men. The pigs began to run.
Everyone was shouting excitedly. The horses were away out in front and the crowd beginning to stretch out behind them. Some of the fleetest runners were well ahead. Presumably the less fleet were already well behind. Seymour was in the middle, stumbling along, half-supported, half-carried by Idris and Mustapha.
‘Come on, come on!’ they shouted.
A few of the pigs ran off to one side and one or two of the riders went after them. Seymour tried to pull across.
‘What are you doing? This way!'
‘No, I want to –’
‘This way, Monsieur! On ahead! Look!'
‘Yes, but I don’t want to –’
‘Come on, Monsieur! What are you doing ?’
‘This way! Straight ahead! Look, you can see –’
‘Yes, but I want to go that way!'
‘Monsieur, can’t you see ?’
‘Come on, come on!'
The line of horsemen, too, had broken up. Some were already far in the distance. Behind them, riding in a group, were some men he recognized. The soldiers! In their headdresses! They were riding in a compact, disciplined way, their lances all at the same angle.
‘This way! Monsieur, Monsieur –’
‘No, I want to go –’
‘But, Monsieur!'
‘There they are! That way! See?'
‘No, no, it’s the others I want to go after.'
He managed to pull out of the flow and over to one side.
‘What are you doing ?’ cried Mustapha, almost stamping in vexation.
‘Some pigs ran off this way. And a few of the riders went after them.'
‘Yes, I know. But –’
‘Just as Bossu did.'
‘Bossu?'
Mustapha stopped.
‘You know, Monsieur,’ he said, ‘you disappoint me.'
Ahead of him in the scrub he could see a group of horsemen. They had come to a stop and were arranged in a small circle.
He walked through the bushes towards them. He could see them clearly. On their horses they stood out above the scrub. They were all looking down and the points of their lances were down.
‘Its too late, Monsieur, you’ve got here too late ,’ said Idris. ‘You’ve missed it.’
Seymour ignored him.
‘We should have stayed with the others. It’s true we’d have missed it with them, too, you always do when you’re on foot. But there would have been more of them, you’d have seen more –’
‘He’s thinking about Bossu,’ said Mustapha.
‘Why didn’t we stay with the others?’ grumbled Idris. ‘You’ve missed all the fun.’ He stopped. ‘Bossu?'
‘The Frenchman,’ said Mustapha.
‘Well, that’s not very exciting, is it? We should have stayed with –’
There was a sudden crashing in the bushes and the next moment a pig darted out.
‘Jesus!'
It rushed towards them.
Several things happened at once. There was the sound of a shot and the squeal of a pig and Seymour was sent sprawling.
When he looked up there were men coming towards him with lances at the ready. They reined in.
‘What are you doing? You’ve shot our pig!'
‘Too bloody true I’ve shot your pig!’ said Mustapha.
‘Fool!'
‘Idiot!'
‘What are you doing here? And what are you doing here?’ asked someone, catching sight of Seymour. ‘Don’t you know –?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Seymour. ‘The pig ran out upon us.'
‘You oughtn’t to be here. This is –’
‘I know, I know.'
‘Yes, but he shot it! He shouldn’t have done that!'
‘It was coming for us. He had to act quickly.'
‘Yes, but you don’t shoot pigs!'
‘What do you expect me to do?’ asked Mustapha. ‘Strangle it?'
‘What are you doing here, anyway? You shouldn’t be here. You’re just a –’
‘I can see one!’ shouted one of the horsemen excitedly. ‘Over there!'
‘Where? Where?'
‘This way, this way –’
They rode off.
‘Exciting enough for you now?’ asked Seymour.
They left the shot pig lying and walked over to where the men had made their kill. The stuck pig was lying on its side in a little clearing. It had been killed by a single thrust and a trickle of blood ran down into the sand from between its shoulders.
Everyone was shouting excitedly. The horses were away out in front and the crowd beginning to stretch out behind them. Some of the fleetest runners were well ahead. Presumably the less fleet were already well behind. Seymour was in the middle, stumbling along, half-supported, half-carried by Idris and Mustapha.
‘Come on, come on!’ they shouted.
A few of the pigs ran off to one side and one or two of the riders went after them. Seymour tried to pull across.
‘What are you doing? This way!'
‘No, I want to –’
‘This way, Monsieur! On ahead! Look!'
‘Yes, but I don’t want to –’
‘Come on, Monsieur! What are you doing ?’
‘This way! Straight ahead! Look, you can see –’
‘Yes, but I want to go that way!'
‘Monsieur, can’t you see ?’
‘Come on, come on!'
The line of horsemen, too, had broken up. Some were already far in the distance. Behind them, riding in a group, were some men he recognized. The soldiers! In their headdresses! They were riding in a compact, disciplined way, their lances all at the same angle.
‘This way! Monsieur, Monsieur –’
‘No, I want to go –’
‘But, Monsieur!'
‘There they are! That way! See?'
‘No, no, it’s the others I want to go after.'
He managed to pull out of the flow and over to one side.
‘What are you doing ?’ cried Mustapha, almost stamping in vexation.
‘Some pigs ran off this way. And a few of the riders went after them.'
‘Yes, I know. But –’
‘Just as Bossu did.'
‘Bossu?'
Mustapha stopped.
‘You know, Monsieur,’ he said, ‘you disappoint me.'
Ahead of him in the scrub he could see a group of horsemen. They had come to a stop and were arranged in a small circle.
He walked through the bushes towards them. He could see them clearly. On their horses they stood out above the scrub. They were all looking down and the points of their lances were down.
‘Its too late, Monsieur, you’ve got here too late ,’ said Idris. ‘You’ve missed it.’
Seymour ignored him.
‘We should have stayed with the others. It’s true we’d have missed it with them, too, you always do when you’re on foot. But there would have been more of them, you’d have seen more –’
‘He’s thinking about Bossu,’ said Mustapha.
‘Why didn’t we stay with the others?’ grumbled Idris. ‘You’ve missed all the fun.’ He stopped. ‘Bossu?'
‘The Frenchman,’ said Mustapha.
‘Well, that’s not very exciting, is it? We should have stayed with –’
There was a sudden crashing in the bushes and the next moment a pig darted out.
‘Jesus!'
It rushed towards them.
Several things happened at once. There was the sound of a shot and the squeal of a pig and Seymour was sent sprawling.
When he looked up there were men coming towards him with lances at the ready. They reined in.
‘What are you doing? You’ve shot our pig!'
‘Too bloody true I’ve shot your pig!’ said Mustapha.
‘Fool!'
‘Idiot!'
‘What are you doing here? And what are you doing here?’ asked someone, catching sight of Seymour. ‘Don’t you know –?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Seymour. ‘The pig ran out upon us.'
‘You oughtn’t to be here. This is –’
‘I know, I know.'
‘Yes, but he shot it! He shouldn’t have done that!'
‘It was coming for us. He had to act quickly.'
‘Yes, but you don’t shoot pigs!'
‘What do you expect me to do?’ asked Mustapha. ‘Strangle it?'
‘What are you doing here, anyway? You shouldn’t be here. You’re just a –’
‘I can see one!’ shouted one of the horsemen excitedly. ‘Over there!'
‘Where? Where?'
‘This way, this way –’
They rode off.
‘Exciting enough for you now?’ asked Seymour.
They left the shot pig lying and walked over to where the men had made their kill. The stuck pig was lying on its side in a little clearing. It had been killed by a single thrust and a trickle of blood ran down into the sand from between its shoulders.
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