terriers together, and pound over the stubble and ridges. He is going
very leisurely, casting an occasional scared look over his shoulder.
'Curly' and 'Legs,' two of my fastest terriers, are now in full view,
they are laying themselves well to the ground, and Master Jackal thinks
it's high time to increase his pace. He puts on a spurt, but condition
tells. He is fat and pursy, and must have had a good feed last night on
some poor dead bullock. He is shewing his teeth now. Curly makes his
rush, and they both roll over together. Up hurries Legs, and the jackal
gets a grip, gives him a shake, and then hobbles slowly on. The two
terriers now hamper him terribly. One minute they are at his heels, and
as soon as he turns, they are at his ear or shoulder. The rest of the
pack are fast coming up.

Anthony has a magnificent bulldog, broad-chested, and a very Goliath
among dogs. He is called 'Sailor.' Sailor always pounds along at the
same steady pace; he never seems to get flurried. Sitting lazily at the
door, he seems too indolent even to snap at a fly. He is a true
philosopher, and nought seems to disturb his serenity. But see him
after a jackal, his big red tongue hanging out, his eyes flashing fire,
and his hair erected on his back like the bristles of a wild boar. He
looks fiendish then, and he is a true bulldog. There is no flinching
with Sailor. Once he gets his grip it's no use trying to make him let
go.

Up comes Sailor now.

He has the jackal by the throat.

A hoarse, rattling, gasping yell, and the jackal has gone to the happy
hunting grounds.