A SKIRMISH WITH PECCARIES. 



J. M. SLOVENSKY. 



In February a native named Camucho 

 came to me, telling excitedly of an exten- 

 sive and rich copper ledge which he had 

 found in the Sierra Colorado mountains, 10 

 miles from town. He consented to take me 

 to examine it, and preparations were made 

 for the trip. Meantime my informant went 

 on to say that it would be well to take 

 along some shooting irons, as the spring 

 near which we expected to make our 

 camp was frequented by mountain lions, 

 Mexican tigers, peccaries or wild hogs, 

 deer and other game. This later informa- 

 tion was broken as gently as possible to 

 my friends, Ambrose and Jones, and 

 though their knees shook at the mention 

 of lions and tigers, they expressed them- 

 selves ready to risk their lives. 



A 3 hours' drive brought us to the moun- 

 tain, where a little spring keeps the skele- 

 tons inside the hides of a great number of 

 cattle and horses grazing in the surround- 

 ing country, and camp was made in the 

 bottom of the canyon. 



Camucho's rich copper ledge was a veg- 

 etable-stained, good-for-nothing pile of 

 rocks, and the trip expenses were charged 

 to the wrong side of the ledger. 



That evening no game was in sight ex- 

 cept in the imagination of Camucho, who 



fired 3 shots at a deer, which he did not 

 get. This did not surprise us, as his shoot- 

 ing iron was a 14-pound, old style, .44-50 

 rifle which had never been cleaned. 



The moon shone very bright, and sit- 

 ting by the carnp fire Camucho suddenly 

 began to tremble. Pointing toward the 

 spring he whispered, "Lion! lion!" 

 Faces turned pale when a slight splash was 

 heard, but there was courage enough left 

 to catch up the rifles. An Indian procession 

 was formed toward the sound. Friend 

 A. discovered some moving object and, 

 kneeling down, was taking deliberate aim 

 when Camucho, who was the last in the 

 procession, with a great relief exclaimed, 

 "Vaca! vaca!" 



The beast proved to be a cow. Our 

 faces, after a while, recovered some nat- 

 ural color, the sledgehammer blows of our 

 brave (?) hearts slackened their speed, and 

 with sighs of relief our pipes were refilled. 

 We tried to smoke, but the tremendous 

 and frequent puffs carried by the gentle 

 breeze into the canyon must have smoked 

 out any ferocious beast that may have in- 

 tended to drink at the spring. That night 

 there was no further excitement, and at 

 5 a. m. breakfast was ready. At daybreak 

 we scattered on the cattle and deer trails 



COLLARED PECCARY. 

 After the drawing by John J. Audubon. 

 93 



