Quick as lightning the buck
springs to the attack; but he has exposed himself, and at that moment
the tall lurchers are upon his ears; the huntsman leaps upon one side
and plunges the knife behind his shoulder. A tremendous struggle takes
place--the whole pack is upon him; still his dying efforts almost free
him from their hold: a mass of spray envelopes the whole scene. Suddenly
he falls--he dies--it is all over. The hounds are called off, and are
carefully examined for wounds.
The huntsman is now perhaps some miles from home, he, therefore, cuts a
long pole, and tying a large bunch of grass to one end, he sticks the
other end into the ground close to the river's edge where the elk is
lying. This marks the spot. He calls his hounds together and returns
homeward, and afterwards sends men to cut the buck up and bring the
flesh. Elk venison is very good, but is at all times more like beef than
English venison.
The foregoing may be considered a general description of elk-hunting,
although the incidents of the sport necessarily vary considerably.
The boar is our dangerous adversary, and he is easily known by the
character of the run. The hounds seldom open with such a burst upon the
scent as they do with an elk. The run is much slower; he runs down this
ravine and up that, never going straight away, and he generally comes to
bay after a run of ten minutes' duration.
A boar always chooses the very thickest part of the jungle as his
position for a bay, and from this he makes continual rushes at the
hounds.
The huntsman approaches the scene of the combat, breaking his way with
difficulty through the tangled jungle, until within about twenty yards
of the bay. He now cheers the hounds on to the attack, and if they are
worthy of their name, they instantly rush in to the boar regardless of
wounds. The huntsman is aware of the seizure by the grunting of the boar
and the tremendous confusion in the thick jungle; he immediately rushes
to the assistance of the pack, knife in hand.
A scene of real warfare meets his view--gaping wounds upon his best
hounds, the boar rushing through the jungle covered with dogs, and he
himself becomes the immediate object of his fury when observed.
No time is to be lost. Keeping behind the boar if possible, he rushes to
the bloody conflict, and drives the hunting-knife between the shoulders
in the endeavour to divide the spine. Should he happily effect this, the
boar falls stone dead; but if not, he repeats the thrust, keeping a good
look-out for the animal's tusks.
If the dogs were of not sufficient courage to rush in and seize the boar
when halloaed on, no man could approach him in a thick jungle with only
a hunting-knife, as he would in all probability have his inside ripped
out at the first charge.
