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vociferously all the time, though, even when on 

 broad of their backs; each one determined, if poasU 

 ble, not to be quite the very last " in at the kill." 

 last Master Jackal gains a patch of pretty tall indigo, 

 and there remains perdu for a time. The noble pack 

 are at fault, but do their best ; the little terriers as 

 they come up and big dogs each jumping up as high 

 as they can from the ground peering about for a 

 glimpse of the " game." Some of the little terriers 

 actually bouncing about like indiarubber balls, glan- 

 cing wistfully here and there, till, at last, Mr. J. haviag 

 got his wind again, slinks slyly out and makes for 

 some favoured haunt, replying to the yell with which 

 his appearance is greeted by a whisk of his tail only, 

 and a single defiant glance backwards over his 

 shoulder. 



But he has miscalculated his enemies. With 

 mighty sweeps of his hind legs like a race-horse at 

 his best, or the revolutions of a fly-wheel of a steam 

 engine at full pressure and with gleaming eyes and 

 cruel fangs, an enormous half-bred kangaroo dog, the 

 king of the pack, flashes down upon him. In vain 

 Mr. Jackal dodges and runs his hardest, his enemy 

 closely pursues him, and is backed by the two best 

 greyhound pups in the pack, each almost a match 

 already, single-handed, for a Jackal, and fine promis- 

 ing young dogs. It is all up with Master Jackal 



