As that yell ascended, the startled
beasts first rushed deeper into the grove and then, as the slope beyond
was revealed to them, turned and charged blindly, all save one, the great
tusker, who was feeding at the grove's outer verge. They came on, great
mountains of flesh, but swerved as they met the advancing line of fire and
weaved aimlessly up and down for a moment or two. Then a huge bull, stung
by a spear hurled by one of the hunters and frantic with fear, plunged
forward across the line and the others followed blindly. Three men were
crushed to death in their passage and all the mammoths were gone save the
big bull, who had started to rejoin his herd but had not reached it in
time. He was now raging up and down in the grove, bewildered and
trumpeting angrily. Immediately the hunters gathered closer together and
made their line of fire continuous.
The mammoth rushed out clear of the trees and stood looming up, a
magnificent creature of unrivaled size and majesty. His huge tusks shone
out whitely against the mountain of dark shaggy hair. His small eyes
blazed viciously as he raised his trunk and trumpeted out what seemed
either a hoarse call to his herd or a roar of agony over his strait. He
seemed for a moment as if about to rush upon the dense line of his
tormentors, but the flaming faggots dashed almost in his face by the
reckless and excited hunters daunted him, and, as a spear lodged in his
trunk, he turned with almost a shriek of pain and dashed into the grove
again.
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