Then springing forward, he went splashing across the morass, with the mud and water almost up to his knees.
“I am no marksman,” he thought, as he strode rapidly on, “and shall have to get close to him to hit him; but if he should come at me, I shall have my second barrel, besides a plenty of shells.”
There was some reassurance in this thought, especially as he had two of the spare shells in his hand, ready for use in case of need.
At a distance of only six rods from the enraged animal, he stopped and brought up his gun.
The boar was not still for an instant, but rushing about in its efforts to get up the rock. He had certainly struck the man, for there was blood on the rock and on the savage tusks. This probably rendered him all the more eager.
“I’ll try the buckshot first,” thought Ralph, “for they’ll scatter a little, and some of them must hit him.”
He ranged between the two barrels, and pulled. “Bang!” sounded the report. “Whoosh!” uttered the boar, stopping short in his efforts against the rock, and turning his whole attention upon the intruder. Doubtless he was hit, but perhaps not mortally.
Ralph’s gun was again at his face. “Bang!” This time the single ball was sent, but through the smoke of the discharge he saw that the boar was rushing upon him.
An interval of six rods, and a wild hog, six feet long, bounding over it with clashing jaws! How the breech-loader sprang open, and how the two spare charges went into it! What if Ralph had not held them all ready in his hand?
“Bang! bang!” The boar’s head was not three feet from the muzzle as the second barrel was fired. The monster’s impetus carried him on with a plunge; and the young hero’s legs were knocked from under him by the weight of the huge body, so that he fell at full length in the mud.