Foam—A Razor-Backed Hog 
way. He overleaped it, but this was not his field. 
The trunks that helped the Bear were baulks to 
him. Again they closed, and springing on his back 
the Bear heaved down with all his might. Slash, 
slash, went those long, keen, ivory knives. The 
Bear was gushing blood, but Foam was going down; 
the fight was balanced, but the balance turning for 
the Bear. When silent, save for the noise of rush- 
ing, another closed, another struck the Bear—Grizel 
was on him with her force, the slashing of her knives 
was quick and fast; the Bear lurched back. She 
seized his hinder paw and crunched and hauled; 
Foam heaved the monster from his back, and turned 
and slashed and tore. The Bear went down! 
Oh, Furies of the woods! What storm of fight! 
The silent knives or their click—the deep-voiced 
sob of pain and straining, the half-choked roar, the 
weakening struggle back, the gasp of reddened 
spray, the final plunge to escape, the slash, the 
tear, the hopeless wail—and down went Kogar’s 
with two like very demons tearing, rending, carving. 
He clutched a standing tree-trunk that seemed to 
offer refuge. They dragged him down. They 
slashed his hairy sides till his ribs were grated bare. 
They rent his belly open, they strung his bowels 
out over the log like wrack weed ina storm. They | 
knived and heaved till the dull screams died, all 
> 84 
is) 
~ ‘) 
Sy 
