The rogue was almost upon him.  He swerved suddenly and with failing breath and fiercely beating heart ran madly on.  But the respite was momentary.  His head was dizzy, his legs heavy as lead, his strength almost gone.  He could hear the terrible pursuer only a few yards behind him.

Already the great beast’s uncurled trunk was stretched out to seize its prey.  Dermot’s last moment had come when, with a fierce, shrill scream, a huge body burst out of the jungle and hurled itself at his assailant.  Badshah had come to the rescue of his man.

Before the rogue could swing round to meet him the gallant animal had charged furiously into it, driving his single tusk with all his immense weight behind it into the strange elephant’s side.  The shock staggered the murderous brute and almost knocked it to the ground.  Only the fact of its having turned slightly at Badshah’s cry, so that his tusk inflicted a somewhat slanting blow, had saved it from a mortal wound.  Before it could recover its footing Badshah gored it again.

Dermot, plucked at the last moment from the most terrible of deaths, staggered panting to a tree and tried to stand, supporting himself against the trunk.  But the strain had been too great.  He turned faint and sank exhausted to the earth, almost unconscious.  But the remembrance of Badshah’s peril from a better-armed antagonist—­for the possession of two tusks gave the rogue a great advantage—­nerved him.  Holding on to the tree he dragged himself up and looked around for his rifle.  He could not see it, and he dared not cross the arena in which the two huge combatants were fighting.

As Badshah drew back to gain impetus for another charge, the rogue regained its feet and prepared to hurl itself on the unexpected assailant.  Dermot was in despair at being unable to aid his saviour, who he feared must succumb to the superior weapons of his opponent.  He gazed fascinated at the titanic combat.

The rogue trumpeted a shrill challenge.  Then it curled its trunk between its tusks out of harm’s way and with ears cocked forward and tail erect rushed to the assault.  But suddenly it propped on stiffened forelegs and stopped dead.  It stared at Badshah, who was about to charge again, and backed slowly, seemingly panic-stricken.  Then as the tame elephant moved forward to the attack the rogue screamed with terror, swung about, and with ears and tail dropped, bolted into the undergrowth.

With a trumpet of triumph Badshah pursued.  Dermot, left alone, could hardly credit the passing of the danger.  The whole episode seemed a hideous nightmare from which he had just awaked.  He could scarcely believe that it had actually taken place, although the trampled vegetation and the crashing sounds of the great animals’ progress through the undergrowth were evidence of its reality.  The need for action had not passed.  The rogue might return, for a fight between wild bull-elephants often lasts a whole