The Elephant's Tale by Lauren St. John Page A

could withstand temperatures of minus sixty degrees. Or so it claimed on the wrapper.
    The evening star heralded the coming of the night. Before long it was as if a box of diamonds had been spilled across the heavens, so numerous and glittering were the constellations. A crescent moon rose into the deep blue sky.
    Ben and Martine lay with their heads resting on their packs, cozy beneath the space blanket, and gazed up at the Milky Way and Orion and the Southern Cross. From time to time, they heard the sounds of night creatures. It made them feel less alone.
    “You know something, Ben?” Martine said sleepily. “I believe we’re going to make it. I haven’t a clue how, but I think we are.”
    Ben yawned. “You know something, Martine? I believe you’re right.”
    They fell into the dreamless sleep of the young and the truly exhausted, innocent and, for the time being, uncaring, of what was to come.

14
    T hey were woken by the rosy glow of dawn breaking over the red dunes. Ben sat up and declared the view to be the most breathtaking he’d ever seen. Martine, her voice thick with sleep, stayed where she was and moaned and groaned about the hardness of their sand bed and how freezing it was and how much she needed a shower and more sleep, as well as a breakfast of eggs, bacon, coffee, and orange juice.
    “Coming right up, your ladyship. Just let me dial room service.” Ben stood and pulled the blanket off her. “Get up, lazybones. I think you’re going to want to see this.” When she didn’t stir, he aimed a gentle kick at her ribs.
    Martine bolted upright and glared at him. “Boy, are you going to pay for that when we get back to civilization. Just you wait.”
    She shielded her eyes from the burning orange sun. “What’s so special that I have to get out of bed at five a.m.?”
    And then she saw them. In the valley below, scattered across the pale grass, were hundreds of Oryx antelope. They had extra-long horns, as straight and sharp as spears, and their coats and faces were patterned in fawn and black in such a way that they looked uniformed and regal, as if they formed part of some warrior queen’s elite guard. Martine had only ever seen them in photos, but she’d always considered them to be among the world’s most beautiful animals.
    Tiredness forgotten, Martine jumped to her feet. “Ben, we have to go nearer. They’re exquisite. A herd that size would need gallons of water to survive. Maybe we can see where they’re getting it from.”
    Her change of heart made Ben smile, but he thought the better of teasing her. They packed up their things and slid down the dune. When they reached the valley they worked their way slowly toward the herd. Half an hour later, they were behind a tree and not far from a bare patch of earth where two young bulls were mock fighting. They tossed their magnificent heads and rushed at each other with their sword-like horns, turning aside at the last minute.
    Martine couldn’t bear the thought that they might harm each other. Ben had to restrain her from going to stop them.
    “You shouldn’t interfere with nature.”
    “Of course I’m going to interfere with nature if it means saving an Oryx from ending up stabbed and bleeding,” Martine whispered. “Ouch, did you see that?”
    The bulls clashed horns. The mock fighting was turning into real fighting.
    Martine stepped from behind the tree. “Bad bulls!” she cried. “Be nice to each other. What’s the point of fighting?”
    The bulls halted in their tracks. Their tails tossed as they pondered the apparition that had dared to intrude into their game. Then they galloped for the cover of the dunes, the herd stampeding after them.
    “HEY!”
    A young San Bushman rose seemingly from behind a tuft of grass. He was bare-chested and wearing khaki cargo shorts, and had a bow and sleeve of arrows slung over his shoulder and a professional-looking camera in his hand.
    “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Thirteen thousand