' It was he that was under the brute. Just as he spoke they
rolled toward me, the boar foaming and spouting blood, and plunging his
tusks into Cecil; he got his right arm out from under the beast,
and crushed under there as he was, drew it free, with the knife well
gripped; then down he dashed it three times into the veteran's hide,
just beneath the ribs; it was the coup de grace; the boar lay dead, and
Beauty lay half dead too; the blood rushing out of him where the tusks
had dived. Two minutes, though, and a draught of my brandy brought him
all round; and the first words he spoke were, 'Thanks Ker; you did as
you would be done by--a shot would have spoilt it all.' The brute had
crossed his path far away from the pack, and he had flung himself out
of saddle and had a neck-and-neck struggle. And that night we played
baccarat by his bedside to amuse him; and he played just as well as
ever. Now this is why I don't think he's dead; a fellow who served a
wild boar like that won't have let a train knock him over. And I don't
believe he forged that stiff, though all the evidence says so; Beauty
hadn't a touch of the blackguard in him."
With which declaration of his views, Kergenven lapsed into immutable
silence and slumberous apathy, from whose shelter nothing could tempt
him afresh; and the Colonel, with all the rest, lounged into the
anteroom, where the tables were set, and began "plunging" in earnest
at sums that might sound fabulous, were they written here.
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