WILD PIGS— ANIMAL AND HUMAN 251 



instant, hurdling the brush and fallen logs, his eye on 

 the pig. 



It was screamingly funny and I was helpless with 

 laughter. "Go it. Smith," I yelled. "Run him down. 

 Catch him in your hands." He had no breath to waste 

 in a reply, for just then he leaped a fallen log and I 

 saw the sow charge him viciously. The animal had been 

 lying under a tree, almost done, but still had life enough 

 to damage Smith badly if it had reached him. As the 

 man landed on his feet, he fired again at the pig which 

 was almost on him. The bullet caught the brute in the 

 shoulder at the base of the neck and rolled it over, but 

 it struggled to its feet and ran uncertainly a few steps ; 

 then it dropped in a little gully. 



By the time I had begun to climb the hill Smith 

 shouted that the pig might charge again, and I kept my 

 rifle ready, but the animal was "all in." I circled warily 

 and, creeping up from behind, drove my hunting knife 

 into its heart; even then it struggled to get at me before 

 it rolled over dead. 



Smith was streaming blood from a score of scratches, 

 and his clothes were in ribbons, but his face was radiant. 

 "I'd have chased the blasted pig clear to Peking," he 

 said. "AU my shells are gone, but I wasn't going to let 

 him get away. If I hadn't kept that last cartridge he'd 

 have caught me, surely." 



It was fine enthusiasm and, if ever a man deserved his 

 game. Smith deserved that sow. The animal had been 

 shot in half a dozen places ; two legs were broken, and 

 at least three of the bullets had reached vital spots. 



