Now, she ran forward: With the muzzle not three feet from the sow's head, she pulled trigger again.
The pig's huge jaws road opened with deliberate width.

One forefoot was pinning the helplessly battling dog to earth, while she made ready to tear out his throat.
The second shot whizzed about her head and face.

Two or three of the pellets entered the open mouth.
With a sound that was neither grunt nor howl, yet which savored of both, the sow lurched back from the flash and roar and the anguishing pain in her tender mouth.

The Mistress whirled aloft the empty and useless gun and brought it crashing down on the pig's skull.

The carved mahogany stock broke in two.