They’re ready to talk. Courtney says they’re eager.
Pretending not to be, but eager.”
TWENTY-TWO
I woke the following morning feeling vaguely apprehensive, not knowing why I should feel that way.
It was just one of those feelings that you sometimes get, without any reason. So I crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Rila. But I failed to accomplish that, for as I was sneaking out the door, she asked, “What’s the matter, Asa?”
“Probably nothing at all,” I said. “Just going out to have a look.”
“Not in your pajamas,” she said. “Get back here and put on some clothes. The Safari people are coming today and they may arrive early. Their clocks are running some five hours earlier than ours.”
So I got dressed, with the horrible feeling that I was wasting time. Then I went out as quickly as I could without seeming to be in too much of a hurry.
But once I had opened the door and had a look, I ducked back in again and grabbed one of the 7 mm. rifles from the rack beside the door. Just down the ridge, not more than five hundred feet away, stood this old mastodon that Hiram had named Stiffy.
There was no mistaking him, for he had that moth-eaten look about him, more apparent now than the other day, when he’d been much farther off.
He was standing in a sort of woebegone manner, with his trunk hanging listlessly between his two great tusks, and in spite of the fact that he stood nine feet tall or so, he was not particularly prepossessing.
Standing in front of him, not more than fifty feet separating them, stood Hiram. Standing beside Hiram, wagging his tail with all the good nature in the world, was Bowser. Hiram was talking to this great beast, who was waggling in reply the one ear that I could see — not the great flapping ear one would find in an African elephant, but still an ear that had some size to it.
I stood petrified, grasping the rifle in my hands. I didn’t dare to yell at Hiram nor to call Bowser back.
All I could do was stand and hold the rifle ready.
In the back of my mind, I was remembering that many years in the future, in the nineteenth century, old Karamojo Bell had killed hundreds of African elephants for their ivory with a gun no bigger than the one I had in hand. Even so, I hoped I wouldn’t have to try it, for most of Karamojo’s shots had been to the brain, and I was not absolutely sure where to aim to hit the brain.
Stiffy was just standing there and then he made a move. I thought he was going to come at Hiram and I brought the rifle up. But he really wasn’t going anywhere; he didn’t move forward at all. He just lifted up first one foot, then another, in a ragged sort of sequence; then he put them down again, as if they hurt and he was trying, one after the other, to get his weight off them. This business of lifting up his feet and then putting them down again rather tenderly imparted a slight rocking motion to his body, and it was the silliest thing I ever saw — this stupid elephant standing in front of Hiram and rocking gently back and forth.
I took a quick step forward, then thought better of it before I took a second step. So far, everything seemed to be all right, although perhaps a trifle touchy, and I didn’t want to do anything that would change it.
Out in front of me, Hiram took a short step forward and then another. I wanted to yell at him. but held it back somehow, for I knew I had better not. If anything happened, I had the rifle and I could put three or four slugs into old Stiffy so fast you couldn’t count them. I kept hoping, though, that I wouldn’t have to.
Hiram was still inching forward, step by careful step, but Bowser didn’t move. I swear to goodness that Bowser had more sense than Hiram had. Once this thing was over, I told myself, 1 way going to kick hell right out of Hiram. I had told him and told him to leave that mastodon alone, and here he had sneaked out in the morning before I was out of bed and was cuddling up to it. But that, I knew, was the way that Hiram was.
Back home, he had talked with woodchucks and robins, and had a grizzly bear come along, he would have talked with it. Take him back to the Cretaceous and he’d get chummy with the dinosaurs.
By now, Hiram was a lot closer and was holding out his hand to the beast, which had quit its rocking.
Bowser stayed where he was, but no longer wagged his tail. Apparently, he was as worried about all this as I was. I held my breath and watched, wondering if, maybe, after all, I should have yelled at Hiram to get back. But it was too late. If the mastodon made a single lunge, that would be the end of Hiram.
The mastodon put out its trunk, sort of leaning forward on its toes, and Hiram stopped dead still. The mastodon sniffed at Hiram, running the tip of its trunk up and down his body, from his head down to his feet. It made a gentle snuffling sound as it smelled him. Then Hiram put out his hand and stroked the inquisitive trunk, rubbing back and forth and making scratching motions. That great silly beast made a sort of moaning sound as if it liked the scratching, so Hiram took another step and then another one until he was standing underneath Stiffy’s head, which bent forward. Hiram ran his hands up and down the trunk and reached one hand high to scratch underneath the ridiculously small lower lip of his mighty friend. Stiffy groaned with pleasure. That damn mastodon was as crazy as Hiram could ever hope to be.
I heaved a sigh of relief, hoping that it was not premature. It didn’t seem to be. Stiffy kept on standing there and Hiram kept on scratching him. Bowser, with some disgust, turned around and trotted back to sit beside me.
“Hiram,” I said, as quietly as I could. “Hiram, listen to me.”
“You don’t need to worry, Mr. Steele,” said Hiram.
“Stiffy is my friend.”
I’d heard that ever since I’d returned to Willow Bend and renewed my acquaintance with Hiram.
Everything was Hiram’s friend; he had no enemies.
“You better be sure of that,” I said. “He’s a wild animal and he is awful big.”
“He’s talking to me,” said Hiram. “We talk with each other. I know that we are friends.”
“Then tell him to get out of here. Tell him to keep his distance, to stay off this ridge. First thing you know, he’ll be butting at our home and tipping it over.
Tell him that if that ever happens, I’ll take a two-by-four to him.”
“I’ll take him down to the valley,” said Hiram, “and tell him that he has to stay there. I’ll tell him that I’ll come and visit him.”
“You do that,” I said, “and then get back here as fast as you can. There’ll be things for you to do.”
He put out his hands and pushed on Stiffy’s shoulder and Stiffy set himself in motion, shuffling around, taking mincing steps, heading down the slope, Hiram walking beside him.
“Asa,” Rila called from the door, “what is going on?”
“Stiffy wandered up here,” I said, “and Hiram’s taking him back where he belongs.”
“But Stiffy is a mastodon.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “He’s also Hiram’s friend.”
“You better get in here and shave,” she said. “And, for goodness sakes, comb your hair. We have company.”
I looked down the ridge. Five figures were walking in line, one behind the other. Ben was leading. He wore boots, khaki pants, and a hunting coat, and carried a rifle. The others were dressed in business suits and either were carrying briefcases or had portfolios tucked beneath their arms. One of them was Courtney. The other three, I figured, must be the Safari people. It struck me as hilarious — these staid business types carrying their badges of office through this howling wilderness.
“Asa,” said Rila sharply.
“It’s too late,” 1 said. “They’ll be on us in a moment. This is the new frontier. They’ll have to take me as I am.”