CHAPTER IV.
THE PECCARIES.
In the middle of the clearing lay a ripped up horse, which six or eightpeccaries were rending, while a dozen others were attacking with theirtusks the stem of an enormous tree, in the topmost branches of which aman had sought shelter.
Let us explain to our readers, who probably know little about them, whatsort of animals the peccaries are. The peccaries hold the intermediategrade between the domestic pig and the wild boar. Although this animaldoes not exceed two feet in height, and is not more than three feet longfrom the end of the snout to the beginning of the tail, it isindubitably one of the most dangerous animals in North America. Theanimal's jaw is provided with tusks rather like those of the boar, butstraight and sharp, their length varying between four and six inches. Inthe shape of the body it resembles a pig, but the bristles scatteredover its warty hide are in colored strips; the part nearest the skin iswhite, and the point of a chocolate tinge. So soon as the animal isenraged, these bristles stand out like the quills of a porcupine.
The movements of the peccaries are as quick and sharp as those of asquirrel. They ordinarily live in herds of fifteen, thirty, and evenfifty. The strength of the head, neck, and shoulders is so great whenthey charge, that nothing can resist the impetuosity of their attacks. Aremarkable peculiarity of this genus is the clumsy wart they have ontheir backs, whence a musty fluid evaporates when the animal is in afury.
The peccary lives in preference on acorns, roots, wheat, sugar cane, andreptiles of every description. It is a proved fact that the mostvenomous serpents are devoured by them without their feeling in theslightest degree incommoded.
The mode in which the peccary forms its lair is very singular. This lairis generally in the midst of tufted and impenetrable canes, found inmarshy spots round the monarchs of the forest, which still stand likecrushed giants, with their grappling lines of creepers and virgin vines.The trunks of these trees, which at times measure forty feet incircumference, are nearly all hollow, and thus afford a convenientshelter for the peccaries, which retire to them every night in herds oftwenty to twenty-five, entering the cavity one after the otherbackwards; so that the last has the end of its snout placed just at theentrance of the hole, thus watching, as it were, over the rest of itscompanions.
The peccaries are unboundedly ferocious: they know not danger, or atleast despise it completely. They always attack in herds, and fight withunequalled rage until the last succumbs, no matter the nature of theirfoe.
Hence men and animals all fly a meeting with these terrible beasts: thejaguar, so strong and redoubtable, will become their prey if it be soimprudent as to attack them. This is the way they set about conqueringthis wild beast:--
When a jaguar has wounded a peccary, the latter collect, chase it, andpursue until they can contrive to surround the common enemy. When everyissue is closed, the jaguar, believing it can thus escape, seeks refugeup a tree. But the peccaries do not resign the vengeance; they establishthemselves at the foot of the tree, being incessantly recruited by freshallies, and patiently waiting till the jaguar, driven to extremities byhunger and thirst, decides on descending from its improvised fortress.This is almost always sure to happen at the end of two or three days atthe most. The jaguar bounds into the midst of its enemies, which boldlyawait it, and attack it bravely; a terrible fight commences; and thetiger, after covering the ground with victims, at length succumbsbeneath the efforts of its assailants, and is ripped up by their tusks.
After what we have said, it is easy to understand how precarious was theposition of the man perched on the top of the tree, and surrounded bypeccaries. His enemies seemed determined not to leave their ground; theycraftily crept round the tree, attacked its base with their tusks, andthen recognising the inutility of their onsets, they quietly lay down bythe carcass of the horse, which they had already sacrificed to theirfury. Don Miguel felt moved to pity for the poor fellow, whose positiongrew momentarily more critical; but in vain did he rack his brains howto help the unhappy man whose destruction was assured.
To attack the peccaries would have been extreme imprudence, and haveproduced no other result than that of turning on himself the fury of theanimals, while not saving the man he wished to help. Still time pressed.What was to be done? How, without sacrificing himself, save the man whoran so great a risk?
The Mexican hesitated for a long period. It seemed to Don Miguelimpossible to leave, without help, this man whose death was certain.This idea, which presented itself to his mind several times, he hadenergetically repulsed, so monstrous did it appear to him. At length heresolved at all risks to attempt impossibilities in favour of thisstranger, of whose death he would have eventually accused himself had heleft him to perish in the desert.
The stranger's position was the more critical because, in his haste todefend himself from the attacks of his enemies, he had left his riflefall at the foot of the tree, and was consequently unable to reduce thenumber of the peccaries. In spite of their fineness of scent, the latterhad not noticed Don Miguel's approach, who, by a providential accident,had entered the wood on the side opposite the wind. The Mexicandismounted with a sigh, patted his horse, and then took off itsaccoutrements. The noble animal, habituated to its master's caresses,shook his head joyously, and fixed its large intelligent eyes on him.Don Miguel could not repress another sigh: a tear fell down on hisbronzed cheeks. On the point of accomplishing the sacrifice, hehesitated.
It was a faithful companion, almost a friend, he was about to separatefrom; but the life of a man was at stake. The Mexican drove back thefeelings that agitated him, and his resolution was formed. He passed alasso round his horse's neck, and, in spite of its obstinate resistance,compelled it to advance to the entrance of the clearing in which thepeccaries were assembled. A frail curtain of creepers and leaves alonehid it from their sight. On arriving here Don Miguel stopped: he had onemore moment's hesitation, but only one; for then seizing a piece oftinder, which he lighted, he thrust it into the poor animal's ear whilecaressing it.
The effect was sudden and terrible. The horse uttered a snort of pain;and rendered mad by the burning, bounded forward into the clearing,striving in vain to get rid of the tinder which caused it intolerablesuffering. Don Miguel had smartly leaped aside, and now followed with ananxious glance the result of the terrible tentative he had just made tosave the stranger. On seeing the horse appear suddenly in their midst,the peccaries rose, formed a compact group and rushed with their headsdown in pursuit of the horse, thinking no longer of the man. The animal,spurred on still more by the sight of its ferocious enemies, shot aheadwith the speed of an arrow, breaking down with its chest all theobstacles in its way, and followed closely by the peccaries.
The man saved; but at what a price! Don Miguel repressed a last sigh ofregret, and leaped into the clearing. The stranger had already descendedfrom the tree; but the emotion he had undergone was so extreme, that heremained seated on the ground, almost in a state of unconsciousness.
"Quick, quick!" Don Miguel said to him sharply. "We have not a moment tolose: the peccaries may alter their minds and return."
"That is true," the stranger muttered in a hollow voice, as he cast aterrified glance around. "Let us be off--off at once."
He made an effort over himself, seized his rifle, and rose. Through apresentiment for which he could not account to himself, Don Miguelexperienced at the sight of this man, whom he had hitherto scarce lookedat, a feeling of invincible doubt and disgust. Owing to the life he wasobliged to lead on these frontiers, frequented by people of everydescription, the hacendero had been often brought into relation withtrappers and hunters whose faces were no recommendation to them; butnever ere now had chance brought him in contact with an individual ofsuch sinister appearance as this one.
Still he did not allow his feelings to be seen through, and invited thisman to follow him. The latter did not let the invitation be repeated;for he was anxious to escape from the spot where he had been so neardeath. Thanks to the Mexican'
s acquaintance with the country, the woodwas speedily traversed, and the two men, after a walk of scarce anhour's duration, reached the banks of the Del Norte, just opposite thevillage. Their speed had been so great, their anxiety so serious, thatthey had not exchanged a syllable, so terrified were they of seeing thepeccaries appear at any moment. Fortunately this was not the case, andthey reached the ford without being again disturbed.
Don Miguel was burdened with his horse's trappings, which he now threwon the ground, and looked around him in the hope of finding someone whowould help him in crossing the river. His expectations were notdeceived; for just as they reached the ford an _arriero_ was preparingto cross to the other side of the river with his _recca_ of mules, and,with the generosity innate in all Mexicans, he offered to carry themboth to the Paso. The two men eagerly accepted, each mounted a mule, andhalf an hour later they found themselves in safety at the village. Aftergiving the arriero a few reals to requite him for his services, DonMiguel took up his horse's trappings again, and prepared to start. Thestranger stopped.
"We are about to part here, caballero," he said in a rough voice, with avery marked English accent; "but before leaving, let me express to youmy deep gratitude for the noble and generous manner in which you savedmy life at the peril of your own."
"Sir," the Mexican simply answered, "I only did my duty in saving you.In the desert all men are brothers, and owe each other protection. Hencedo not thank me, I beg, for a very simple action: any other in my placewould have acted as I have done."
"Perhaps so," the stranger continued; "but be kind enough, pray, to tellme your name, so that I may know to whom I owe my life."
"That is needless," Don Miguel said with a smile. "Still, as I fancy youare a stranger in these parts, let me give you a piece of advice."
"What is it, sir?"
"Never in future to attack the peccaries. They are terrible enemies,only to be conquered by a strong body of men; and an individual inattacking them commits an unpardonable folly, to which he must fall avictim."
"Be assured, sir, that I shall profit by the lesson I have received thisday, and shall never put myself in such a wasps' nest again. I was toonear paying dearly for my imprudence. But I beg you, sir, do not let usseparate ere I know the name of my preserver."
"As you insist, sir, you shall learn it. I am Don Miguel de Zarate."
The stranger took a peculiar glance at the speaker, while repressing amovement of surprise.
"Ah!" he said in a singular tone, "Thanks, Don Miguel Zarate. Withoutknowing you personally, I was already acquainted with your name."
"That is possible," the hacendero answered; "for I am well known inthis country, where my family has been established for many a longyear."
"I, sir, am the man whom the Indians call Witchasta Joute, the Maneater,and the hunters, my companions, Red Cedar."
And after lifting his hand to his cap in salute, this man threw hisrifle on his shoulder, turned on his heel, and went off at full speed.Don Miguel looked after him for a while, and then walked pensivelytoward the house he inhabited at el Paso. The hacendero did not suspectthat he had sacrificed his favourite horse to save the life of his mostimplacable enemy.
The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West Page 4