Into the throat I drove it, dragging it this way and that, and lo! the lion moaned and died and his blood gushed out over both of us.

Then Bes sat up and laughed, and I too laughed, since neither of us had more than scratches and we had done what men could scarcely do.
"Do you remember, Master," said Bes when he had finished laughing, as he wiped his brow with some damp moss, "how, once far away up the Nile you charged a mad elephant with a spear and saved me who had fallen, from being trampled to death ?" I, Shabaka, answered that I did.

(And I, Allan Quatermain, observing all these things in my psychic trance in the museum of Ragnall Castle, reflected that I also remembered how a certain Hans had saved me from a certain mad elephant, to wit, Jana, not so long before, which just shows how things come round.) "Yes," went on Bes, "you saved me from that elephant, though it seemed death to you.

And, Master, I will tell you something now.

That very morning I had tried to poison you, only you would not wait to eat because the elephants were near." "Did you ?" I asked idly.