"There's something there," he called to Mr. Durban. "Perhaps a small
herd of elephants. Shall we go down?"
Before Mr. Durban could answer there came into view, in a small
clearing, an elephant of such size, and with such an enormous pair
of tusks, that the young inventor and the old hunter could not
repress cries of astonishment.
"There's your beast!" said Tom. "I'll go down and you can pot him,"
and, as he spoke, Tom stopped the propellers, so that the ship hung
motionless in the air above where the gigantic brute was.
Suddenly, as though possessed by a fit of rage, the elephant rushed
at a good-sized tree and began butting it with his head. Then,
winding his trunk around it he pulled it up by the roots, and began
trampling on it out of a paroxysm of anger.
"A rogue elephant!" exclaimed Mr. Durban. "Don't go down if you
value your life, or the safety of the airship. If we attacked that
brute on the ground, we would be the hunted instead of the hunters.
That's a rogue elephant of the worst kind, and he's at the height of
his rage."
This was indeed so, for the beast was tearing about the clearing
like mad, breaking off trees, and uprooting them in sheer
vantonness.
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