8 
FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1919 
took the west side of the wash with the 
hope of starting the vanished herd. In 
attempting to follow the tracks the lat- 
ter became separated after circling to- 
ward the mountains, and the writer de- 
cided that Rob, and probably the other 
men also, were by this time tramping 
up the canyon ; therefore he hurried 
along about fifty feet above the canyon 
bed on its sloping wall. A herd of wild 
burros that had been watching his move- 
ments from a distance and listening in- 
tently with long ears erect, scampered 
precipitately down into the wash fol- 
lowed by an avalanche of rock and 
gravel. None of the party was in sight 
and he thought that the chances of get- 
ting a shot at a pig were slim, for the 
others would alarm any game that hap- 
pened to be ahead. Suddenly a shot 
rang out a half mile ahead, apparently 
just around a curve in the canyon. This 
confirmed the writer’s fears. However 
he determined to keep a sharp lookout, 
and accordingly mounted a high rock 
nearby. Shortly after the third shot 
broke the quiet an object with that 
telltale lumbering gallop came into sight 
far in the distance, backed into a clump 
of bushes, and turned its head in the 
direction of the alarming sound exactly 
like a barnyard hog. Adjusting* the 
sights carefully the writer let go at the 
tusker. With the report of the rifle the 
pig bounded forward and galloped wildly 
out of sight. Although there were small 
hopes of seeing the brute again a fresh 
cartridge was pumped into the chamber 
ready for a second shot if he should enter 
an open space between the clumps of 
cat’s claw. After a few seconds the pig 
reappeared as suddenly as he had dis- 
appeared, this time about two hundred 
yards distant. Just on the bank of a 
narrow wash he paused, and the writer 
blazed away again for a spot just back 
of the pig’s head. The instant the rifle 
cracked the pig lunged forward into an 
impenetrable thicket of thornbush con- 
taining heaps of driftwood carried down 
by freshets, and much to the disappoint- 
ment of the hunter, failed to emerge. 
One of the most disturbing things that 
can happen to the writer is to have rea- 
son to think that an animal has been 
wounded and left, but although an hour 
was spent in search the boar was not 
to be located. 
In the meantime excited shouts farther 
up the canyon told of bagged game. 
Some one shouted “Two pigs: a young 
sow and a yearling boar.” “Who got 
them?” “Wade.” “Might have known,” 
was the comment. “The greenest hunter 
always has the luck.” But the comments 
were in fun. A part of the hunter’s 
task remained however, that was any- 
thing but fun, for two of the party 
especially. The game must be dressed 
and carried into camp. Now the Amer- 
ican wild pig is really a peccary, and 
you realize the difference at once when 
you begin dressing operations. As one 
of the party remarked, a peccary seems 
to be second cousin to a skunk until 
the scent bag is removed. This interest- 
ing piece of anatomy is located on the 
back about a fourth of the distance from 
rump to head. It is about three or four 
inches long, oval in outline, and has 
an aperture near the center in the end 
of a small, wart-like elevation. The 
bag is removed easily by cutting the 
hide around it, and until this is done 
the strain on the olfactory nerves of 
the operator is certainly anything but 
mild. While the writer attended to the 
yearling Wade attacked the young pig. 
Much to the amusement of the party 
he had quietly plugged his nostrils with 
some cotton, and protected in this way 
he proceeded to remove scent bag and 
entrails. Thus lightened, the game was 
hung on a palo verde pole and carried 
slowly into camp by two of the men, 
while the others hurried on ahead in or- 
der to have coffee ready. And maybe 
that coffee didn’t taste good! 
At supper Wade told how he had dis- 
covered the herd. He had become sep- 
arated from his hunting partner and had 
finally posted himself on a large rock. 
From this vantage point he saw the herd 
down below him rooting up something 
in the valley below. The something 
proved to be the large brown roots of 
canaigre, a Rumex somewhat like the 
yellow dock of the north. His first shots 
had killed the young pig, but the boar 
was considerably harder to get. 
I N conclusion it may be said that the 
wild pig or peccary of Arizona, New 
Mexico and Texas ranges southward 
into Central America. Its color is dark 
grey with a lighter, band-like streak over 
the shoulders. It is about three feet 
long. An interesting deviation from pig 
characteristics is the birth of but two 
young to a litter. Books state that the 
collared peccary seldom lives in herds, 
but hunters tell of seeing a hundred or 
more together in the mountains of north- 
ern Mexico. When cornered, or when one 
of the herd is wounded, the peccary be- 
comes dangerous. Many stories are told 
of fatal attacks on hunters, and quite 
recently in the region visited on the hunt 
just described a drove treed a hunter 
and kept him aloft until he decimated its 
numbers with his magazine rifle. Dur- 
ing the winter and early spring the pec- 
cary is to be found in washes in the foot- 
hills where it finds an abundance of 
canaigre and other roots ; during the re- 
mainder of the year its habitat is at a 
higher elevation. The flesh of young pec- 
cary is much like veal. In the judgment 
of the writer this animal should be pro- 
tected throughout that part of its range 
which lies within the United States by 
a closed season during its breeding time 
and a limit to the number that may be 
killed in one season. 
The wild pigs were slung on a palo verde pole and carried slowly into camp, where the camera was brought into play 
