Foam—A Razor--Backed Hog 
The chase swung far away, and Billy had much ado 
to follow. Then the sounds. were all at one place, 
and Billy knew that the climax was at hand, the mo- 
ment of all that the hunter loves, when the fighting 
quarry is at bay, and ready for a finish fight. 
The baying of the hounds was changed as he 
hurried near; now it was a note of fear in some; 
then there was an unmistakable yell of pain, and 
again the defiant baying that means they are 
facing a quarry that they hold in deep respect. 
Forcing his way through the thick brushwood, 
Billy got within twenty yards of the racket, but 
still saw nothing. 
“Yap, yap, yap, yip, yip, yow, yow,” went the 
different dogs. Then sounded the deep-chested 
“Gruff, gruff” of a huger animal, and a wee, small 
sound, a “click, click.” Oh, how little it seemed, 
but how much it meant—the click of a Razor- 
back’s tusks—the warning that comes from a 
fighting Boar. The baying moved here and there, 
then the bushes swayed, there was a sound of 
rushing, there were hound yells of pain and fear, 
and a yelping that went wandering away to the 
left, and another unseen rush with a deep-toned 
“Howrrr,” and nothing to be seen. It was mad- 
dening, his dogs being killed, and he could take no 
part. 
aT 
