The prisoner gave another wild cry, and Ralph responded, with all the strength of his lungs:
“I’ll help you! I’ll help you!”
He was too far off for a successful shot, but he hoped by firing to attract the animal’s attention from the man to himself, and then, in case of need, he might retreat into some one of the trees among which he was then standing.
So, taking the best aim he could, he fired both barrels in quick succession. But the boar, except by a furious toss of the head and a single terrible “Whoosh!” paid not the slightest attention to him.
Indeed, the efforts of the animal to reach the intended victim became, if possible, more frantic than ever; and Ralph guessed that once, at least, the tusks came in contact with some part of the poor captive’s body.
“I can do nothing in this way,” he said to himself. “The man will be torn in pieces before my eyes. I must make a bold move and take my chance.”
Between himself and the scene of danger there was neither rock nor tree, but only the shallow mud and water, and the rank grass. The venture would be a desperate one, but nothing less would save the man from a terrible death.
“RALPH’S LEGS WERE KNOCKED FROM UNDER HIM BY THE WEIGHT OF THE HUGE BODY, SO THAT HE FELL AT FULL LENGTH IN THE MUD.”
Ralph had about him shells containing charges of all descriptions, from fine shot to bullets. Quickly throwing open his breech-loader, he slipped a ball cartridge into one barrel and a heavy charge of buckshot into the other.