"Now or never," thought I, and pulled the trigger.
As the musket kicked against me I felt--I could not see--the rest of
the hogs swerve in a common panic and break for the gateway.
Their squealing took up the roar of the report and protracted it.
They were real hogs, then.
I caught up a second musket, and, to make sure, let fly into the mass
of them as they choked the gateway. Then, without waiting to see the
effect of this shot, I snatched musket number three, and ran through
the drifting smoke to where my first victim lay face-downwards in
the grasses, his swine's mask bowed upon the forelegs crossed--as a
man crosses his arms--inwards from the elbow. As I ran he lifted
himself in agony on his knees--a man's knees. I saw a man's hand
thrust through the paunch, ripping it asunder; and, struggling so, he
rolled slowly over upon his back and lay still. I stooped and tore
the mask away. A black-avised face stared up at me, livid beneath
its sunburn, with filmed eyes. The eyes stared at me unwinking as I
slipped his other hand easily out of its case, which, even at close
view, marvellously resembled the cleft narrow hoof of a hog.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299