ry
wonderful to me."

Kudrat Sharif smiled with frank affection on the boy, as he drew his
right hand away, to touch his forehead in the Indian salaam. The
gesture showed both grace and dignity--as Dickson Sahib had said.

"I am exalted to carry back to my stockades the story of the manner of
your work, Son-of-Power," he began.

"My name is Sanford Hantee," Skag deprecated gently.

"But you will always be known to Indians of India as Son-of-Power!"
Kudrat Sharif protested. "It is a lofty title, yet you have
established it before many."

Just then a great elephant came near, playfully reaching for Kudrat
Sharif with his trunk.

"And this is Neela Deo, the leader of the caravan!" laughed Horace.

"It is my shame that there is no howdah on him to carry you; we came
like flight, when Nut Kut's escape was known," Kudrat Sharif
apologised. "But after some days, when Nut Kut's excitement sleeps, we
shall be distinguished if Son-of-Power chooses to come to the stockades
and consider him.

"I heard your judgment of his nature, Sahib; and I say with humility
that I shall remember it, in what I have to do with the most strange
elephant I have ever met. Truly we are not sure of Nut Kut, whether he
is a mighty being of extreme exaltation, above others of his kind in
the world, or--a prince from the pit!"

Kudrat Sharif salaamed again; and Neela Deo lifted him to his great
neck and carried him away.

Walking home, Horace expressed himself to his friend--as the heart of a
boy may be expressed; and Skag dropped his arm about the slender
shoulders, speaking softly:

"Remember, son, a little more--would have been too much."

"All right, Skag Sahib, because now you understand; but--isn't he
interesting?"

Knowing well what the boy meant about the great strange creature--more
than his fighting propensities, deeper than his physical might--Skag
assented thoughtfully:

"Yes; I would like to know him better."

CHAPTER XII

_Blue Beast_

Across the river at the military camp, the cavalry outfits were
preparing for a jungle outing. It isn't easy to name the thing they
contemplated. Pig-sticking couldn't be called a quest, yet there are
"cracks" at the game, quite the same as at polo or billiards.

Horse and man carry their lives on the outside, so to speak. The trick
of it all is that a man never knows what the tusker will do. You can't
even count on him doing the opposite. And he does it quick. Often