NOMADS OF THE FOREST 171 



I saw an object which at first seemed to be a curiously 

 shaped stump. I looked at it casually, then something 

 about it arrested my attention. Suddenly a tail switched 

 nervously and I reaUzed that the "stump" was an enor- 

 mous wild boar standing head-on, watching me. 



I fired instantly, but even as I pressed the trigger 

 the animal moved and I knew that the bullet would 

 never reach its mark. But my brain could not telegraph 

 to my finger quickly enough to stop its action and the 

 boar dashed away unharmed. It was the largest pig 

 I have ever seen. As he stood on the summit of the 

 ridge he looked almost as big as a Mongol pony. It was 

 too dark to follow the animal so I returned to camp, a 

 very dejected man. 



I have never been able to forget that boar and I sup- 

 pose I never shall. Later, I killed others but they can 

 never destroy the memory of that enormous animal as 

 he stood there looking down at me. Had I realized that 

 it was a pig only the fraction of a second sooner it would 

 have been a different story. But that is the fortune of 

 shooting. In no other sport is the line between success 

 and failure so closely drawn; of course, it is that which 

 makes it so fascinating. At the end of a long day's hunt 

 one chance may be given; then all depends on a clear 

 eye, a steady hand and, above all, judgment. In your 

 action in that single golden second rests the success or 

 failure of, perhaps, a season's trip. You may have trav- 

 eled thousands of miles, spent hundreds of dollars, and 

 had just one shot at the "head of heads." 

 Some men tell me that they never get excited when 



