THE WHITE ELEPHANT It was the shock of the bullet rather than the seriousness of the wound that had toppled Kathlyn into the river.

In the confusion, the rattle of musketry, the yelling of the panic-stricken pack coolies who had fled helter-skelter for the jungle, the squealing of the elephants, she had forgot to crouch low in the howdah.

There had come a staggering blow, after which sky and earth careened for a moment and became black; then the chill of water and strangulation, and she found herself struggling in the deepest part of the ford, a strange deadness in one arm.

She had no distinct recollection of what took place; her one thought was to keep her head above water.
Instantly the firing ceased; on one side because there were no more cartridges, on the other for fear of hitting the one person who had made this pursuit necessary.
Kathlyn struggled between the elephant which carried Ramabai and Pundita and the boat or barge which held the eager Umballa and his soldiers.

The mahout, terrorized, had slid off and taken to his heels ingloriously.