The puzzled officer re-entered the bungalow and brought out a pair of
field-glasses, which revealed the reason of the poor tethered brute's
screams. For they showed that in the end of the bamboo were stuck long,
sharp nails which pierced and tore the flesh of its head.

Major Dermot was not only a keen sportsman and a lover of animals, but he
had an especial liking for elephants, of which he had had much experience.
So with a muttered oath he put down the binoculars and, seizing his helmet,
ran down the steep slope from his bungalow to the parade ground. As he went
he shouted to the _mahout_ to stop. But the man was too engrossed in his
brutality to hear him or the _havildar_, who repeated the Major's order. It
was not until Dermot actually seized his arm and dragged him back that he
perceived his commanding officer. Dropping the bamboo he strove to justify
his ill-treatment of the elephant by alleging some petty act of
disobedience on its part.

His excuses were cut short.

"_Choop raho!_ (Be silent!) You are not fit to have charge of an animal,"
cried the indignant officer, picking up and examining the cruel weapon. The
sharp points of the nails were stained with blood, and morsels of skin and
flesh adhered to them. Dermot felt a strong inclination to thrash the
brutal _mahout_ with the unarmed end of the bamboo, but, restraining
himself, he turned to the elephant. With the instinct of its kind it was
scraping a little pile of dust together with its toes, snuffing it up in
its trunk and blowing it on the bleeding cuts on its lacerated head.

"You poor beast! You mustn't do that. We'll find something better for you,"
said the Major compassionately.