It was early in the morning, and the hunt was about to start, for
the news brought in by the runner the night before had been closely
followed by the brutes themselves, and at dawn our friends were
astir, for scouts brought in word that the elephants, including many
big ones, were passing along only a few miles from the African
village.
Cautiously approaching, with the wind blowing from the elephants to
them, the white hunters made their way along. Mr. Durban was in the
lead, and when he saw a favorable opportunity he motioned for the
others to advance. Then, when he noticed the big bull sentinels of
the herd look about as if to detect the presence of enemies, he gave
another signal and the hunters sank out of sight in the tall grass.
As for the natives, they were like snakes, unseen but ever present,
wriggling along on their hands and knees. They were awaiting the
slaughter, when there would be fresh meat in abundance.
At length the old elephant hunter decided that they were near enough
to chance some shots. As a matter of fact, Tom Swift, with his
electric rifle, had been within range some time before, but as he
did not want to spoil the sport for the others, by firing and
killing, and so alarming the herd, he had held back.
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