'There he goes!' cried Frederick, as the tiger darted across the park towards the carriage. 'He'll make at the horses. See! see! he has actually fastened upon poor Culina! No, 'tis Apicius, uncle's grand favourite. Look at the horses, how they rear and tear away!'
'Now,' said Sir William, 'a little in this direction to be out of his side-sight. Remember we must act in concert, and all fire at his head at the same moment. A single bullet would but interrupt his attentions to poor Apicius, and call them to ourselves, but two brace must surely disable him.'
'Oh, father,' cried William, 'how terrified the horses are! See how they plunge and rear, first on one side the road, then on the other; they will upset poor Uncle Geff to a certainty. Look, the footman leaps off like lightning, and now the coachman follows him. See, they are climbing up into the old oak, and leave the horses to their fate, the cowards! The poor beasts are perfectly mad. Now they have done it. The fore-wheel has struck against the curbstone and flown off, and now the hind-wheel on the same side is off too, and down goes the carriage. I'm sure I heard poor Uncle Geff cry out, but the tiger still keeps hold on the horse's shoulders.'
'Now there's a moment's pause,' said the baronet. 'Fire at his head!' They did so, and their aim was so just that the creature fell instantly, but his efforts to rise, in which he nearly succeeded two or three times, filled the crowd which was now assembling with dismay.
'Mr. Stanhope will lend you his pistols, boys,' said Sir William. 'Go nearer, if you like, and share the honour of giving the beast his quietus.'
The youths took the arms exultingly, and advancing boldly towards the animal, who still writhed in fearful strength, they fired again at his head, and he then sunk to rise no more. It seems he had actually taken refuge in a hollow of the Warren, but the keepers had secured the entrance so imperfectly that he easily effected his escape.
A loud cry of 'Victory! victory!' was uttered by the surrounding multitude, and the words 'Brave boys!' 'True Clairmonts!' were many times repeated by the crowd.
'And now let us see after poor Mr. Clairmont,' said Sir William, going up to the carriage, which lay on its side. The two stout gentlemen who had clambered up into the oak, seeing the enemy breathless, had summoned courage to descend, and were trying to pacify and unharness the trembling horses.
'How are you, my dear sir? how are you, Mr. Clairmont?' said the baronet, speaking aloud, not being able to see into the carriage.
'What am I, you mean, nephew,' roared out the old gentleman. 'Why I am a perfect mass of blanc-mange, bruised to a universal pulp.'