“As I have said, she was brought neatly to pup, and safely delivered.  I was squatting on my hams over the litter—­seven sturdy, blind little beggars—­when from behind came a bray of trumpets and crash of brass.  There was a rush, like the wind-squall that kicks the heels of the rain, and I was midway to my feet when knocked flat on my face.  At the same instant I heard Klooch sigh, very much as a man does when you’ve planted your fist in his belly.  You can stake your sack I lay quiet, but I twisted my head around and saw a huge bulk swaying above me.  Then the blue sky flashed into view and I got to my feet.  A hairy mountain of flesh was just disappearing in the underbrush on the edge of the open.  I caught a rear-end glimpse, with a stiff tail, as big in girth as my body, standing out straight behind.  The next second only a tremendous hole remained in the thicket, though I could still hear the sounds as of a tornado dying quickly away, underbrush ripping and tearing, and trees snapping and crashing.

“I cast about for my rifle.  It had been lying on the ground with the muzzle against a log; but now the stock was smashed, the barrel out of line, and the working-gear in a thousand bits.  Then I looked for the slut, and—­and what do you suppose?”

I shook my head.

“May my soul burn in a thousand hells if there was anything left of her!  Klooch, the seven sturdy, blind little beggars—­gone, all gone.  Where she had stretched was a slimy, bloody depression in the soft earth, all of a yard in diameter, and around the edges a few scattered hairs.”

I measured three feet on the snow, threw about it a circle, and glanced at Nimrod.

“The beast was thirty long and twenty high,” he answered, “and its tusks scaled over six times three feet.  I couldn’t believe, myself, at the time, for all that it had just happened.  But if my senses had played me, there was the broken gun and the hole in the brush.  And there was—­or, rather, there was not—­Klooch and the pups.  O man, it makes me hot all over now when I think of it Klooch!  Another Eve!  The mother of a new race!  And a rampaging, ranting, old bull mammoth, like a second flood, wiping them, root and branch, off the face of the earth!  Do you wonder that the blood-soaked earth cried out to high God?  Or that I grabbed the hand-axe and took the trail?”

“The hand-axe?” I exclaimed, startled out of myself by the picture.  “The hand-axe, and a big bull mammoth, thirty feet long, twenty feet—­”

Nimrod joined me in my merriment, chuckling gleefully.  “Wouldn’t it kill you?” he cried.  “Wasn’t it a beaver’s dream?  Many’s the time I’ve laughed about it since, but at the time it was no laughing matter, I was that danged mad, what of the gun and Klooch.  Think of it, O man!  A brand-new, unclassified, uncopyrighted breed, and wiped out before ever it opened its eyes or took out its intention papers!  Well, so be it.  Life’s full of disappointments, and rightly so.  Meat is best after a famine, and a bed soft after a hard trail.