Then he picked himself up, thrust the tip of his trunk into his mouth, sucked it as one does a cut finger, and finally, roaring in defeated rage, fled into the river, which he waded, and back upon his tracks towards his own home.

Yes, off he went, Hans screaming curses and demands that he should restore his hat to him, and very seldom in all my life have I seen a sight that I thought more beautiful than that of his whisking tail.
"Now, Baas," chuckled Hans, "the old devil has got a sore nose as well as a sore eye by which to remember us.

And, Baas, I think we had better be going before he has time to think and comes back with a long stick to knock us out of this tree." So we went, in double-quick time I can assure you, or at any rate as fast as my stiff limbs and general condition would allow.

Fortunately we had now no doubt as to our direction, since standing up through the mists of dawn with the sunbeams resting on its forest-clad crest, we could clearly see the strange, tumulus-shaped hill which the White Kendah called the Holy Mount, the Home of the Child.

It appeared to be about twenty miles away, but in reality was a good deal farther, for when we had walked for several hours it seemed almost as distant as ever.
In truth that was a dreadful trudge.