Wargrave, following at some distance to the Maharajah's right rear, saw
to his mingled joy and trepidation the boar only a short way in front of
him.

"Ride, ride hard!" cried Mrs. Norton almost alongside him.

Frank drove his spurs in; and the gaunt, raw-boned countrybred under him
sprang forward. But just as it had all but reached the quarry, the
latter jinked again and Wargrave was borne on, tugging vainly at the
horse's iron jaws. But the boar had short shrift. With a rush Ross
closed on it and before it could swerve off 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