n's arm--slowly swinging in my master's
trunk, back and forth--back and forth. The little one was making
noises of content--such as babes use--when my master laid him very
gently between his own front feet. The child spread his hands,
reaching up for the curling tip above his face.

"Now it has been said that I am not lacking in courage; but in that
hour I was without sense to know courage or fear. The fingers of cold
death felt along my veins and searched out the marrow of my bones; for
when I leaped to take the babe--I met the red threat in my master's
eye. But the mother of my son went like a blown leaf and stooped
between this elephant's feet, to lift up her first man-child.

"She came away with him safe; and this elephant swayed before us, at
the end of his picket chains, stretching his quivering trumpet-tip
toward the babe--with flaming fires in his eyes.

"The daughter of High Himalayan mahouts called this black majesty 'Nut
Kut'; and they have added that name on the Government books. But they
will not take his first name away. I have finished."

And Ram Yaksahn gave himself to his hookah--still keeping his eye on
Nut Kut.

"His first name has not been told," mildly reminded the very old man.

"His first name is Nut Kut!" said Ram Yaksahn with decision. "But his
last name is Pyar-awaz."

All the mahouts laughed; translating the double name in their own
minds---Mischief, the Voice-of-Love.

"We have no violent men in these stockades," said Kudrat Sharif,
speaking to them all. "And we do not find that Ram Yaksahn was lacking
in courage. We will prove the nature of Nut Kut with kindness."

His decision was conclusive; and they proceeded to encourage the mighty
black into his own enclosure.

This was the coming of Nut Kut to the Chief Commissioner's elephant
stockades at Hurda. As time went by, the attraction of his mysterious
nature inflamed the mahouts with interest; and also with concern--for
he was a fearsome fighter.

Carlin had gone to a sick sister-in-law for a few days; and as
soon as he heard of it, Dickson Sahib had driven to the M'Cord
bungalow--realising that without her it would be desolate to his young
American friend. Protesting that he needed someone to come and break
his own loneliness, he carried Skag home.

So just now Skag was smoking his after-tiffin cigarette in the verandah
of Dickson Sahib's big bungalow. The great Highway-of-all-India, with
its triple avenue, its