things were sitting just above his head, where, had he only turned his
trunk upwards, he could have picked them off as though they were
little birds.

But he always did the same thing: he floundered blunderingly on
through the forest, trumpeting, roaring, pulling up and tearing down
everything within his reach, but never having sense enough to look
above him. And so it was that he found it very difficult to get hold
of the fire carriers, and he became madder and more full of rage than
ever.

Even the herds of elephants were now getting afraid of him, although
could they only have made up their gentle, docile minds to attack him
he would have come to his end in no time.

But Indian elephants dislike warfare or disagreements, and often, even
when severely wounded, will turn about and go away, not seeming to
realize that a momentary pressure of one of their huge feet, or one
straight blow with their tusks, would be more than sufficient to
finish their enemies. More often than not the most an Indian elephant
will do to his foe is to kick him from one huge foot to another until
he is either dead or dying.

But from Rataplan, the Rogue, the other elephants preferred to keep
aloof. Only once had a herd attempted to chase him, and this was when
he had actually presumed to pay a little attention to the wife of its
leader.

Then the leader, followed by the remainder of the herd, turned upon
him, and for just once in his life Rataplan was frightened, and simply