ays used to," the old man replied dubiously.

Finally Mitha Baba came out into the straight descent toward the river.
No elephants were in sight, but a blotch of colour showed on the bank.

"Well done for those mahouts!" the Gul Moti cried out in relief. "The
caparisons at least are safe. How did they do it?"

"It was well done, Hakima-ji," the old man exulted. "The masters were
listening to Mitha Baba, delaying between her and the river--space
of six breaths; then those men became like monkeys! It is no
easiness--unfastening everything from top of an elephant. (I who am old
have done it!) Also, some went down to loosen underneath buckles. You
shall see."

They found four very disconsolate mahouts on the bank of the river beside
the great pile of nicely arranged stuff.

"I want the smallest howdah you have!" called the Gul Moti, as the men
sprang in front of Mitha Baba.

"But, Hakima-ji," they protested, "by getting down--we were left behind!"

"I must not be left--and yet you must take these clothes from her!" the
Gul Moti said, while they helped the old man to the ground.

"Then go to her neck--oh, Thou Healer-without-fear! She will not wait
long--she follows Nut Kut, the demon! and Gunpat Rao, who both got away
with everything on!"

Still hoping, the Gul Moti slipped over the edge of the big howdah and
climbed toward Mitha Baba's neck. The mahouts worked fast stripping her.
Then Mitha Baba flung her head, striding away from their puny fingers,
and plunged into the river. Sinking at first enough to wet the Gul Moti
a little, she rose beautifully as she found her swimming stroke.

Day went by--and no elephants in sight. Night came on--and no elephants
in sight. Mitha Baba rolled across the Nerbudda valley, as confident of
her way as if she travelled the great Highway-of-all-India. She began to
climb into the rising country beyond, as certain of her steps as if she
were coming in to her own stockades. The Gul Moti took up her call
again--thinking of the caravan they were following. But Mitha Baba was
not thinking of the caravan. It had happened that the Gul Moti's tones
had fallen upon those intonations used in High Himalaya, to send the
toilers out to toil wild elephants in.

It was night-time, before the moon came up, when a strange elephant
crashed past them--lunging in the opposite direction. It reeled as it
ran and went down on its knees; evidently having been done to death in a
fight