The day began uneventfully enough, though the spectacle of the Rajah's hunt delighted Gerrard's eyes. The old ruler himself and his councillors and Komadans seemed to have donned their brightest garb for the occasion, and the little prince, now known by his proper name of Kharrak Singh, was resplendent in emerald-green velvet, with a blue and silver turban and a broad folded girdle of stiff gold tissue, in which was stuck a huge dagger, large enough for a sword for him. He rode a white pony with a pink nose and a long tail, and on either side of him was an ancient armed retainer, charged to keep him out of any possible danger. The hawking was pretty to watch, but not particularly exciting, and Gerrard found it much more interesting when the innumerable dogs of indescribable breed which accompanied the party started something larger than birds in the brushwood surrounding the swamp. Partab Singh looked at his guest, and read the expression of his face aright. With a smile the old Rajah called up a man who carried a number of spears, and bade Gerrard take his choice. The beaters were wildly excited, declaring that the dogs had roused an old and very cunning boar which had long baffled the hunters of the neighbourhood, and after a brief council of war it was decided that the Rajah should take his stand at one side of the _jhil_ and Gerrard at the other, the beaters keeping watch to prevent the quarry's breaking out across the open ground at the back, and the court officials going to the end of the swamp in case he should take to the water. Rather to his annoyance, Gerrard found that the little prince, instead of accompanying his father, preferred to remain with him, in dangerous proximity to the track through the underwood along which the boar would probably come. Horribly afraid that the quarry would break out in his absence, he seized the white pony's bridle, and in spite of Kharrak Singh's vehement opposition, led him back to his guardians and bade him stay with them. As he cantered back to his post, the child's shrill voice made him look round, and he saw him striking furiously with his sheathed dagger at the hands of the two servants, who held the pony on either side. Satisfied that the boy was in safety, Gerrard waited, spear in hand, watching the movements of the bushes, which showed that some heavy body was making its way through them. From the yapping and yelping of the dogs at a discreet distance behind, he felt certain that this was the boar, and listened eagerly for the crackling of the brushwood as it came towards him. Then it burst into the open--the finest tusker he had ever seen--and made for him as fiercely as he rode at it. But to his utter astonishment, just as it met the iron it swerved violently--so that the spear merely inflicted a long gash from shoulder to flank--and charged on at something behind him.