low; he rushed at the dog, and they met like knights in a
tournament; but it was murderous work; he received the reckless hound
upon his sharp antlers and bored him to the ground. In another instant
Killbuck had recovered himself, and he again came in full fly at the
buck's face with wonderful courage; again the buck rushed forward to
meet him, and once more the pointed antlers pinned the dog, and the
buck, following up his charge, rolled him over and over for some yards.

By this time I had galloped up, and I was within a few feet of the buck,
when he suddenly sprang round with the evident intention of charging the
horse. In the same moment Killbuck seized the opportunity, and the buck
plunged violently upon the ground, with the staunch dog hanging upon his
throat. I, jumped off my horse, and the buck fell dead by a thrust with
the knife behind the shoulder.

I now examined the dog; he was wounded in several places, but as he bled
but little, I hoped that his apparent exhaustion arose more from the
fatigue of the fight than from any severe injury.

At this time Bran and Lena came up; they had lost their deer in some
high lemon grass, but they also were both wounded by the buck's horns.
I now put Killbuck and Lena together in the slips, and with the buck,
carried upon cross-poles by six men, I rode towards the tent. I had
not proceeded far when the man who was leading the greyhounds behind my
horse suddenly cried out, and on turning round I saw Killbuck lying on
the ground. I was at his side in a moment, and I released his neck
from the slips. It was too late; his languid head fell heavily upon the
earth; he gave me one parting look, and after a few faint gasps he was
gone.

I could hardly believe he was dead. Taking off my cap, I ran to a little
stream and brought some water, which I threw in his face; but his teeth
were set, his eyes were glazed, and the best and truest dog that was
ever born was dead. Poor Killbuck! he had died like a hero, and though I
grieved over him, I could not have wished him a more glorious death.

I was obliged to open him to discover the real injury. I had little
thought that the knife which had so often come to his assistance was
destined to so sad a task. His lungs were pierced through by the deer's
horns in two places, and he had died of sudden suffocation by internal
haemorrhage. A large hollow tree grew close to the spot; in this I
buried him. The stag's antlers now hang in the hall