Smut and Bran had him by the ears, and a thrust with
the knife finished him.
However great the excitement may be during the actual hunting, there is
a degree of monotony in the recital of so many scenes of the same
character that may be fatiguing: I shall therefore close the description
of these mountain sports with the death of the old hero Smut, and the
loss of the best hound, Merriman, both of whom have left a blank in the
pack not easily filled.
On October 16, 1852, I started with a very short pack. Lucifer was left
in the kennel lame; Lena was at home with her pups; and several other
dogs were sick. Smut and Bran were the only two seizers out that day,
and, being short-handed, I determined to hunt in the more green country
at the foot of Hackgalla mountain.
My brother and I entered the jungle with the dogs, and before we had
proceeded a hundred yards we heard a fierce bay, every dog having
joined. The bay was not a quarter of a mile distant, and we were puzzled
as to the character of the game: whatever it was, it had stood to bay
without a run.
