and I heard Bulka whining piteously. The boar was grunting and charging the hound, which, with his tail between his legs, was backing away from him. I had a fair shot at the side and the head of the boar. I aimed at his side and fired; I could see that my shot took effect. The boar uttered a squeal, and turning from me dashed into the thicket. The dogs ran barking and yelping on his trail. I broke my way through the thicket after them.
Suddenly I heard and saw something under my very feet. It was Bulka. He was lying on his side and whining. Under him was a pool of blood. I said to myself, "My dog is ruined;" but now I had something else to attend to, and I rushed on.
Soon I saw the boar. The dogs were attacking him from behind, and he was snapping first to one side, then to the other. When the boar saw me, he made a dash at me. I fired for the second time, with the gun almost touching him, so that his bristles were singed. The boar gave one last grunt, stumbled, and fell with all his weight on the ground.
When I reached him, he was already dead; only here and there his body twitched, or purled up a little.
But the dogs, with bristling hair, were tearing at his belly and his legs, and others were licking the blood from where he was wounded.
That reminded me of Bulka, and I hastened back to find him. He crawled to meet me, and groaned. I went to him, knelt down, and examined his wound. His belly was torn open, and a whole mass of his bowels protruded and lay upon the dry leaves.
When my comrades joined me, we replaced Bulka's intestines, and sewed up his belly. While we were sewing up his belly and puncturing the skin, he kept licking my hand.
They fastened the boar to a horse's tail, so as to bring it from the woods, and we put Bulka on a horse's back, and thus we brought him home. Bulka was an invalid for six weeks, but he got well at last.
