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The Boys' Big Game Series
THE ROGUE ELEPHANT
The
Boys'
Big
Game
Series
[Illustration]
=THE GIANT MOOSE.= The monarch of the big
Northwest; a story told over camp fires in the
reek of cedar smoke and the silence of the
barrens.
=THE WHITE TIGER OF NEPAL.= The weird story of
the man-killer of the foothills. Tinged with
the mysticism of India, dramatic and stirring.
=THE BLIND LION OF THE CONGO.= A story of the
least known part of the earth and its most
feared beast. A gripping tale of the land of
the white pigmies.
=THE KING BEAR OF KADIAK ISLAND.= A tale of the
bully of the Frozen North and his mysterious
guardian. A game-and-man-story that makes a
good boy-story.
=THE ROGUE ELEPHANT.= A big game hunt that
leads into strange lands and stranger
adventures in a real big game country.
_Remarkable covers and four-color jackets.
Illustrations and cover designs by Dan Sayre
Groesbeck_
Price 60 cents each
Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago
[Illustration: It seemed that the great beast was towering over him,
reaching for him with that terrible trunk. Then he drew a careful bead
on the left fore-shoulder.]
THE ROGUE ELEPHANT
BY
ELLIOTT WHITNEY
Illustrated by Fred J. Arting
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
COPYRIGHT, 1913
by
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
THE ROGUE ELEPHANT
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A CHANCE "OUT" 9
II OFF FOR THE FRONT 21
III QUILQUA THE MYSTERIOUS 33
IV MAKING READY 46
V THE FIRST HUNT 59
VI MOUNT KENIA 71
VII ELEPHANT 83
VIII A RECONNAISSANCE 95
IX INTO THE UNKNOWN 108
X MOWBRAY'S END 120
XI THE DESERT TREK 133
XII A DESERTED LAND 145
XIII A DESPERATE BATTLE 158
XIV THE LAKE OF MYSTERY 170
XV "UNDER THE LEFT GATE-POST" 182
XVI SELIM SHOWS HIS TEETH 194
XVII FRESH SPOOR 206
XVIII LOST! 218
XIX THE ROGUE ELEPHANT 230
XX THE BACK TRAIL 242
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
It seemed that the great beast was towering
over him, reaching for him with that terrible
trunk. Then he drew a careful bead on the
left fore-shoulder. _Frontispiece_
Everything else was forgotten in the novel
method of riding. _Page 54_
For the man, just as he relapsed into unconsciousness,
murmured four words:
"Help--me debbil man!" _Page 118_
One slash of the knife, and out trickled a
little stream of yellow grains into the brown
fist of the explorer. _Page 192_
The Rogue Elephant
CHAPTER I
A CHANCE "OUT"
"You are so crazy as a loon! Boys? Boys to such a drip dake? Nein!"
Von Hofe excitedly pounded the table until the attendants at the
Explorers' Club stared. Then he leaned back determinedly and lighted his
meerschaum. The lean, bronzed man who sat opposite pushed away his maps
with a smile.
"You misunderstand, von Hofe. I know both these boys personally and
vouch for them. You have agreed that this is to be no milk-and-water
trip, with hundreds of porters bearing bath tubs and toilet water, but
that we shall live off the land as we go. That right?"
The German nodded amid a cloud of smoke.
"You want me to take you into the elephant country and shoot your
specimens. I have agreed to do this. I know Africa and I can do it. You
are paying the expenses of the trip, but that is immaterial. If we
hitch up, von Hofe, it will be on the understanding that I am in command
of this expedition; that I choose those I want to go along, and that you
are with me to prepare your specimens and nothing else. Now you can take
it or leave it--that's final."
The elderly German paused before replying, the two men searching each
other's faces quietly. As most people have it, the famous Dr. Gross von
Hofe was a "taxidermist." The average "stuffer," the man who simply
covers and replaces the bones of the specimen with excelsior or cotton,
is properly named taxidermist, but von Hofe was an artist, known the
world over for his wonderful work. In various museums of the world you
may see his models, signed like the masterpieces of other artists, of
rare and disappearing animals from the distant quarters of the earth,
frozen in action, with the setting of the trees, grass, sand or water of
their native haunts.
The other, somewhat younger than the famous artist in skin and bone, was
an American of German descent--Louis Schoverling. He was one of that
little class of world-wanderers, who have barely enough money to carry
them about the earth's strange places, hunting and exploring, gradually
pushing the frontier of civilization back into the savage quarters of
the world, and most happy when self-dependent and forced to rely on gun
or hook for a day's meal.
So when Dr. von Hofe was commissioned by two celebrated museums to visit
East Africa and secure for each a family group of elephants--tusker
bull, calf, and cow--it was natural that he should come to the New York
Explorers' Club for a helper and guide. There he had picked on Louis
Schoverling--or "the General," as his fellow-explorers had laughingly
dubbed him after the failure of a certain South American revolution--to
take him to the tuskers. Dr. von Hofe was not a hunter and he knew it.
So Schoverling had agreed to go, not for the money in the trip, but for
the excitement of it.
"I see," returned the big German at last, "why your comrades call you
'the General.' You are right. You shall take whom you like, und if I say
you are crazy as a loon, it makes no difference. You are satisfied?"
"Quite," laughed the American. "When do we start?"
"Three weeks from to-day," returned the other, whose English was perfect
save in moments of excitement. "I have a group to finish for the
Metropolitan here. Then we go."
"All right. I'll meet you up here three weeks from to-day, with my
friends, at twelve sharp."
Such was the interesting prelude to the letter which came to Charlie
Collins at Calgary, Canada, five days later. Charlie was one of the boys
whom the General had proposed to take with him to Africa. Born in Nova
Scotia, he had tramped his way across the continent at the age of
seventeen, when his father died. Catching the Peace River fever he had
made his way back to Calgary, then up to Peace River Landing, where he
went to work to make enough money to turn homesteader. At this juncture
Schoverling had met him while on a hunting trip. The General had become
keenly interested in the boy, whose ambitions were high. Charlie was
accustomed to depending on himself, which caught the explorer's fancy.
He had knocked the homesteading notion out of Charlie's head and got him
a position at Calgary, where he was now learning the trade of
electrician.
So when Charlie walked into the office on that Saturday morning and
found a bulky letter from the Explorers' Club, he tore it open in keen
anticipation. For five minutes he stood reading in amazement; then he
uttered a yell that brought the eyes of the office force down on him,
and rushed to the paymaster's desk.
"Give me my time, Mr. Clarke!" he cried, his gray eyes and pleasant,
healthy face denoting high excitement. "I've got to quit right off!"
"What's the matter? Fallen heir to a million?" laughed the man behind
the window, who was used to his men quitting at a moment's notice.
"Better than that! Jumping sandhills! I'm going to Africa!" almost
shouted the boy, as he grabbed his pay envelope and put for the door.
"Hey! Better take your hat!" shouted some one, and Charlie made a quick
return for his forgotten headgear, then vanished. When he found himself
in his boarding-house room with the door locked, he flung off his coat
and settled down to read over once more the wonderful letter. It was
written in the customary vein of the explorer--as if he was talking to
his reader.
"_My dear Charlie_:--
"_Draw your time and beat it for New York. Meet me at the Explorers'
Club at noon of the 22nd. Bring Jack Sawtooth ditto. You don't know him
but you will soon. We're going to Africa--sail the night of the 22nd, so
hump yourself, old man!_
"_First for the expedition. Remember asking me once why all explorers
couldn't live off the land, as we did up the Mackenzie that winter? I
said then that it could be done, and you're going to help prove me right
in Africa. We're going to hunt elephant--not where you get them driven
up while you sit in a camp-chair, either. We're going after bulls,
rogues, the big fellows who live solitary, soured on life in general. We
have to get two at least, for museums._
"_Never mind an outfit. Don't need your snowshoes, of course. Jack will
bring some knee-high moosehide moccasins--no machine-made junk, either.
I'm getting the guns. Bring six of those Canadian lynx or fox steel
traps. Can't seem to find 'em here, and they'll be useful._
"_Have wired and written Sawtooth. He's a quarter-breed--hold on, old
scout! Wait till he looks you up; Sunday, I expect. Jack is seventeen,
looks like a white--and is white clear through. Next to you he's the
hardiest and gamest ever. Got me skinned a mile on the trail. Educated
at the Mission School. You'll like him. He's not sensitive on his blood,
but rather proud of it._"
Charlie paused and grinned to himself. He did not share the prejudice of
a "tenderfoot" against the half-breeds. He knew well enough that as in
any race a good, manly Cree or Salteaux was rather above the average
white man in point of character.
"_Jack has to get down from Mirror Landing, so give him a couple of
days' leeway. You have plenty of time, I judge. Better fetch H. B. C.
blankets; nights are cold in Africa, and we might strike into the
mountains. The trip doesn't promise any more than expenses, but there is
always a chance that we can trade or clean up on a bit of ivory. Once we
get together we can go over the route and all that. However, the
experience is worth while, and it's the best kind of an education. If we
pull out ahead of the game you may have a stake to start in some kind of
business for yourself._
"_Check enclosed to cover expenses to New York. Don't buy any gold
bricks when you strike Broadway! And don't let Jack scalp anyone on
board the Overland._
"_Yours in haste,_
"_Louis Schoverling._"
Charlie slowly folded up the letter and stared out of the window for a
moment.
"Jumping sandhills!" he murmured softly, and turned to where "the
General" hung framed on his wall. "What a prince of a friend you are to
a fellow! I guess I'll give you a bit of a surprise myself, just the
same!"
Eight months before, when Schoverling had gone "out," as the saying is
up there, he had left Charlie in Calgary. The boy had little knowledge
of the ways of the city, but after parting with his new-found friend he
had thrown himself into his new life, grimly determined that he would
make good. And he had. In the day he had worked at his new trade, in the
evening he had plugged away at night-school, making up for lost time. He
had doffed his flannel shirt and timber boots for the garb of the city,
and as he looked at himself in the glass that morning he grinned again.
The next day Jack Sawtooth showed up, tired out, fresh from the
wilderness. He had received the General's telegram three days before,
had not stopped for the letter following, but had said farewell to his
father and joined a freight sledge down to Athabasca Landing, to seek
out Charlie at Calgary.
"Glad to meet you," exclaimed Charlie when his visitor was dubiously
announced by his landlady. The Cree boy was lithe, straight as an arrow,
open-browed and keen of eye, with none of the somber gravity of his
Indian blood. "I hardly thought you'd get here so quickly."
"I didn't know what was up," smiled Jack. "Say, this is a neat little
room! Where did you get the bead-work? Why, you must be an old-timer!
Mr. Schoverling has not written me very often, and only mentioned you a
few times."
"I've knocked around quite a bit," admitted Charlie, glancing at the
Indian bead-work and the pictures of camp and trail that hung on his
wall. "Don't you know where we're going?"
The other shook his head.
"We're going elephant hunting in Africa," laughed Charlie. Jack stared
at him.
"Africa? Say, Collins, don't try to give me heart-failure that way! What
is it now, honest?"
"You wait," chuckled Charlie, bringing out the explorer's letter and
reading over all that related to the trip. Not until Jack had set eyes
on it himself would he believe that Charlie was in earnest. Then he sat
back and stared again.
"Me--in Africa! Great Scott, am I dreaming or just crazy? Does he mean
it?"
Charlie produced the good-sized check in evidence, and Jack's amazement
soon gave way to calm acceptance of the situation.
"Then we'll go to Africa, unless I wake up and find myself snowed in
somewhere along the trap line. When do we go?"
"Catch the Overland to-night, if you're ready," returned Charlie
promptly. Jack gave a single glance at the other's neat clothing and
shook his head.
"Not much. I got enough attention coming through town," and he pointed
to the jack he had deposited in the corner. "Look here, Chuck," he fell
readily into the common abbreviation for Charlie then prevalent, "you
fit me out with a rig like yours, in the morning. You know the ropes and
I don't. Then I'll pack up those heavy moccasins I brought along and we
can take the train to-morrow night. No great rush, is there?"
"Guess not," grinned Charlie, inwardly delighted at the good sense of
his new comrade. "But we'll probably get an outfit in New York. Look
here, Jack, I got a new suit of rough tweed last week, and won't need it
now. If you don't mind, you could have that as well as not. We're built
about the same. Hang on to the hickory shirt, though. We'll probably use
'em. In the meantime I've got enough reg'lar shirts to hold us, and we
can dig out on the train to-night if you say."
"Suits me," answered Jack, beaming. "I'm much obliged, old man, for
helping me out! Now I'll have to drop dad a note telling him about it,
and can write him later from the train. Got any paper handy?"
With much interest Charlie watched the other scribble a hasty note in
weird-looking characters. Jack explained that his father could read the
Cree writing-language invented by Bishop Grouard, but not English. The
more Charlie saw of his new friend, the better he liked him, and the two
boys soon fell into a close friendship that was destined to be tested by
land and sea, in more ways than either of them imagined.
"Dad will have a fit when he reads that," laughed Jack. "He'd trust me
anywhere with Mr. Schoverling, though. They used to know each other when
Schoverling was in the Hudsons Bay Company, years ago. Where'll you cash
that check?"
"Hotel," returned Charlie. "They know me at the Alberta."
Jack was soon fixed up with "store clothes," the traps and moccasins
were packed in two grips, Charlie arranged with his landlady to pack up
his stuff and store it for him, and that night the two went
"out"--aboard the Limited that would bear them across the continent.