It is fascinating to watch an experienced elephant hunter and to see how eloquent the trail is to him.

A broken twig means something, the blades of grass turned a certain way will distinguish the fresh trail from the old one, the footprints in the soft earth, the droppings--all tell a definite story to him, and he knows when he is drawing down upon his quarry.

As we proceeded his movements became slower and more cautious, and the plodding drudgery of following an elephant trail gave way to suppressed excitement.
[Drawing: _It Looked Like the Rear Elevation of a Barn_] Slower and slower he went, and finally he indicated that only the gunbearers and ourselves should continue.

The porters were left behind, and in single file we moved on tiptoe along the trail.

Then he stopped and by his attitude said that the quest was ended.