Rolling on the ground and uttering more cries of rage, it suddenly
occurred to him to ask the nice, little elephant to help him. But
alas! the nice, little elephant, Kinka, was nowhere to be seen.

Having done her duty and treacherously inveigled him in to the snare,
with a little, triumphant wave of her trunk and a funny, little,
trumpeting noise she had marched with a sort of "conquering hero" air
back to her stable, there to tell the other _koomkies_ of her prowess
and successful capture.

In vain Rataplan butted the tree nearest to him with all his huge
strength; it never moved, scarcely even shook, and he rolled again on
the ground in despair. He wound his trunk round and round one of the
ropes, doing his best to break and split it, but the rope was good and
strong and only squeaked dismally.

He shrieked and roared, writhed and turned, until the forest re-echoed
with his cries, and the cruel ropes cut into his ankles, making deep,
red wounds which stained the ground all round his feet.

After a time his shrill cries of rage developed into hoarse moans of
humiliation and despair.

All that night and the next Rataplan was left there. The ropes cut
deeper and deeper into his poor, swollen ankles, his body getting
fainter and fainter for want of food. But he was not a Rogue elephant
for nothing, and would not give in.

In vain a whole lot of _koomkies_ were brought out to try and induce