Foam—A Razor-Backed Hog 
Prunty struggled along behind, but the pace was 
overhot for him. The answering shouts from 
Hill Billy became very faint; so, tired and wrathy, 
Prunty sat down on a log to rest and wait for 
something to turn up. 
A quarter of an hour passed. He was breathed, 
and feeling better now, but there was no guiding 
sound to tell of the hunter’s whereabouts. An- 
other quarter of an hour, and Prunty left his log to 
seek the high lookout of Kogar’s Hill. And getting 
there after a slow tramp, he sat again to wait. 
Nearly an hour in all had gone, when down in the 
swale by the branch that fed the Kogar’s Creek 
he heard mixed sounds of something moving in the 
low woods, and he made for the place. 
After a short time he stopped to listen, and 
heard only the “‘jay, jay” of the Bluejay. Then 
once in the silence came the unmistakable shrill- 
ing of a pig in distress, the call for help. Once it 
came, and all was still. 
Prunty pushed forward as quickly as he could, 
and as silently.* He was nearing the open woods Bees . : 
along the Kogar’s Creek. 
There were confused noises ahead, sounds of , 
action rather than of voices, but sometimes there = ¢, 
came voices, too: animal voices, voices that told ye 
of many and divers living things. a 
79 ee 
