The mimosa crashed; the sun-dried lop of wild olive was splintered. Something dark, unwieldy, menacing, burst out of the undergrowth with a speed which seemed preposterously out of proportion to its bulk. It fled across the interval of sand which lay between the strip of forest behind it and the one from which Aylmer and Rattier had just emerged. Emotion perforated the latter's imperturbability. Speech escaped him. "But this is a monster!" he exclaimed. "The near relation of a hippopotamus!" The boar may have heard and certainly seemed to resent the criticism. He jinked, wheeled from the direction which would have taken him slantingly towards the other rider, and charged the commandant. Nothing daunted, the latter lowered his spear and galloped steadily forward. He did not attempt to lessen his speed to receive the shock. Had his skill, indeed, been equal to his spirit, the result would never have been in doubt. But he held his spear at a "dropping" angle, which discounted the force of speed behind it. The point, instead of meeting the boar's chest in a line almost parallel with the ground, grazed his jaw, brushed past his shoulder, and cut a shallow groove in his quarter. It turned the charge, but not far enough. The wicked eight-inch tusks flashed out in passing and gashed the horse's pastern. The gallop slowed into a canter, blundered into a trot, and became a halting limp. The boar jinked again and Aylmer spurred in pursuit, hearing the hoofs of his rival's horse thundering jealously behind. He increased his speed, diminished the distance yard by yard, lowered his spear, thrust, and was nearly spilled from the saddle. With incredible quickness the huge body had wheeled again as if on a pivot. The pursuers made a chorus of their vexation. Their impetuosity carried them a full forty yards past the line of the boar's retreat. They reined in jerkily, and turned to see their quarry in full retreat up the hill. By good horsemanship Aylmer maintained and increased his lead, but without much hope of overhauling the chase before the thicket gave it shelter. The mimosa covert was a bare two furlongs distant. The only chance lay in the boar being headed, and all the spears were, apparently, behind it. There remained nothing to do but to ride and ride hard. His horse responded bravely to the touch of the spur but the sand was loose and deep. He decreased very slightly the distance between pursuer and pursued, faltered once or twice, and began to show distress in his breathing. Aylmer told himself that, for the moment, the game was up. And then, with a whirl of flying drapery and gesticulating arms, a new rider shot into view on the brow of the slope. Absalaam, calling down innumerable maledictions upon the ancestry of all jungle pigs, galloped a tent pony between the boar and his refuge.