Smith was a powerful fellow, and in fun of this kind would have faced a
boar singlehanded. He called to me that he would rush in and seize the
boar by his hind legs and try to pull him round, while I watched my
opportunity to jump between him and the bank. It was our only chance to
save the dog, at any rate, and luckily it proved successful. As Smith
laid on I jumped, and although I fell on all fours between the boar and
the slippery bank, I contrived just in time to drive the knife into his
heart, and the huge beast rolled over and with a few gasps died. We were
both exhausted, and the poor dog, when the excitement was over, lay down
with a low whine, thoroughly done up from exhaustion and loss of blood.
We washed and bound his wound as well as we could and tied him to a bush
of snow grass to await the dray.
Legge and Forde had already despatched a large boar and two full-grown
sows, and were in chase of others. We came up with them when they were
engaged with a fine young boar which had sheltered and come to bay in a
clump of thorny scrub (wild Irishman, so called). Neither dogs nor men
could reach him, and the only plan was to irritate him till he bolted.
This was difficult, but at length successful, and the beast made a rush
straight for us. However, he was bent on defence rather than offence,
and we escaped his tusks.
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