"Yes, Swindlah," says I. "It is the Wild Hog Hunt to which you are alluding." He bowed. "Fifty thousand lakhs of rupees," I continued, "which your executors pay to mine in case you come to grief, or mine to yours in case the like happens to me." Again he bowed, and I went on. "And if we both survive, the money is paid to whichever of us two kills the Wild Hog of Ghrûntah." We shook hands over it. I didn't, as a rule, shake hands with Swindlah Khan, who was the veriest old thief in all India, and an abominably cruel tyrant into the bargain.
A Strange Story.
The fact is, that this Wild Hog, which from time to time ravaged various parts of the country that trembled under the sway of Swindlah, was secretly fed, kept alive, and incited to ferocity by the minions of the cunning despot, who, when he wanted a larger loan than usual, or coveted the property of some private person, would privately order this Hog to be starved for a fortnight, and then suddenly let out to run a-muck.
Naturally the poor natives, and the rich ones too for the matter of that, clamoured for protection at the hands of their ruler, who pretended he could see no other way of dealing with the difficulty than by raising a force of sharpshooters, armed with lances and bows and arrows, no guns being permitted, as the noise would disturb the Swindlah, who, about this time, invariably feigned to be laid up at home with a bilious headache. His subjects had to subscribe for the support of these sporting warriors, and the money came in from all quarters into Swindlah's treasury for the purpose of killing this formidable scourge. The presence of this Wild Hog obstructed trade, as no Travellers, commercial or otherwise, would run the risk of encountering this dangerous monster. Of course, the Hog was never killed, as to have put an end to its existence would have been analogous to killing the Goose that laid the Golden Eggs. When I came into the country, Swindlah did his best to entrap me. I had thirty of the narrowest escapes that ever man experienced. (Here we omit 1200 pages of this most thrilling narrative.) Swindlah had dared me to kill the Wild Hog alone: I had replied, "Yes, but it must be worth my while. So make it a bet, which will slay the beast, you or I, and I'm on. And the entire beast must be brought back as evidence. A leg, or a tusk, or an eye, or a bristle won't do. It must be the whole Hog or none."
An Awful Boar for Travellers.
As I have said, so 'twas done. The barbarous Swindlah had determined on collaring my coin, and taking my life. He had secreted men in the jungles, in the passes, on the mountain-tops, to spear me, arrow me, shoot me,—if they could. What did I care? I had the whole country at my back, for they were ready to rise as one man—(and, as a matter of fact, only one man did rise, and he was beheaded at once by the nearest native policeman, who afterwards apologised handsomely to the family for the mistake),—and take vengeance on the tyrant. But this depended on my success; otherwise, so crushed and craven were even the noblest spirits among them, they dared not move one little finger. Shall I proceed? Yes. I bore a charmed life. The Wild Hog was wilder than ever. Mounted on my good old mare, Wheezer, which had carried me over many a stiff country in Old England, and accompanied by my faithful hound, Yelpa, I sought out the wild beast in his lair. Swindlah himself came by a circuitous route.
Suddenly there was an awful roar—I call it a roar, but it was really the noise of a volcano in action—and the place shook as though in the throes of an earthquake. Above me, on a rock, on the other side of a ravine (eighty feet by fifty) stood the huge monster, hideous, raging, tearing up roots, trees, stocks, stones, anything and everything. In all my life I never saw such a horrid boar! "At him, Yelpa!" I cried, giving at the same time my well-known whistle of attack. Yelpa cleared the ravine at a bound. Then followed an awful struggle. Swindlah below looked up in delight. "If the dog kills him, it's no bet!" he shouted.
"Come on, and kill him yourself, if you can!" I cried, putting Wheezer at the leap. My brave mare needed no spurs.