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Mitha Baba, having come in closer than any of the other females, did not move, save for a constant turning of her head under the Gul Moti's icy fingers seeming to keep an eye on all the separate fights at once. Her fear for the caravan elephants was anguish, her fatigue extreme; but excitement held the Gul Moti in a vise. She saw the fighters meet, skull to skull.
When the caravan appeared, the males were leading; the four females well in the rear. Nut Kut's flaming orange and imperial-blue trappings covered and cumbered him; and young Gunpat Rao's gorgeous saffron and old-rose burned through the Gul Moti's eyes to the hard lump in her throat it was the one time in their lives when they should be free.
They had not very far to go, but Moti's little pony, weighted with a heavy man and two big rocks, soon began to lag behind the cavalry, and would have lagged behind the infantry too, only they were not very anxious to be too early in the fight, and hung back so as to give Moti plenty of time.
Of course when the king marvelled and praised Moti's wisdom, everybody else did so too; and, whilst the Afghans went off crestfallen, Moti took the horse and entered the king's service. Very soon after this, Moti, who continued to live in the serai, came back one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had strayed.
Many of their horses too were quite upset by this whirlwind that galloped howling through their midst, and in a few minutes, after a little plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole troop were following on Moti's heels. Far in advance, Moti continued his wild career.
It had happened that the Gul Moti's tones had fallen upon those intonations used in High Himalaya, to send the toilers out to toil wild elephants in. It was night-time, before the moon came up, when a strange elephant crashed past them lunging in the opposite direction. It reeled as it ran and went down on its knees; evidently having been done to death in a fight.
Of course when the king marvelled and praised Moti's wisdom, everybody else did so too; and, whilst the Afghans went off crestfallen, Moti took the horse and entered the king's service. Very soon after this, Moti, who continued to live in the serai, came back one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had strayed.
Then he saw himself, sitting forward in the canoe as he had often sat in the past, dipping a paddle that waited Moti's word to dig in like mad when the turquoise wall of the great breaker rose behind them. Next, he was no longer an onlooker but was himself in the canoe, Moti was crying out, they were both thrusting hard with their paddles, racing on the steep face of the flying turquoise.
The Gul Moti's confidence in the great female's intention to protect her, was established! At last, lifting her head sharply to utter a different call, Mitha Baba developed a peculiar drive in her motion; a queer drive in the whole huge body that had something to do with a wide swinging of the head.
She remembered their tonnage; and recalled having heard that an elephant fight is not the sort of thing civilised men call sport. . . . A soft, feeling thing crept from the Gul Moti's shoulder along down her back! With convulsive fingers she clung tighter to Mitha Baba's neck. Instantly Mitha Baba turned a bit, driving sidewise at the stranger with her head.
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