what felt like firm soil, she seemed to turn and turn again. It was fathoms deep in rayless night--the place that never knew the light of day!

Carlin clung tight to Mitha Baba's neck and remembered everything actual, everything definite, everything sound and sensible she knew. The earth-smells filled her nostrils, her lungs, her blood; tree-gums, sandal-wood, perfume-bark, body-warmth--charging the air.

And over all--wild, and wistful, and pulsing-tender--the weaving of Mitha Baba's enchantment through the dark.

The thudding all about her on the ground--must be the sound of many wild feet! This must be--the ”toiling in.”

. . . A rending, tearing noise broke in on Mitha Baba's voice; and at once a great crash among the trees, high up. (Someone had torn a sapling from its place and flung it far.)

. . . The keen squeal of a very little elephant--right near--and the angry protest of a strange voice. (Some mother's baby had been pinched, in the crowd!)

. . . It must be imagination--this strong nearness! The Gul Moti, putting out her hand, touched--skin! And within the same breath, on both sides of Mitha Baba--first this side and then that side--two great elephants challenged each other. They were both long, rocking blasts, a little above and almost against the Gul Moti's quickened ears. She s.h.i.+vered under the shock.

Mitha Baba, without breaking her step, backed away from between them; and the impact of frightful blow meeting frightful blow, bruised through the outbreak of much trumpeting.

As Mitha Baba went further and further from the fighters, the Gul Moti was amazed at the sounds of their meeting--like explosions. She remembered their tonnage; and recalled having heard that an elephant fight is not the sort of thing civilised men call sport.

. . . A soft, _feeling_ thing crept from the Gul Moti's shoulder along down her back! With convulsive fingers she clung tighter to Mitha Baba's neck. Instantly Mitha Baba turned a bit, driving sidewise at the stranger with her head. The Gul Moti's confidence in the great female's intention to protect her, was established!

At last, lifting her head sharply to utter a different call, Mitha Baba developed a peculiar drive in her motion; a queer drive in the whole huge body that had something to do with a wide swinging of the head. It made them both touch the strange elephants, every few minutes; and always there was a storm of trumpeting all about. Gradually these outbreaks began to sound toward one side; but the direction kept changing--so the Gul Moti made out that Mitha Baba was moving round and round on the outside of the ma.s.s.

After a while they came again into the vicinity where the big males were still fighting. Mitha Baba rocked on her feet a moment, calling a curious low call--a question, softly spoken. At once there was the sound of rapid movement in front. Then Mitha Baba literally whirled--plunging away at incredible speed--almost exactly in the opposite direction from the one she had been facing.

Doctor Carlin Deal Hantee tried to remember Skag--tried to remember her own name. She locked herself about that neck with her strength--she clung with her might. She flattened her body and gripped with her fingers and with her toes--long since having kicked off her low shoes.

Away and away they went, coming out into the moonlight--long enough to see a ma.s.s of dun shadows rising and falling, lurching and rolling, on all sides. Surely the Gul Moti had known that this was a wild elephant herd--these hours. Surely the Gul Moti had heard the ”toiling” of them in! But what was Mitha Baba going to do with them--now that she had them?

Down the long slopes and up the steep inclines--the two big elephants close on either side of Mitha Baba--plunging into khuds and out again--most of the time up-ended, one way or the other, at astounding angles--the wild herd raced with Mitha Baba toward whatever destination she might choose.

Dawn broke upon them while they were still in the very rugged hills; and as the mountain outlines cleared of mist, the Gul Moti saw that Mitha Baba was leading her catch straight away back to Hurda. True to her training--there being no trap-stockades near--the toiler was taking them home! The situation was absurd; but it roused the Gul Moti--like one out of a dream--to actual joy.

Through grey avenues of forest trees--rolling down khuds, ringing up crags--the voice of Nut Kut went on out beyond the mountain peaks, to meet approaching day. Nut Kut, the great black elephant who had been trapped in these same Vindha Hills only a few years ago, was rejoicing in freedom again. Nut Kut, who had already made his reputation as the most deadly fighter known to the mahouts, was exulting in strength. It was his joy-song. It came from straight ahead. Mitha Baba answered with a rollicking squeal. But the wild herd voices were savage--chaotic. Now Nut Kut's challenge came back--looming. The situation was no longer absurd.

It meant a fight--an open fight--between the wild herd and the caravan.

The wild herd would never give Mitha Baba over to her own--they would surely fight to keep her. Everything tightened in the Gul Moti and locked--hard. She had known most of the caravan elephants all her life--what would happen to them? They had lived among men these many and many years--never permitted to fight--they could not be equally fighting-fit. The herd would be much leaner--it must be much tougher.

So she bruised her head and her heart between the things that were due to happen to her caravan--horrible punishments and almost certain deaths.

When the caravan appeared, the males were leading; the four females well in the rear. Nut Kut's flaming orange and imperial-blue trappings covered and c.u.mbered him; and young Gunpat Rao's gorgeous saffron and old-rose burned through the Gul Moti's eyes to the hard lump in her throat--it was the one time in their lives when they should be free.

At once the wild females gathered their youngsters--and some who seemed almost mature--cutting them out from the herd and driving them back.

This revealed the wild fighters--many more in number than those of the caravan. The approaching challenges, from both sides, were thundering thick and fast now. The two bodies of elephants were plunging down the opposite sides of a deep khud and would meet in the broad bottom. Mitha Baba--the big males on each side of her--was setting the pace for this side, as if everything depended on time. But when they were quite close, she rushed ahead--straight through the caravan and beyond.

Mitha Baba had been leading her catch to her own stockades--being in no wise responsible that they were not trap-stockades! Now, the home elephants having come to receive it, she had rushed it in--exactly as she would have rushed it into a trap. But Mitha Baba was not satisfied.

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