Son of Power Part 34

"What's the meaning of it?" Skag asked.

Little Horace d.i.c.kson answered in a hushed way--as one in the presence of a miracle:

"It is one of the regulars, come back to take a part of what belongs to the sick elephant."

Skag looked at the boy's face, in incredulous amazement. It was lit--awe and exaltation were both there. Then he noticed the look of the master-mahout--that was a revelation.

. . . They were putting half as much again on top of the already loaded elephant.

. . . Certain phrases went through Skag's brain, as he watched the thing done--over and over. _No one had called this elephant back. He came before they knew themselves that an elephant was sick. When the mahouts first went to examine the sick one--this one was already on the way. How did he know?_

The extra loaded elephant rose and started again. Then a great shout went up. Tones of many voices filled the slanting sun-rays in all the glamour of dust. The wonderful voice of the master-mahout loomed above all:

"Wisdom and excellence are thy parts, oh Thou! Justice and kindness--we who are poor in them--will learn of thee! Thou son of strength, thou child of ancient knowledges and worth!"

And the mahouts shouted again!

At that moment Skag knew as well as he knew anything in life, that he stood somewhere in the outer courts of a great animal-cult; and he was convinced that it was of a mystic nature--however that could be. He swore in his heart that he would never give up, till he got further in.

The master-mahout's voice ascended now on a strange call. It was a lift-lift-lifting tone.

"What does that mean?" Skag asked.

"All the elephants know that--it's the lifting call," Horace explained.

"When an elephant is sick--unless they have an extra number in the regiment--they always call for two to volunteer; and they divide the load of the sick elephant between them. They use these tones instead of a name--just for that. There comes a male now, to take the rest of this load."

Skag watched the added load going into place on the volunteer. It was almost finished, when a trumpet blast sounded directly behind him--toward Hurda. Several elephants answered from the regiment; and many mahouts called to each other.

"Is that the bad fighter coming?" Skag asked.

"Yes, Skag Sahib, that's Nut Kut. But I don't know just what you're going to see--the ones who ought to handle him are all gone."

The master-mahout's voice was rising up into the vault of heaven and falling over upon the horizon. It seemed to Skag the like was never heard before.

"He's calling the two big tuskers back," Horace chuckled, "but there'll be doings on before they get here! Will you listen to Nut Kut's challenge?"

Skag turned to face the looming trumpet tones. There were no tones behind him like them. Smooth and mellow, they were yet so full of power as to make all the others sound insignificant. They were like love-tones translated into thunder.

But when Nut Kut came in sight, Skag caught his breath. The shape was made of gleaming bronze. No detail showed; it was a thing that took the eye and the breath and the blood. There was no look of effort in its inscrutable motion.

They stood in the open, between this thing and the regiment behind.

There was no obstruction. And Skag moved to be between it and Horace--when it should pa.s.s them on its way. The regiment of thoroughly trained elephants were standing firmly in their places; but they were making the welkin ring with a thousand trumpets in the air.

Certainly Skag knew that this incredible thing before him--bigger every second--was Nut Kut. He looked to see why the great challenge-tones had stopped, and revelation went through him--like an explosion. Nut Kut had seen Horace and was coming straight for him.

Skag leaped to meet Nut Kut first, but he couldn't catch the elephant's eye. The huge shape was upon him and he was flung aside. Recovering himself almost instantly, he got around in time to see--but not in time to prevent.

Horace lifted both arms and leaned forward--his grey eyes gone black--as Nut Kut's trunk caught him. A little broken cry came from him and his death-white face hung down an instant--from high up.

Then, backing away, swaying from side to side, Nut Kut set his eyes on the man who followed--his red eyes, blazing with red warning. The American animal trainer did not fail to understand; he paused.

Slowly the great bronze trunk curled and cuddled about Horace d.i.c.kson's body and began to swing him. Skag knew that elephants swing men when they intend to kill them; and he heard a low moaning--like wind--rise up from the mult.i.tude of mahouts behind.

. . . Further and further the boy swung in the elephant's trunk, back and forth--back and forth. Unnatural tones startled Skag--sounding like delirium. Nut Kut put little Horace d.i.c.kson down, close under his own throat, his long trunk curling outside--always curling about--feeling up and down the boy's limbs, his frame, his face. The small mouth was open; the little red tongue--flickering.

Horace seemed oblivious; but when he laughed aloud. Nut Kut caught him up again--lightning quick. This time he swung the boy higher, till he rounded a perfect circle in the air; backing still further away and lifting his head. Nut Kut flung him round and round and yet around--faster and yet faster.

The moaning--like wind--still came from behind.

After endless time--like perdition--Skag heard Horace gasping, choking.

He thought there were words; but couldn't be sure. And while this was going on. Nut Kut brought the boy down--flat on the ground. The impact must have broken a man. But Horace got to his feet--staggering in the circle of the trunk--looking dazed.

Now Skag moved forward, holding his hands out--as he came nearer to the big black head.

"I know you now, Nut Kut," he said quietly, "you're white inside all right. You're not meaning to hurt him. You like him--so do I."

But Nut Kut backed away, gathering the boy with him, looking down into the American's eyes--the red danger signals flaring up in his own again.

"Nut Kut, old man," Skag reasoned in perfectly natural tones, "you can't bluff me. I tell you, I know you. I know you as well as if we came out of the same egg!"

Nut Kut was still backing away and Skag was following up.

"You may take me, if you want--I can't let you wear him out, you know."

And then, while Nut Kut wrapped about and drew Horace in closer, Skag laid his fingers on the great bronze trunk, gently but firmly stroking--the red eyes focused in his own. For seconds the man and the elephant looked into each other. Suddenly Nut Kut loosed Horace and laid hold on Skag.

The moaning ascended and broke--like wind going up a mountain khud.

There was nothing certain to the mahouts, but that this man of courage would be dashed to death before their eyes.

Skag squirmed in the grip about his body as Nut Kut held him high. It looked as if he were being crushed. But when he got his hands on the trunk again, he laughed. Now Nut Kut lowered him quickly--holding him before his own red eyes. The touch of the elephant was the touch of a master. But the eyes of the man were mastership itself.

. . . They were just so, when Ram Yaksahn--with a ghastly haggard face--lurched from behind Nut Kut, fairly sobbing. Nut Kut jerked Skag tight (it was like a hug), released him deliberately and turning, put his own sick mahout up on his own neck, with a movement that looked like a flick of his trunk.

"Now easy, Majesty, go easy with me--indeed I am very ill!" Ram Yaksahn protested in plaintive tones, as Nut Kut wheeled away with him.

Seeing Horace in the hands of a strange native--and certainly recovering--Skag looked away toward Hurda and wonder aloud if Nut Kut would be punished. It was the master-mahout who answered him:

"Nay, Sahib. He has done no harm."

"I'd like to have a chance with him," said Skag.

The master-mahout smiled--a mystic-musical smile, like his voice.

"I have come from my place for a moment," he said, looking intently into Skag's eyes, "for a purpose. We have heard of you, Son-of-Power.

The wisdom of the ages is to know the instant when to act; not too late, not too soon. We have seen you work this day; and the fame of it will go before and after you, the length and breadth of India--among the mahouts."

He turned, pointing toward the elephant regiment. Many mahouts were shouting something together; their right hands flung high.