hich proved that he was only biding his time and waiting
for the grand chance to present itself.

Fortunately, he did not rebel until after the exhibition was over, and
the crowds had departed. Then, with a fierce trumpeting and one vast
shiver of his enormous bulk, he made a dash which snapped his chains
like so much whip-cord and went through the side of the tent as though
it were cardboard.

On his wild charge, which set all the rest of the animals in a panic,
he reached for his keeper, who with prodding spear and shouts,
interposed himself in his path and tried to check him. But the man's
inimitable dexterity and good fortune enabled him to dodge the beast
and escape by a hair's breadth. The next minute, the elephant reached
the public highway, down which he swung awkwardly but swiftly, on an
excursion that was destined to be the most tragic in his whole career.

The first object on which he vented his wrath was a team of horses,
driven by a farmer, whose wife was sitting beside him on the front
seat. Neither they nor the team knew their danger until the avalanche
of fury was upon them. The animals screamed in an agony of fright, and
were rearing and plunging, when Vladdok grasped one with his trunk,
lifted him in the air and dashed him to death. The other broke loose
and plunged off at such headlong speed, that the elephant followed him
only a few paces, when he turned to attack the man and woman.

But they were nowhere in sight, and, with a trumpet of disgust, he
wheeled about, and turning from the highway, took to the woods.

The couple were saved by a singular occurrence. The violent rearing
and backing of the horses overturned the wagon body, and the farmer and
his better half were caught beneath it, before they could escape. They
had sense enough to remain quiet, until the brute left, when they crept
out, none the worse for their mishap.

"Consarn his pictur!" exclaimed the husband; "if that don't beat all
creation! I allers said that circuses and shows was a burnin' shame,
and now I _know_ it; I'll make the owner of that elephant pay ten
thousand dollars for the damage he done us, for he scart you and me so
bad Betsy, that we'll never grow another inch."

Meanwhile, the runaway kept things moving. He knew his keeper and
attendants were hot on his trail, and his sudden change of course was
undoubtedly with a view of misleading them. It is hardly to be
supposed that he expected to find any "ga