“Lots of things,” said the imperturbable Magnus. “I’ll tell you one of his Mexican stories, which he calls—
‘AN ENCOUNTER WITH PECCARIES.’
This is, as near as I can remember, the way he told it to me. I speak in his name.
“In my somewhat varied wanderings over the surface of this fair round world,” said my uncle, “I have had adventures more or less exciting, and generally disagreeable, with wolves, bears, and tigers, with irate and undiscriminating bulls, and with at least one of those painfully unpleasant horses, who have acquired a special relish for human flesh. Some childish memories, moreover, disclose to me at times that on more than one occasion I have come off without laurels from a contest with an indignant he-goat, and that I have even been in peril at the wings of an unusually aggressive gander. But of all the unpleasant acquaintances to make when one is feeling solitary and unprotected, I think a herd of irritated peccaries will carry off the palm. Let these sturdy little animals once conceive that their rights have been ever so little menaced, and they are tireless, implacable, and blindly fearless in their demand for vengeance. Just what they may interpret as a menace to their rights I suppose no man can say with any confidence; but my own observation has led me to believe that they think themselves entitled to possess the earth. The earth is much to be congratulated upon the fact that various climatic considerations have hitherto prevented them from entering upon their inheritance. The peccary is confined, I believe, and I state it here on the authority of reputable naturalists, to certain tropical and sub-tropical regions of the New World. My own limited acquaintance with the creature was gained in Mexico.
“Toward the end of the seventies I was engaged upon a survey of government lands in one of the interior provinces of Mexico. Our party was enjoying life, and troubled by few cares. There were no bandits in that region. The scanty inhabitants were more than well-disposed; they were ready to bow down before us in their deferential good-will. The climate, though emphatically warm, was healthful and stimulating. There were hardly enough pumas in the neighborhood to add to our content the zest of excitement. There were peccaries, as we were told in admonition, but we had seen no sign of them; and when we learned that they were only a kind of small wild pig we took little stock in the tales we heard of their unrelenting ferocity.
“On one of our numerous holidays—we could not work our peons on any saint’s day be it remembered—a rumor of a remarkable waterfall adorning a tributary of the stream which meandered past our camp had taken me a longish ride into the foothills of the Sierra. My journey was along a little-frequented trail leading into the mountains, and the scenery was fascinating in its loveliness. I found the waterfall easily enough, for the trail led past its very brink, and I was more than rewarded for the trifling fatigue of my ride. A vigorous stream, rolling from a winding ravine in such a manner that it seemed to burst right out of the mountain-side, leaped sparkling and clamoring into the air from a curtain of emerald foliage, and fell a distance of nearly two hundred feet into a very valley of paradise. In this valley, down into the bosom of which I gazed from my height, the stream lingered to form a sapphire lakelet, around whose banks grew the most luxuriant of tree-ferns and mahoganies and mesquits garlanded with gorgeous-bloomed lianas. I could hear the cries of parrots rising from the splendid coverts, and I thought what a delicious retreat the valley would be but for its assortment of snakes, miasma, and a probable puma or two. I enjoyed the scene from my post, but I did not descend. Then I turned my face homeward, well content.
“The horse I rode requires more than a passing mention, for he played the most prominent and most heroic part in the adventure which befell me on my way home. He was a superb beast, a blood bay, whom I had bought in the city of Mexico from an American engineer who was leaving the country. The animal, who answered to the name of Diaz, had seen plenty of service in the interior of Mexico, and his trained instincts had kept me out of many dangers. I loved Diaz as a faithful friend and servant.
“As I descended from the foothills the trail grew heavy and soft, making our progress slow. The land was open,—a succession of rank meadows, with clumps of trees dotted here and there, and pools on either side of the trail. Suddenly, some distance in my rear, there arose a shrill, menacing chorus of grunts and squeals, at which I would fain have paused to listen. But Diaz recognized the sounds, and bounded forward instantly with every sign of apprehension. Then I said to myself, ‘It must be those peccaries of which I’ve heard so much.’
“In a moment or two I realized that it certainly was those peccaries. They swarmed out of the rank herbage and dashed after us, gnashing their jaws; and, though Diaz was doing his best, the herd gained upon us rapidly. They galloped lightly over the soft soil wherein Diaz sank far above his fetlocks. It took me but a moment to realize, when at last face to face with them, that the peccaries were just as dangerous as they had been represented. And another moment sufficed to show me that escape by my present tactics was impossible.
“I was armed with a light breech-loading rifle,—a Remington,—and a brace of Smith & Wessons were sticking in my belt. Wheeling in my saddle I took a snap shot at the pursuing herd, and one of the animals tumbled in his tracks. His fellows took no notice of this whatever. Then I marked that Diaz appreciated our plight, for he was trembling under me. I looked about me, almost despairing of escape.