CHAPTER XVII

THE ELEPHANT TRAIL

They both fired together, taking the best aim they could under the circumstances, for it is not the easiest thing in the world to hit a rhinoceros in that fashion, nor to strike a vulnerable spot.

“Again!” cried the sergeant, as he threw out the empty shell, and injected a loaded one into the firing chamber. “That won’t stop him!”

“Here goes!” exclaimed C. C. Piper, grimly.

Together they fired again and this time they could see the great beast waver in his charge.

“Keep on going, boys!” cried the soldier to Blake and Joe, who were making the best time possible out of danger, with the camera containing the precious films held between them.

“He’s a tough one!” shouted C. C. “I’m afraid we’d better run for it ourselves, sergeant.”

“Not much! We’ll stop him yet!”

Although it has taken some little time to tell this, it did not actually take more than a few seconds to happen. On came the lumbering beast, but the fusillade of shots was too much for it. Bullet after bullet snapped out from the two heavy rifles, and, though it might seem like cruelty, they were not shooting for sport, but to save their lives.

Then, when he had almost reached the two intrepid men who stood there facing him, the rhinoceros stumbled and came to his knees.

“We’ve got him now!” sang out C. C.

“One more shot to finish him!” cried his companion.

And, as the creature was endeavoring to rise, a final bullet sent it over dead.

“That was a narrow squeak!” said Joe, as he and Blake came to a stop.

“That’s right, old man. But, oh! if only the film hadn’t broken, and we could have had a picture of that charge.”

“It would have been great,” agreed Joe, “but we may get another chance for one.”

“Not like that one,” sighed Blake in disappointed tones. “But I suppose we ought to be glad that we got off so luckily.”

“Indeed you had,” spoke the sergeant. “A charge by an angry rhino is nothing to laugh at.”

“Are you going to take any more pictures?” asked C. C. as Mr. Duncan, accompanied by a number of the native porters, came running from camp to see what the firing meant.

“No, I guess we have enough,” said Blake, “It will take a little time to join the broken ends of the film, and I guess the light is about burned out.”

“That’s right,” said Joe, and, as he went to see how much longer it would last, it flickered out. So they gave up picture-taking for that night, well satisfied, however, with what they had. In the moonlight they made their way back to their tents and to sleep, though most of the porters, hearing of the slain rhinoceros, stayed up to get some meat. Then they lighted big fires and had a feast that lasted until nearly morning.

When daylight came, Blake and Joe found the reason for the breaking of the film was that some of the mechanism of the camera was out of order. They decided to stay in camp until it could be repaired, and perhaps this was a wise move, for the porters had eaten so much meat that they could hardly walk.

There was no need to kill any more game for the table, and thus every one had a rest except Joe and Blake, who busied themselves about their picture machine.

The next day it rained and, as they did not know what sort of trail they might meet deeper in the jungle, they decided to remain where they were until it cleared. But it continued to rain for two days and they spent them drearily enough, there being little to do. Mr. Duncan fretted because they were not making progress toward finding his daughter, but there was no help for it.

Then came clear weather, and with Happy One to lead the now well-satisfied porters the expedition again started off. They were in a good game country now, and while for some time afterward the boys did not get a chance to make any extraordinary pictures, still they got some. And there was plenty to eat, which kept the porters in good humor.

For nearly a week they traveled on, sure now that they were on the right road, for they made inquiries at small native villages through which they passed, and learned that the party of raiding Africans had gone through on their way back into the interior.

“But did they have white people with them?” cried Mr. Duncan, after a native chief, through an interpreter, had been asked about the raiding party.

“Him say yes!” replied Happy One, who spoke several dialects. “One white man and two missies!”

“Oh, that must be Jessie and her friends!” cried the father of the missing girl.

Sometimes they received wrong information, not intentionally given, however; and occasionally no amount of questioning could bring out any facts about the white captives.

Either the natives in the villages, where they made the inquiries, had not observed carefully enough, or their scouts, or cattle-watchers, who were naturally the ones to have observed the raiding party on its way back, had been too timid to get close enough to learn the real facts.

“But, on the whole,” decided Joe, when they had talked the matter over, “I think we’re on the right road.”

The others agreed with him, and so they kept on.

It was not easy traveling. Most of the way lay through a dense jungle, with only a narrow native trail, which necessitated going in single file. Occasionally they would cross a plain, and this was always welcome. Once they had to ford a river.

Then came a time when Blake came down with a touch of jungle fever and they had to stay a week in one camp to nurse him. But he recovered, and once more they were under way.

One afternoon, after fairly cutting their way through a tangled growth of jungle vines, in order to shorten the trail a bit and get to one that a native chief had told them about, Joe, who was in advance, came to what seemed like a road cut through the forest.

“It looks as if we were coming to something!” he cried. “This looks good to me. Let’s take this path, even if it is longer.”

Sergeant Hotchkiss came running up. Taking one look at the swath through the jungle he cried out:

“Boys, it’s an elephant trail, and a big, fresh one, too! We’ll follow that and, if you have luck, you’ll get some rare pictures. Hustle up, everybody!”