white paint, and his tusks were tipped with brass. So it was apparent that
Badshah was not the only animal present that had escaped from captivity.
The big tusker had probably belonged to the _peelkhana_ of some rajah,
judging by the pattern of the painted design.

Slowly the seemingly endless line of great animals went by. Hours elapsed
before the last elephant had passed; and Dermot, cramped by sitting still
on Badshah's neck, was worn out with heat and fatigue long before the slow
procession ended.

When at last the almost interminable line had gone by, Badshah moved off at
a rapid pace and passed the slow-plodding animals until he had overtaken
the leaders. Dermot found that the herd was heading for the mountains and
the oldest beasts were still in front. This surprised him, as it was
altogether contrary to the custom of wild elephants. For usually on a march
the cows with calves lead the way. This is logical and reasonable; because
if an unencumbered tusker headed the line and set the pace, he would go too
fast and too far for the little legs of the babies in the rear. They would
fall behind; and, as their mothers would stay with them, the herd would
soon be broken up.

But as Badshah reached the head of the file and, taking the lead, set a
very slow pace, Dermot quickly understood why the old elephants were
allowed to remain in front. For all of them were exceedingly feeble, and
some seemed at death's door from age and disease. He would not have been
surprised at any of them falling down at any moment and expiring on the
spot.

Then he remembered the curious but well-known fact that no man, white or
coloured, has ever yet found the body of a wild elephant that has died in