than ever; but, although his lips
appeared to move, and his tongue to wag, he was too excited to give
utterance to a word. A volley of clicks and hisses came forth, but
nothing articulate.

The others, however, did not require any words to tell them what was
meant. They knew that Swartboy intended to whisper that he had seen "da
oliphant;" so both peeped silently around the bush, and with their own
eyes looked upon the mighty quadruped.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A ROGUE ELEPHANT.

The elephant was standing in a grove of _mokhala_ trees. These, unlike
the humbler mimosas, have tall naked stems, with heads of thick foliage,
in form resembling an umbrella or parasol. Their pinnate leaves of
delicate green are the favourite food of the giraffe, hence their
botanical appellation of _Acacia giraffae_; and hence also their common
name among the Dutch hunters of "cameel-doorns" (camel-thorns).

The tall giraffe, with his prehensile lip, raised nearly twenty feet in
the air, can browse upon these trees without difficulty. Not so the
elephant, whose trunk cannot reach so high; and the latter would often
have to imitate the fox in the fable, were he not possessed of a means
whereby he can bring the tempting morsel within reach--that is, simply
by breaking down the tree. This his vast strength enables him to do,
unless when the trunk happens to be one of the largest of its kind.

When the eyes of our hunters first rested upon the elephant, he was
standing by the head of a prostrate mokhala, which he had just broken
off near the root. He was tearing away at the leaves, and filling his
capacious stomach.

As soon as Swartboy recovered the control over his tongue, he ejaculated
in a hurried whisper:--

"Pas op! (take care!) baas Bloom,--hab good care--don't go near um--he
da skellum ole klow. My footy! he wicked!--I know de ole bull duyvel."

By this volley of queer phrases, Swartboy meant to caution his master
against rashly approaching the elephant, as he knew him to be one of the
wicked sort--in short, a "rogue."

How Swartboy knew this would appear a mystery, as there were no
particular marks about the animal to distinguish him from others of his
kind. But the Bushman, with his practised eye, saw something in the
general physiognomy of the elephant--just as one may distinguish a
fierce and dangerous bull from those of milder disposition, or a bad
from a virtuous man, by some expression that one cannot define.

Von Blo