Perhaps, ere now, he had had a touch of that long spit-like excrescence that stood out from the kobaoba's snout.
At all events, he did not rush upon his adversary at once--as he would have done on some poor antelope that might have crossed him in the same way.
His patience, however, became exhausted.

His ancient dignity was insulted--his rule disputed--he wished to have his bath and his drink-- he could bear the insolence of the rhinoceros no longer.
With a bellow that made the rocks ring again, he charged forward; placed his tusks firmly under the shoulder of his adversary,--gave a mighty "lift," and turned the rhinoceros over in the water! For a moment the latter plunged, and blowed, and snorted, his head half under water; but in a second's time he was on his feet again, and charging in turn.

The spectators could see that he aimed right at the elephant's ribs with his horn, and that the latter did all he could to keep head towards him.
Again the elephant flung the kobaoba, and again the latter rose and charged madly upon his huge antagonist; and so both fought until the water around them was white with foam.
The contest was carried on _in_ the water, until the elephant, seeming to think his adversary had an advantage there, backed himself into the gorge, and stood waiting with his head towards the lake.

In this position the sides of the gorge did not protect him, as perhaps he fancied.

They were too low, and his broad flanks rose far above them.
They only kept him from turning round, and this interfered with the freedom of his movements.
It could scarce have been design in the rhinoceros to act as he now did, though it appeared so to those who were watching.