A LUCKY SHOT
FROM their elevated perch Colin and Tiny had been watching the
beginning of the encounter with feelings akin to awe. The elephant
of their imagination had been completely dwarfed by this enormous
bulk--the furious, bellowing behemoth. They clung tightly to the
limb of the tree, hardly conscious that they were doing so, their
whole attention being centred upon the scene below.
But when Colonel Narfield tripped and fell, the two chums were
stirred to action. In an instant came the realisation that they were
not spectators, but participators in the game of death.
Desmond, lowering his rifle, fired hurriedly at the huge animal.
Whether he hit the elephant or not, the bullet made not the
slightest apparent impression upon the brute. In his anxiety for the
Colonel's safety, Tiny simply had to fire because he had a rifle in
his hand, but his action was purely automatic.
On the other hand, Colin was deliberate. He, too, levelled his
rifle, but, at the same time, a mental view of the most vulnerable
parts of an elephant flashed across his mind. Perhaps he was two
seconds later than his chum in firing, but those two seconds had not
been wasted.
With the back-sight of the rifle down to zero, Colin aimed straight
at the elephant's right eye. It was not an easy shot, in spite of
the fact that the animal was end-on, for, as the brute charged, its
enormous head was continuously and rapidly jerking up and down,
while the brandished trunk added to the baffling nature of the
comparatively small target.
Sinclair, holding his breath, pressed the trigger. The rifle kicked
more than usual--in fact, Colin noticed it, notwithstanding the
greater issue.
Almost simultaneously with the sharp crack of the rifle the bull
elephant dropped. Carried on by the impetus of its rush, the
enormous bulk plunged forward for another eight or ten yards and
then stopped, quivering and struggling, within a couple of feet of
Colonel Narfield, who had contrived to roll away from the very place
where the vanquished animal had come to a standstill.
Setting the safety-catch of his rifle, Colin dropped lightly to the
ground. Then, preparing to administer the _coup de grâce_, he
advanced towards the hulking brute.
But there was no need for a second shot from his rifle. The giant
bull-elephant was stone-dead.
Meanwhile Desmond had gained the ground. The two chums went to
assist the Colonel, who was sitting up and regarding the dead
elephant with the amazement arising from the fact that he, who had
expected to be trampled to death, was alive, although not exactly
kicking, while the enormous quadruped had for some inexplicable
reason been stopped within an ace of success.
"Hurt, sir?" inquired Tiny.
"Ankle," replied Colonel Narfield laconically. Then he gazed first
at the dead elephant and then at his rifle, lying thirty or forty
yards away.
"Never let me down before," he continued, addressing his remarks to
himself rather than to his companions. "Two miss-fires in
succession. Wait till I write to the scoundrels who sold me that
ammunition, by Jove! Where's Van der Wyck?"
"He's not back yet," replied Colin. "He went round the patch of
scrub to see if the beaters had started one of the other elephants."
"Not back?" exclaimed the Colonel. "Then who, in the name of
fortune, killed the brute?"
"We both fired," replied Colin.
"And brought the brute down with an ordinary .303 bullet?
Incredible!" declared Colonel Narfield, emphatically. "Bear a hand,
lads. I haven't broken my ankle. It's only sprained, which is a
jolly sight better than being squashed to a pulp. No, don't touch
the boot and legging; if you do, I won't be able to get them on
again in a hurry. Prop me up against that tree and fetch my rifle,
please. I'm anxious to know what's wrong with that ammunition. If
you see the first cartridge I ejected, bring that along, too."
Colin went to fetch the rifle. He took particular pains to keep a
respectable distance from the dead elephant. In the slanting rays of
the moon it looked more tremendous than ever.
"'Spose I did shoot the brute," thought Colin; "or I wonder if
Tiny's bullet did the trick? There's no telling which, as far as I
can see."
He recovered the rifle, apparently undamaged, although the muzzle
was choked with mud. The ejected cartridge took a considerable
amount of finding, but, after a lengthy search, Sinclair discovered
it under the gnarled stem of a thorn bush.
Colonel Narfield took the rifle eagerly. The fact that it had "let
him down" seemed to be of far greater importance than the death of
the elephant.
"Quite all right," he decided. "Then it must be the ammunition."
Holding the two miss-fires in the moonlight, the Colonel critically
examined the copper caps set in the brass bases of the cartridges.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "The caps aren't even dented. Come back all
I said about the ammunition."
He deftly extracted the bolt of the rifle. The end of the striker
was missing. An eighth of an inch or so had been snapped off, and
that fraction made all the difference between a serviceable weapon
and a useless incumbrance.
"Wonder how that happened?" he remarked. "It was all right before we
left home, and the rifle never left my hands. Hullo! Here's Van der
Wyck."
The old farmer was approaching, escorted by three or four wildly
excited natives.
"You are in luck, too, I see, Colonel Narfield," exclaimed Van der
Wyck.
"If you call this luck," rejoined the Colonel, indicating his ankle,
"I am. You've bagged a brute, then?"
"Two," replied the old man with justifiable pride. "It took three
shots to do it. One of the natives was trampled on before I settled
the second cow. But that's a splendid brute of yours! Look at the
tusks!"
"It wasn't my shot," protested Colonel Narfield. "These lads brought
him down just as he was on the point of trampling on me."
Van der Wyck made no audible comment. He walked across to where the
bull elephant lay surrounded by a mob of natives, for unaccountably
the original number had been augmented by almost every man from
Sibenga's Kraal.
Presently he returned.
"I can find only one wound," he announced, "although there might be
one on the animal's left side; but I can't find that out, as he is
lying on that side. There is a bullet hole under the right eye
caused by an explosive bullet."
"An explosive bullet!" echoed Colonel Narfield.
"Not mine," declared Tiny.
"Nor mine," added Colin ruefully.
"Let me see your ammunition, lads," suggested the Colonel.
Desmond's was the ordinary soft-nosed bullet. Colin's was the same
in appearance at first sight, but a brief examination revealed the
fact that it was of the explosive variety used in big-game hunting.
"Where did you get hold of this, Colin?" asked Colonel Narfield.
"From the ammunition-box just before we started," replied the lad.
"Then it's a jolly lucky thing you did so," declared Colonel
Narfield. "A fluke of the highest dimension. No other form of
ammunition would have dropped that brute dead in its tracks. All the
same, I'd like to know how that packet got into the ordinary
ammunition-chest," he added reflectively.