"Pig! pig! Lay up there, dogs! Good dogs! Lay up there, Rimu, Rimu, Toto! At 'em, boys! At 'em! Lay up! Pig! pig!" And then the hot excitement seizes upon us all, and, as we hear the unmistakable grunting, squealing, and hough-houghing of pigs, we plunge madly down to the scene of action. It is no time for considering one's steps; we go straight for the point where the noise leads us, crashing against trees, stumbling over logs, regardless of every obstacle. We pitch headlong into holes hidden by treacherous banks of ferns; we swing over little precipices by the help of supple-jacks and lianes; we press through thorny bush-lawyers, heedless of the rags and skin we leave behind us; we splash through mud and water up to our waists; hot and breathless, torn and bleeding, bruised and muddy, we come tumbling, crashing, plunging, bounding down the sides of the gully, mad with the fierce excitement of the moment. A number of pigs are rushing wildly about among the flax and fern-trees, not knowing which way to escape. The dogs are at them gallantly, seizing them by the ears, laying up against them flank to flank, and holding on like grim death. The din is terrific, every one is shouting encouragement to the dogs, or to himself; the pigs are squealing and crying as only pigs can. Half a dozen dogs have fastened on to as many pigs, growling and worrying, but holding fast in spite of the twisting and shaking of their prey, in spite of the clashing of tusks and the savage snorting of one or two boars among the drove, in spite of being dragged and scraped through brushwood and timber, keeping always flank to flank with the pigs they hold, like good dogs as they are. I see Old Colonial bounding on before me, after a huge pig that is dragging the great dog on his ear as a bull-dog would drag a rat in a similar position. The pig heads up the bank, but Old Colonial is upon him; he grabs at a hind leg and seizes it with both hands. He is down, and is also dragged on his face for a moment; but he still keeps his grip in spite of kicking and struggling; keeps a firm, hard hold, regardless of the bruises and scratches he is getting; never leaves go till he gets his opportunity, till he can put foot to the ground; and then, with one mighty heave, over goes the pig on his back. Then triumphantly does Old Colonial put his knee on the boar's belly, calmly he presses back the snout with one hand, while, in the other, his knife glitters for a moment in the sunshine, and is then driven well home. In another minute, with Old Colonial's whoop of victory ringing in my ears, I, too, am engaged. A great, heavy sow passes close before me, with Katipo tearing at her ear. Simultaneously a couple of Maoris and myself charge after her. One of them stops behind to tomahawk such of her litter as he can catch; the other man and I hurl ourselves down upon the animal, after chasing her a hundred yards or so among the scrub.