could hardly squeeze and burrow through the impenetrable fence of
matapo and goi, which were woven together by fibres of a thorny
creeper called "a lawyer" by the shepherds.


It was very tantalising, for in less than five minutes we heard
trusty Pincher "speaking" to a boar, and knew that he had baled it
up against a tree, and was calling to us to come and help him. F---
ran about like a lunatic, calling out; "Coming Pincher: round him
up, good dog!" and so forth; but they were all vain promises, for he
could not get in. I did my best in searching for an opening, and
gave many false hopes of having found one. At last I said, "If I
run up the mountain side, and look down on that mass of scrub,
perhaps I may see some way into it from above." "No: do you stay
here, and see, if the pig breaks cover, which way he goes." Up the
steep hill, therefore, F--- rushed, as swiftly and lightly as one of
his own mountain sheep; and in a minute or two I saw him standing,
revolver in hand, on an overhanging rock, peering anxiously down on
the leafy mass below.

Pincher and the creek made such a noise between them that I could
not hear what F--- said, and only guessed from his despairing
gestures that there was no trap door visible in the green roof. I
signalled as well as I could that he was to come down directly, for
his-standing-place looked most insecure. Insecure indeed it proved.
As I spoke the great fragment of rock loosely embedded in earth on
the mountain side gave way with a crash, and came tumbling
majestically down on the top of the scrub. As for F---, he
described a series of somersaults in the air, which however
agreeable in themselves, were very trying to the nerves of the