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“I hit him! The spear stuck in—”
Now they came, unexpectedly, to an open space by the sea. Jack cast about on the bare rock and looked anxious.
“He's gone.”
“I hit him,” said Ralph again, “and the spear stuck in a bit.”
He felt the need of witnesses.
“Didn't you see me?”
Maurice nodded.
“I saw you. Right bang on his snout—Wheee!”
Ralph talked on, excitedly.
“I hit him all right The spear stuck in. I wounded him!”
He sunned himself in their new respect and felt that hunting was good after all.
“I walloped him properly. That was the beast, I think!” Jack came back.
“That wasn't the beast That was a boar.”
“I bit him.”
“Why didn't you grab him? I tried—”
Ralph's voice ran up.
“But a boar!”
Jack flushed suddenly.
“You said he'd do us. What did you want to throw for? Why didn't you wait?”
He held out his arm.
“Look.”
He turned his left forearm for them all to see. On the outside was a rip; not much, but bloody.. “He did mat with his tusks. I couldn't get my spear down in time.”
Attention focused on Jack.
“That's a wound,” said Simon, “and you ought to suck it Like Berengaria.”
Jack sucked.
“I hit him,” said Ralph indignantly. “I bit him with my spear, I wounded him.”
He tried for their attention.
“He was coming along the path. I threw, like this—”
Robert snarled at him. Ralph entered into the play and everybody laughed. Presently they were all jabbing at Robert who made mock rushes.
Jack shouted.
“Make a ring!”
The circle moved in and round. Robert squealed in mock terror, then in real pain.
“Ow! Stop it! You're hurting!”
The butt end of a spear fell on his back as he blundered among them.
“Hold him!”
They got his arms and legs. Ralph, carried away by a sudden thick excitement, grabbed Eric's spear and jabbed at Robert with it.
“Kill him! Kill him!”
All at once, Robert was screaming and struggling with the strength of frenzy. Jack had him by the hair and was brandishing his knife. Behind him was Roger, fighting to get close. The chant rose ritually, as at the last moment of a dance or a hunt.
“Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in!”
Ralph too was fighting to get near, to get a handful of that brown, vulnerable flesh. The desire to squeeze and hurt was over-mastering.
Jack's arm came down; the heaving circle cheered and made pig-dying noises. Then they lay quiet, panting, listening to Robert's frightened snivels. He wiped his face with a dirty arm, and made an effort to retrieve his status.
“Oh, my bum!”
He rubbed his rump ruefully. Jack rolled over.
“That was a good game.”
“Just a game,” said Ralph uneasily. “I got jolly badly hurt at rugger once.”
“We ought to have a drum,” said Maurice, “then we could do it properly.”
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