he din is terrific, every one is shouting
encouragement to the dogs, or to himself; the pigs are squealing and
crying as only pigs can.

Half a dozen dogs have fastened on to as many pigs, growling and
worrying, but holding fast in spite of the twisting and shaking of their
prey, in spite of the clashing of tusks and the savage snorting of one
or two boars among the drove, in spite of being dragged and scraped
through brushwood and timber, keeping always flank to flank with the
pigs they hold, like good dogs as they are.

I see Old Colonial bounding on before me, after a huge pig that is
dragging the great dog on his ear as a bull-dog would drag a rat in a
similar position. The pig heads up the bank, but Old Colonial is upon
him; he grabs at a hind leg and seizes it with both hands.

He is down, and is also dragged on his face for a moment; but he still
keeps his grip in spite of kicking and struggling; keeps a firm, hard
hold, regardless of the bruises and scratches he is getting; never
leaves go till he gets his opportunity, till he can put foot to the
ground; and then, with one mighty heave, over goes the pig on his back.
Then triumphantly does Old Colonial put his knee on the boar's belly,
calmly he presses back the snout with one hand, while, in the other, his
knife glitters for a moment in the sunshine, and is then driven well
home.

In another minute, with Old Colonial's whoop of victory ringing in my
ears, I, too, am engaged. A great, heavy sow passes close before me,
with Katipo tearing at her ear. Simultaneously a couple of Maoris and
myself charge after her. One of them stops behind to tomahawk such of
her litter as he can catch; the other man and I hurl ourselves down upon
the animal, after chasing her a hundred yards or so among the scrub.

I seize at a leg and am thrown violently to the ground, getting a kick
in the face that sets my nose bleeding. The Maori comes to my aid and
gets a hold, and together we are rolled over on the ground.

Alas! we have not between us Old Colonial's knack and activity, nor are
we endowed with muscles of such steely fibre. We keep our clutch
determinedly, desperately, and we are flung and bumped among the
tree-roots and brushwood. The pig is screaming like a hundred railway
engines; kicking, plunging, stamping, tearing, twisting from side to
side in a vain endeavour to rid herself of us, or to get at us with
those formidable jaws; shaking Katipo--a big mastiff-like cur-