442 
THE STORY OF THE PECCARY. 
wage a unique warfare upon them, and it was upon such a mission that my 
friend and I set out. 
Just before day we arrived at one of the big logs in which the peccaries 
had taken refuge. Concealing ourselves we waited in silence for the com- 
ing light. 
Soon as the day opened, peering cautiously through the cane, we could 
perceive the protruded snout, and sharp, watchful eyes of the sentinel- 
peccary on duty, while his fellows behind him were asleep. Noiselessly the 
unerring rifle was raised, the ring of its explosion was heard, and, with a 
convulsive spring, the sentinel leapt forward out of the hole, and rolled in its 
death-struggle on the ground. Scarcely an instant passed before a low grunt 
was heard, and another pair of eyes were seen shining steadily in the place 
the other had just held. Not a sound was heard, not even a branch of the 
embowering cane stirred as I raised my rifle for the next shot. With steady 
nerve the piece was fired. Out sprang the second victim as the first had 
done; then another took its place, and so on to the third, fourth, fifth, and 
twentieth. By some carelessness my friend and I happened to make a stir in 
the cane around us, when out sprang the twenty-first with a short grunt with¬ 
out waiting to be shot this time, and followed by the whole herd, which was at 
once joined by a herd that came grunting and tearing from a similar hiding 
place. Both herds charged straight at us, and we took to our heels. 
With foresight gained by experience my planter friend had selected a 
place of concealment near a forest of large trees. Toward this we ran, and 
succeeded in reaching the lower branches before the enraged animals arrived 
at the base. From this vantage point we finally succeeded in killing the 
remainder of the droves. 
The peccary is both dreaded and hated by the South Americans, for it 
is so exceedingly ferocious, and so utterly devoid of all sense of fear, that it 
will always charge at any object that comes in its way; an elephant would not 
scare it, if an elephant were to be transported to South America. So it puts 
to flight those whom it attacks, and they fly before it in mixed fear and wrath 
against the pugnacious little animals which are pursuing them. 
It is small, rarely exceeding eighteen inches in height, and yet is not 
less dreaded than the most savage wild boar would be. Its jaws are armed 
with tusks, like those of the boar, but they are straight instead of curved, are 
sharp at the edges, and, although only about an inch and a half in length, 
inflict horrible wounds, on account of the muscular strength of the creature’s 
neck. When a body of them charge against an enemy, fancied or real, they 
