There was no more doubt remaining as to the game at bay;
I it was an enormous boar.
Bran was completely HORS DE COMBAT; and Smut, having lost nearly all his
teeth, was of no use singlehanded with such an enemy. We had no seizers
to depend upon, and the boar again stood to bay in a thick jungle.
I happened to have a rifle with me that morning, as I had noticed fresh
elephant-tracks in the neighbourhood a few days previous, and hoping to
be able to shoot the boar, we entered the jungle and approached the
scene of the bay.
When within twenty paces of the spot I heard his fierce grunting as he
charged right and left into the baying pack.* (*It was impossible to
call the hounds off their game; therefore the only chance lay in the
boar being seized, when I could have immediately rushed in with the
knife. It was thus necessary to cheer the pack to the attack, although a
cruel alternative.) In vain I cheered them on. I heard no signs of his
being seized, but the fierce barking of old Smut, mingled with the
savage grunts of the boar, and the occasional cry of a wounded dog,
explained the hopeless nature of the contest.
