The next moment the hog drove past him. At the same instant
Loveless threw his rope and caught the beast by one hind leg. The
black horse stopped, fore feet planted firmly, and the dust cloud
swept across and hid the scene.
When the dust cleared away, the hog was lying across the road,
blowing comfortably, with the rope leading from his hind leg to
the horn of Loveless' saddle. Loveless laughed.
"There's the first one for you," he said. "And my, can't he run!"
Gobbet, however, was indignant. "It's no use," he complained. "To
bring an object that way straight into the lens is against the
first principles of cinematography. It's no use, I tell you."
Means sat half slumped in his saddle, with his reeking horse
panting heavily.
"Well, well, well," he finally drawled. "And didn't Mr. Pig come
a-bending across that prairie? He most certainly come a-bending."
The porters gathered around and looked long at the beast; some of
them spoke a few words in low tones, and the others nodded their
heads and smiled.
Sometimes a wart-hog will act nasty, and his lower tusks are
sharp as razors; but when this one was released he walked out of
the circle of grinning natives, slowly, quietly, and apparently
thoroughly disgusted.
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