sent his spear deep into its
side and, galloping on, turned his hand over, drawing out the lance. The
pig was staggered by the shock but started to run on. Before it could
get up speed one of the Indian nobles dashed at it with wild yells and
speared it again.

The thrust this time was mortal. The boar staggered on a few steps, then
stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. The hunters reined in their
sweating horses and gathered round it.

"Not a big animal," commented the Maharajah, scrutinising it with the
eye of an expert. "About thirty-four inches high, I think. But the tusks
are good. They're yours, Captain Ross, aren't they?"

"Yes, Your Highness, I think so," replied Ross.

Pigsticking law awards the trophy to the rider whose spear first
inflicts a wound on the boar.

"Better luck next time, Mr. Wargrave," said Mrs. Norton, riding up to
him. "I thought you were sure of him when he jinked away from the
Maharajah."

"To be quite candid I was rather relieved that I didn't get the chance,
Mrs. Norton," replied the subaltern. "As I've never been out after pig
before I didn't quite know what to do. However, I've seen now that it
isn't very difficult; so I hope I'll get an opportunity later."

"You are sure to, Mr. Wargrave," remarked the Maharajah. "There are
several boars left in cover; and the men are going in again."

The tatterdemalion mob of beaters was descending into the _nullah_; and
soon the wild din broke out once more. A gaunt grey boar with long and
gleaming tusks was seen to emerge from the scrub and climb the far bank
of the ravine, where he stood safely out of reach but in full view of
the tantalised hunters. But a string of laden camels passing over the
desert scared him back again; and while the riders watched in eager
excitement, he slowly descended into the _nullah_, crossed it and came
up on the near side some hundreds of yards away.

The Maharajah raised his spear.

"Ride!" he cried.

"Go like the devil, Frank!" shouted Raymond, as the scurrying horsemen
swept in a body over the sand and he found himself for a moment beside
his friend. "He's a beauty. Forty inches, I'll swear. Splendid tusks."

Wargrave crouched like a jockey in the saddle as the riders raced madly
after the boar. The Indians among them, wildly excited, brandished their
lances and uttered fierce cries as they galloped along. Their
Maharajah's speedier mount again took the lead; but even in India sport
is democratic a