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. [Illustration: A HAZARDOUS LEAP!]