branches were high above his reach and the trunks too thick and straight to
climb. He fled, knowing that each moment might be his last. A false step, a
trip over a root or a creeper and he was lost. He would be gored, battered
to death, stamped out of existence, torn limb from limb by the vicious
brute.

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