And then, with a whirl of flying drapery and gesticulating arms, a new rider shot into view on the brow of the slope. Absalaam, calling down innumerable maledictions upon the ancestry of all jungle pigs, galloped a tent pony between the boar and his refuge.
His tactics were successful, but not in the direction which he had desired. The brute wheeled, not down-hill towards the other riders, but slanting back and still upwards in the direction of Awara and the camp.
As Aylmer swerved to follow, a cry startled him. He was suddenly aware that the lady in white was riding slightly behind, but almost abreast of him. She was swathed in a sand veil, but her eyes were uncovered and the expression in them was arresting. She was staring up the hill. Her glance told of anxiety, or even horror.
He followed the direction of her gaze.
Two figures appeared, both exactly in the line of the hunt. One, also white clad, and running with uncertain feet, was evidently a child—a boy of six or seven years. He had distanced his pursuer, a fat and middle-aged Moor, who was menacing him with gesticulations of wrath and at the same time emitting supplicating cries. The youngster answered him with triumphant little jeers, and continued his escape. At the same moment both of them saw the approaching danger.
The child halted, hesitated, and seemed to debate upon his action. Not so the Moor. With a howl of dismay he fled towards the undergrowth, his yellow slippers twinkling against the dun background of the sand. And he continued to yell with whole-hearted despair; he woke the echoes with his shrieks.
About fifty yards separated Aylmer from the boar. The child was a full furlong distant. A sudden chill pulsed into, and gripped, the man's heart as he realized the situation.
Again the woman called aloud and smote her horse furiously across the withers as she strove to urge it on. Taken by surprise the gray changed step, stumbled, and nearly came down. With lowered spear Aylmer shot ahead.
The horse responded nobly to the need. The interval decreased. The boar was thirty yards ahead—twenty—now no more than ten. The wicked little eyes flung glances sideways; the bristling withers showed that almost imperceptible rippling motion which presages a "jink."
Aylmer leaned down across his saddle, holding out the spear before him almost by the butt. He was yet too far to get in a thrust. He could only hope to divert the brute's attention by a short, pricking stab. For the child, now running with short, terrified strides, was immediately in front of the gleaming tusks.