“Wot’s in the pistol?” inquired Bumpus, pointing to the weapon which Corrie had stuck ostentatiously into his belt.
“Nothin’,” answered the boy. “I fired the last charge I had into the face of a savage.”
“Fling it at him,” suggested Bumpus, getting cautiously up. “Here, hand it to me. I’ve seed a heavy horse-pistol like that do great execution when well aimed by a stout arm.”
The pig seemed to have an intuitive perception that danger was approaching, for it turned abruptly round just as the missile left the seaman’s hand, and received the butt with full force close to the root of its tail.
A pig’s tendency to shriek on the receipt of the slightest injury is well known. It is therefore not to be wondered at, that this pig went off into the bushes under cover of a series of yells so terrific that they might have been heard for miles round.
“I’ll after him,” cried Bumpus, catching up a large stone, and leaping forward a few paces almost as actively as if nothing had happened to him.
“Hurrah!” shouted Corrie, “I’ll go too.”
“Hold on,” cried Bumpus, stopping suddenly.
“Why?” inquired the boy.
“’Cause you must stop an’ take care of the gals. It won’t do to leave ’em alone again, you know, Corrie.”