inally Sir John, slower, graver,
more reflective, brought up the rear. Once the boar perceived his
hunters he paid no further attention to the dogs. He fixed his gleaming,
sanguinary eyes upon them; but his only movement was a snapping of the
jaws, which he brought together with a threatening sound. Roland watched
the scene for an instant, evidently desirous of flinging himself into
the midst of the group, knife in hand, to slit the boar's throat as a
butcher would that of a calf or a pig. This impulse was so apparent that
Sir John caught his arm, and little Edouard exclaimed: "Oh! brother, let
me shoot the boar!"

Roland restrained himself, and stacking his gun against a tree, waited,
armed only with his hunting-knife, which he had drawn from its sheath.

"Very well," said he, "shoot him; but be careful about it."

"Oh! don't worry," retorted the child, between his set teeth. His
face was pale but resolute as he aimed the barrel of his rifle at the
animal's head.

"If he misses him, or only wounds him," observed Sir John, "you know
that the brute will be upon us before we can see him through the smoke."

"I know it, my lord; but I am accustomed to these hunts," replied
Roland, his nostrils quivering, his eyes sparkling, his lips parted:
"Fire, Edouard!"

The shot followed the order upon the instant; but after the shot, with,
or even before it, the beast, swift as lightning, rushed upon the child.
A second shot followed the first, but the animal's scarlet eyes still
gleamed through the smoke. But, as it rushed, it met Roland with his
knee on the ground, the knife in his hand. A moment later a tangled,
formless group, man and boar, boar and man, was rolling on the ground.
Then a third shot rang out, followed by a laugh from Roland.

"Ah! my lord," cried the young man, "you've wasted powder and shot.
Can't you see that I have ripped him up? Only get his body off of me.
The beast weighs at least four hundred pounds, and he is smothering me."

But before Sir John could stoop, Roland, with a vigorous push of the
shoulder, rolled the animal's body aside, and rose to his feet covered
with blood, but without a single scratch. Little Edouard, either from
lack of time or from native courage, had not recoiled an inch. True, he
was completely protected by his brother's body, which was between him
and the boar. Sir John had sprung aside to take the animal in the flank.
He watched Roland, as he emerged from this second duel,