ken his sensibilities. Bladud's unfailing
arrow went indeed straight for the heart, but a strong rib caught and
checked its progress. The captain's shaft, probably by good luck,
entered deep into the creature's flank not far from the tail.

To say that the forest was instantly filled with ear-splitting shrieks
is to express the result but feebly. We might put it as a sort of
indefinite question in the rule of three, thus--if an ordinary civilised
pig with injured feelings can yell as we all know how, what must have
been the explosion of a wild-boar of the eighth century BuCu, in
circumstances such as we have described? Railway whistles of the
nineteenth century, intermittently explosive, is the only possible
answer to the question, and that is but an approximation to the truth.

For one instant the infuriated creature paused to look for its
assailants. Catching sight of them as they were fitting arrows to their
bows, it gave vent to a prolonged locomotive-express yell, and charged.
Bladud's arrow hit it fair between the eyes, but stuck in the
impenetrable skull. The shaft of the captain missed, and the javelin of
Maikar went wildly wide of the mark.

By order of Bladud the three had separated a few yards from each other.
Even in its rage the monster was perplexed by this, for it evidently
perceived the impossibility of attacking three foes at the same moment.
Which to go for was the question. Like an experienced warrior it went
for the "little one."

Maikar had drawn his last weapon--the short sword of bronze--and, like a
brave man as he was, "prepared to receive boarelry." Another instant
and the enemy was upon him. More than that, it was over him, for,
trusting to his agility--for which he was famed--he tried to leap to one
side, intending to make a vigorous thrust at the same moment. In doing
so his foot slipped; he fell flat on his side, and the boar, tripping
over him, just missed ripping him with its fearful tusks. It fell, with
a bursting squeak, beyond.

To leap up and turn was the work of an instant for the boar, and would
have been the same for the man if he had not been partially stunned by
the fall. As it was, the captain, who was nearest, proved equal to the
emergency, for, using his javelin as a spear, he plunged it into the
boar's side. But that side was tougher than he had expected. The spear
was broken by a sharp twist as the animal turned on its new foe, who now
stood disarmed and at