I was about halfway to the house when I saw the tawny. It was coming
toward me, from behind the house a quarter-mile away. I crouched and
started a trot, and that seemed to attract it. It came in long, clumsy
bounds, and I could hear it huffing.
It was time to try the stunt from the old movie. The flick showed some
jungle joes hunting boar. This character was kneeling on the ground
with a spear in his hands. The butt was braced against the ground and
the point was toward the boar. The boar was charging. The idea seemed
to be that it would spit itself.
The tawny was close and I ran. I wanted him coming at a nice clip when
he hit my spear. I was between him and the moon, which I hoped would
keep him from seeing what he was running into.
I glanced over my shoulder and he was almost on me, coming like a
roller-coaster. I whirled, knelt, and raised the pointed rod.
The tawny took a terrific bound. I guess he thought he had me. He went
right over me, right over the spear, hit the ground and started rolling.
I got my legs going, covering ground in the opposite direction.
Glancing back, I saw the tawny getting up. His mouths were opening and
closing, but he wasn't making any noise. Couldn't, I guess, because of
some Earth difference, or his wind knocked out. It was obvious that he
wanted to.
This time he came like two roller-coasters and probably a rocket. I
jammed the butt of my spear down solid and shut my eyes. There was a
big thud. I opened my eyes. He had run the bar right through him and
was still coming, sliding right on down it. There was a hissing and
rushing, and clouds of violet vapor spurting from the puncture in him.
I got the hell out of there. Finally I stopped running and looked back.
He was staggering in ragged rings, his mouth gnashing at the bar,
moving slower and slower like a machine running down. He stumbled into
some little bushes, tangled, toppled, and there was a thrashing. The
air stunk with the escaping vapor. The thrashing quieted.