Tusker Tales Read online

  'And where are you camped now?' asked Morrison, who had listened with interest.

  'On the banks of the river Mae Lang, about four miles from here. My elephants are there, too.'

  'Well . . .' Elise now spoke, 'I think everything's happened for the best. Mr Cairns has bagged a lot of wild elephants as a reward for his trouble, and Poo Lorn goes free. Still . . .' she paused thoughtfully, 'it's funny Poo Lorn should have gone off on his own like that.'

  'Are you sure, Cairns, that you haven't been after a different herd to the one the chief mentioned?' asked Morrison.

  'Positive. The number of animals was the same, and their description tallied exactly with the information given me by the chief.'

  'Daddy, now I come to think of it, wild elephants are known sometimes to leave their herds for several weeks on end, but they always come back to them sooner or later. Aren't I right?'

  'You are, little lady; but how on earth have you come to learn that?'

  'Elsie is a great reader of natural history, Mr Cairns,' explained Mary Morrison.

  'Yes, I read about that, mother. But what I'd like to know is—where do they go on these lonely journeys?'

  'Where do they go?' echoed her father. 'No one knows. I doubt if anyone ever will know. That's one of the elephants' secrets.'

  'And I'd also like to guess,' continued Elise in a far-away voice, 'what Poo Lorn will do when he returns and finds his herd missing.'

  'Join another one, I expect,' answered her father. 'And now, Cairns, you'll stay to tea and dinner?'

  'Thanks, sir, but I must be riding back to my camp.'

  But John Morrison had no intention of allowing his visitor to leave so soon. He, Morrison, had now grown too old for a good deal of the arduous work of forest inspection, and already his head offices in London were writing to him on the subject of his retirement. An assistant, so they said, would require at least two years' practical experience of the jungle before qualifying for the post of manager, and they were therefore considering the advisability of engaging a reliable youngster and sending him out to be trained in his duties under the elder man.

  Yet, whom would they send? This question had been Morrison's constant nightmare, since head office might choose someone totally unsuited to the rough work and the hardships that are the lot of the jungle wallahs out East; or, worse still, they might send out a man who, though physically strong enough, would soon succumb to loneliness and drink. Morrison, fearful of this and loath to leave the country he loved so well, had so far succeeded in delaying the inevitable choice of a new assistant, but now he realised that his bosses would wait no longer; a letter must be written, and written at once, informing them that they could go ahead in their selection.

  Morrison glanced at the lean, sunburnt profile of his companion. If he read young Cairns aright, here was just the man for him. Cairns was clean, hard, deadly keen on the forest, and he spoke the Lao and Siamese dialects like a native. Cairns should be sounded.

  'Why ride back to your camp and spend a night in a damp tent when I've got a spare bungalow in the compound here for you? A rest in a comfortable bed would do you good, Cairns,' he said.

  'It's an idea,' breathed the other.

  'Then that's settled. I'll send a coolie out to tell your men you won't be back till the morning, and Elise can get your bungalow ready. Meanwhile, tea's indicated.'

  When tea was over, rain descended heavily, and the two men withdrew to Morrison's private room. There, the manager began his task of probing the mind of young Cairns.

  'This trading in elephants—do you make much money at the game? 'he ventured.

  'Not much,' confessed the other. 'Though this last batch ought to put me on my feet again.'

  'Still, from a financial point of view, it's a risky business, isn't it?'

  'It is.'

  'Then, why do you carry on at it? Couldn't you get a job of sorts in England, or Bangkok for that matter?'

  'I expect I could, but I'd rather stay on up here.'

  'Ah . . .' Morrison glanced through the open window. All round the back and sides of the compound the jungle crept. It was dark, gloomy, dripping with moisture and breathing of death. The rains hung over the forest stems like a pall.

  John Morrison pointed to the wilderness. 'You mean to tell me,' he said, in a voice of amazement, 'that you prefer to stay on in these sodden jungles, braving fever, dysentery, every sort of discomfort and danger, when you're not even sure of a decent financial return?'

  'Yes,' barked the other suddenly, 'and if your pay was rotten, I believe you'd do the same.'

  The crafty Morrison was decided. Here sat the very man for the job. Under a somewhat brusque exterior, Cairns, he felt sure, was as straight as a die and merciful at heart. It is the weak man who is cruel.

  'There's a way,' said the elder man slowly, 'in which you can remain in the jungle, and at the same time earn a safe, decent salary.'

  'I wish I knew of it.'

  'It's simple. I'm retiring in a couple of years. Why not become my assistant, learn the work, then take over my forest when I retire?'

  'You mean that, sir? 'asked Cairns incredulously.

  'I do, always, of course, provided you satisfy me during your term of apprenticeship. Now, think it over. You'll have as much jungle-life as you'll want going rounds of inspection in the forest, and in addition you'll have a comfortable compound and bungalow to return to after the trips. But don't hurry in your decision. . . .'

  'I've already made it,' broke in Cairns. 'But what about you, Mr Morrison? You've only seen me twice. . . .'

  'That's my own look-out,' answered the other dryly. 'Now, why not stay on as my guest for another two or three days? That'll give you time to consider the matter fully and enable me to explain some of the work to you. . . . '

  'But what about my elephants?'

  'They'll be all the better for a rest. You can keep them, both the wild and tame ones, in your present camp, together with your coolies and mahouts. I should ride out and inspect them every evening, though, if I were you.'

  'I will,' said Cairns fervently.

  'Then, at the end of your stay with us, and if you decide on the job, I'll write to Bangkok and London at once for their official sanction. They'll agree, of course—I've got influence with them—but it'll take three months to get London's reply, and meanwhile you can take your elephants into Lakon Lampang and sell 'em there. That'll start you on your new work with us with a nice sum of money at your back. Can do?'

  Richard Cairns drew a deep breath. He saw the steady grey eyes of the manager fixed on him, and it dawned in his mind that here was a man whose knowledge of the forest was greater by far than his own.

  'Can do, sir. And I hope I don't make too much of a damned fool of myself at the job.'

  This said, young Cairns walked over to the spare bungalow to bathe and change. John Morrison, left alone, was a prey to mingled feelings. He had now a worthy successor for the forest, but—in the distance he could hear Elise singing happily to herself.

  2. THE VENGEANCE OF POO LORN

  Poo Lorn, after a prolonged absence in the north, was back again in his grazing grounds. But where was his herd? He cruised around in the neighbourhood, and soon he discovered an empty stockade consisting of sharp bamboo stakes that had been sunk into the ground. He circled it, then left it for further investigations. After a while he came across one or two old cows and a decrepit tusker, but his followers as a herd had ceased to exist.

  Poo Lorn's brain moved slowly, uncomprehendingly, as if unable to fathom the extent of this disaster. And then he struck a trail. The trail was easy to follow, for many elephants had passed along it, and here and there the remains of man-made camp-fires littered the jungle clearings. Pausing only for brief intervals to rest and feed, Poo Lorn swung along this trail till he came out on to the bank of the river Mae Lang.

  'Here, a path ran along the bank parallel to the river, and up it he proceeded till the noise of distant trumpetings sound
ed on his ears. He now went forward more cautiously, and shortly he scented men-animals and heard their chatter. This caused him to leave the path and seek again the shelter of the fringing jungle, through which he pushed his great bulk without so much as the crackling of a branch. A few hundred yards' progress brought him to the edge of a large clearing, and halting, he peered through the leafy screen and beheld a strange and wonderful spectacle.

  Tethered to various trees surrounding the clearing stood the majority of his wild companions, while near them were several tame elephants whom he did not recognise. Every now and then a brown man would bring fodder and throw it down before the captured beasts, then walk across the open space to where some roughly made bamboo shelters had been erected.

  Poo Lorn, in his place of concealment, made neither sound nor movement till a new and quite distinctive scent came down the wind, whereupon he swayed from side-to-side and bubbled with suppressed wrath. A white man, mounted on a horse-animal, had ridden into the clearing and dismounted. He saw the white man inspect the tethered elephants, speak a few words to the mahouts and coolies, then spring on his pony again and ride hurriedly away to the north. Once the man was out of sight Poo Lorn ceased his bubbling and, after putting a good mile between him and the clearing, he halted a second time and brooded.

  So, the herd he had ruled had been captured in his absence, and by the white man, of all people. It was the white man who had first caused him, Poo Lorn, to be bound to posts, then kept in bondage vile for year upon year; it was the white man who caused both mahout and elephant to slave at heavy timber-work; and now this white man had done this final and terrible wrong to him.

  Poo Lorn rumbled and threshed. To him John Morrison and Richard Cairns were one and the same; they possessed the same scent, wore the same clothes, were the only living creatures he had seen who rode upon horses, and in consequence of this Poo Lorn's fierce soul was consumed with cold, terrible wrath that cried aloud for vengeance.

  To rescue his companions seemed impossible, nor could his brain fathom what course he should take to bring this about. One course, however, did remain, and that was to lay waste the compound at Ban Tern and trample to death the man he hated. In his sullen rage the memory of the little girl who had once been his friend was lost upon him; he was now a pulsating engine of destruction, and destroy he would.

  Though the desire for immediate action was hot in his mind, he did not hurry. The night was the time for him to strike, since then the humans ceased from their activities and slept. He, therefore, remained in the forest till close on midnight, and then he swung into his stride. Though the clouded sky made the darkness as black as pitch, his eyes were capable of dilation far beyond the power of any human, and he pressed through the jungle as if broad daylight flooded the land. From years of working in the locality, he knew, every inch of his present surroundings, and he found the path by the river with ease. He passed the clearing where his elephants were tethered, and no one saw him go by, for the whole camp lay deep in slumber. He struck the little track that led to Ban Tern.

  An hour later he had reached the outskirts of the village. Here, a sudden impulse caused him to move straight ahead instead of swinging off to the left and climbing up the hill towards the hated white man's compound, and shortly the sleeping marketplace walled up on either side of him.

  He came to a standstill, towering up on the muddy lane like a huge great shadow, as black as the night that clothed him. On the last occasion that he had been in this self-same village a mahout had sat astride his neck, and chains were upon him. But now he was free, free to use his gigantic strength as and how he liked.

  He approached the tallest of the dwellings, which happened to be the teak house of Check Lee, the evil Chinaman. Luckily for that gentleman and his secretary, both these two were absent on some secret business over the border, and they thus escaped a highly unpleasant fate, for Poo Lorn was no bungler. The house was built on tall stilts, which served to protect the owners from the dampness of the rains and any possible attack from wild animals, and round one of these stilts Poo Lorn curled his trunk. He heaved, the post snapped like a twig, and the whole building swayed. Two more posts were quickly split in half, whereupon the Chinaman's house crashed sideways on to the earth.

  The noise awoke the inhabitants of some huts nearby. They rushed out on to the pathway, heard strange rumblings and bellowings, screamed hurried warnings, and fled for their lives up the hill.

  Poo Lorn, having trampled the broken house well under foot, then proceeded to further demolishment. Several more shanties along the line were hurled down and pounded to pieces with a slow and relentless thoroughness, the while the remainder of the villagers rushed wildly for some place of safety without so much as a thought for their scanty possessions left behind.

  Pandemonium now reigned in the little hamlet. Men, women and children screamed and yelled, then vanished into the night; chickens clucked, fluttered, beat frenzied wings; squealing pigs wallowed and slithered round the mud beneath the houses; from their pens bullocks bellowed hoarsely and stamped with their hooves; several water buffaloes, freeing themselves from the stakes to which they were tied, went galloping down the marketplace, bleating in alarm; and, as if to add to the uproar, the howls and barks of countless pariah dogs rose up from every quarter.

  Suddenly, the clamour from the animal population of the village came to an end, for Poo Lorn had made off to another destination. Immense, implacable, he now stalked up the hill towards the compound where, unknown to him, the majority of the brown people had fled, seeking John Morrison's protections.

  The Laos had assembled in the huge garden, and at their head stood the white manager, accompanied by Richard Cairns. Round both the men's shoulder coats had been thrust hurriedly over their sleeping apparel. John Morrison grasped a shot-gun in his hand, and his companion a bamboo spear taken from the office. Each stared intently through the gloom.

  'Fonk! A muffled trumpet sounded in the darkness below the slope of the rising ground, and a shiver of expectancy went through the waiting crowds, some of whose members carried flares that lit up their brown faces like strange, unearthly genii. The manager nudged Cairns's arm.

  'Heaven knows why we're holding these weapons,' he whispered. 'They're about as much use as a pea-shooter and a toothpick for what we're up against.'

  Cairns grinned mirthlessly. As a protection from panther and tiger, his own heavy rifle had been left with his head coolie in the elephant camp four miles away, while John Morrison's rifle was even now in far-away Bangkok for the renewal of a broken spring. A spear and a shot-gun to ward off the attack of an elephant! Cairns grinned again and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  'Remember,' the elder man was speaking, 'if the animal charges, you take care of the mob that bolts to the right, while I'll go with those that run in the opposite direction. After that, keep your men well scattered if you can. Don't allow 'em to bunch together too much.'

  'I've got you,' said Cairns. 'Hello, who's this?'

  A white form sprang out of the darkness, and both men turned to see Elise come rushing towards them. Her hair fell over the shoulders of the dressing-gown she wore, and her eyes were glowing with excitement.

  'Father,' she panted, 'it's Poo Lorn. It must be him. Let me go ahead and meet him before he reaches the compound. I can stop him from doing any damage. I simply know I can.'

  For once, John Morrison was almost rough with his daughter. He had put her, together with her mother and some of the women and children of the village, behind the pony stables at the extreme end of the compound. This position was not entirely secure—indeed, no place of absolute safety existed—but his past experiences of rogue elephants told him that while they delighted in wrecking the dwellings of humans, they invariably avoided any spot where ponies had been tied. Between horse and elephant a mutual sense of fear and distrust apparently existed, and Morrison had therefore given Elise strict orders not to stir a foot away from the lee of the st
ables; yet here she was offering to go out, alone and unprotected, and meet the terrible death that ever drew nearer.

  He seized her arm. 'Nothing living could stop him now, child, only a dose of cold metal. Cairns, hold my gun while I take Elise back to her mother.'

  Elise was hustled back to the comparative safety of the stables, arid by the time John Morrison had returned to the side of his companion, Poo Lorn had arrived at the gates of the compound. The gates were shut, but this did not trouble the elephant, as he simply went straight through them. They dissolved in a sharp crackling, and a moment later he was striding across the lawn. He saw the black mass of people, but he did not fear them or their flares. Curling trunk over tusks, he charged. The humans scattered to right and left, whereupon the dim shape of the white man's bungalow rose up in the distance behind where they had been. Poo Lorn made for that bungalow. As he did so a loud report sounded and he received a sharp sting in the side, of which he took no notice whatever. He shuffled straight on, intent on the bungalow.

  Arrived there, he immediately began operations. The building was, like that of the Chinaman, supported on posts, though the latter were made of heavy squares of teak and were stronger far than any in the village. Poo Lorn therefore, made no attempt to pull at them but, stooping, placed the thick root of his trunk against the stoutest of the posts. He then heaved with the whole might of his body, and the post split and fell.

  After two more had been dealt with in the same manner, he drew back a few paces from the bungalow, for he was no fool. On many a time during his servitude to man had he cleared piled-up stacks of teak logs in the rivers, and he knew the danger to life and limb that arose as they came tumbling and crashing down. This bungalow, too, was large and heavy, and accordingly he realised that it behoved him to keep at a safe distance when it fell. He therefore, went around to the jutting-out front verandah, which he began pushing with the end of his tusks. Soon, the whole building swayed, and John Morrison drew in his breath. It cut him to the quick to see his home destroyed, yet he desisted from firing a second shot. To wound the elephant again would only enrage him further, while if he were left to work his will unhindered he might in due course return to the forest without having killed a single human being.