Now He Dashes Down The Fierce Rapids And Leaps The Opposing
Rocks, Between Which, The Torrent Rushes At A Frightful Pace.
The hounds
are after him; the roaring of the water joins in their wild chorus; the
loud holloa of the huntsman is heard above every sound as he cheers the
pack on.
He runs along the bank of the river, and again the enraged buck
turns to bay. He has this time taken a strong position: he stands in a
swift rapid about two feet deep; his thin legs cleave the stream as it
rushes past, and every hound is swept away as he attempts to stem the
current. He is a perfect picture: his nostrils are distended, his mane
is bristled up, his eyes flash, and he adds his loud bark of defiance to
the din around him. The hounds cannot touch him. Now for the huntsman's
part; he calls the stanchest seizers to his side, gives them a cheer on,
and steps into the torrent, knife in hand. Quick as lightning the buck
springs to the attack; but he has exposed himself, and at that moment
the tall lurchers are upon his ears; the huntsman leaps upon one side
and plunges the knife behind his shoulder. A tremendous struggle takes
place--the whole pack is upon him; still his dying efforts almost free
him from their hold: a mass of spray envelopes the whole scene. Suddenly
he falls--he dies--it is all over. The hounds are called off, and are
carefully examined for wounds.
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