“I say, Peterkin,” cried Jack, in a hoarse whisper.
“Well, what is’t?”
“Stay a bit, man. These grunters are just up there on the hill side. If you go and stand with Ralph in the lee of yon cliff, I’ll cut round behind and drive them through the gorge, so that you’ll have a better chance of picking out a good one. Now, mind you pitch into a fat young pig, Peterkin,” added Jack, as he sprang into the bushes.
“Won’t I, just!” said Peterkin, licking his lips, as we took our station beside the cliff. “I feel quite a tender affection for young pigs in my heart. Perhaps it would be more correct to say in my s—.”
“There they come!” cried I, as a terrific yell from Jack sent the whole herd screaming down the hill. Now, Peterkin, being unable to hold back, crept a short way up a very steep grassy mound, in order to get a better view of the hogs before they came up; and just as he raised his head above its summit, two little pigs, which had outrun their companions, rushed over the top with the utmost precipitation. One of these brushed close past Peterkin’s ear; the other, unable to arrest its headlong flight, went, as Peterkin himself afterwards expressed it, “bash” into his arms with a sudden squeal, which was caused more by the force of the blow than the will of the animal, and both of them rolled violently down to the foot of the mound. No sooner was this reached than the little pig recovered its feet, tossed up its tail, and fled shrieking from the spot. But I slang a large stone after it, which, being fortunately well aimed, hit it behind the ear, and felled it to the earth.
“Capital, Ralph! that’s your sort!” cried Peterkin, who, to my surprise and great relief, had risen to his feet. Apparently unhurt, though much dishevelled, he rushed franticly towards the gorge, which the yells of the hogs told us they were now approaching. I had made up my mind that I would abstain from killing another, as, if Peterkin should be successful, two were more than sufficient for our wants at the present time. Suddenly they all burst forth,—two or three little round ones in advance, and an enormous old sow with a drove of hogs at her heels.
“Now, Peterkin,” said I, “there’s a nice little fat one; just spear it.”
But Peterkin did not move; he allowed it to pass unharmed. I looked at him in surprise, and saw that his lips were compressed and his eyebrows knitted, as if he were about to fight with some awful enemy.
“What is it?” I inquired, with some trepidation.
Suddenly he levelled his spear, darted forward, and, with a yell that nearly froze the blood in my veins, stabbed the old sow to the heart. Nay, so vigorously was it done that the spear went in at one side and came out at the other!