Down sunk the tree again, giving one of my legs a considerable squeeze, and next instant I heard a crashing sound.

The elephant had bolted.
By this time, what between fright and struggling, I was pretty well tired.

I cannot remember how I got from under the fallen tree, or indeed anything, until I found myself sitting on the ground drinking some peach brandy from a flask, and old Indaba-zimbi opposite to me nodding his white lock sagely, while he fired off moral reflections on the narrowness of my escape, and my unwisdom in not having taken his advice to go on foot.

That reminded me of my horse--I got up and went to look at it.

It was quite dead, the blow of the elephant's trunk had fallen on the saddle, breaking the framework, and rendering it useless.