or twice a week, on just such a lovely morning, F--- would proclaim
his intention of going out to look for pigs, and, sooner than be
left behind, I nearly always begged to be allowed to come too.
There was no fear of my getting tired or lagging behind; and as I
was willing to make myself generally useful, by carrying the
telescope, a revolver for close quarters, and eke a few sandwiches,
the offer of my company used to be graciously accepted. We could
seldom procure the loan of a good pig-dog, and after one excursion
with a certain dog of the name of "Pincher," I preferred going out
by ourselves.

On that occasion F--- did not take his rifle, as there was no
chance of getting a long shot at our game; for the dog would surely
bring the pig to bay, and then the hunter must trust to a revolver
or the colonial boar-spear, half a pair of shears (I suppose it
should be called _a shear_) bound firmly on a flax stick by green
flax-leaves. We had heard of pigs having been seen by our
out-station shepherd at the back of the run, and as we were not
encumbered by the heavy rifle, we mounted our horses and rode as far
as we could towards the range where the pigs had been grubbing up
the hill sides in unmolested security for some time past. Five
miles from home the ground became so rough that our horses could go
no further; we therefore jumped off, tied them to a flax-bush,
taking off the saddles in case they broke loose, and proceeded on
foot over the jungly, over-grown saddle. On the other side we came
upon a beautiful gully, with a creek running through it, whose banks
were so densely fringed with scrub that we could not get through to
the stream, which we heard rippling amid the tangled shrubs. If we
could only have reached the water our best plan would have been to
get into it and follow its windings up the ravine; but even Pincher