Both lads began struggling toward him with an energy and determination that sent the perspiration streaming over their faces.
“I guess this thing has gone far enough!” panted Dave. “We’ll give them a jolly good scare!”
“It doesn’t pay to be too good-natured to peccaries,” said Sam.
Don Stratton passed through some decidedly unpleasant moments before he was once more on his feet, and by this time Dave and Sam were not far away, and neither were the wild hogs.
“Just leave them to us, Don!” cried Dave. “We’ve declared war—no—don’t shoot—keep on moving!” Before he ceased speaking the stout lad had drawn out his revolver. Don saw the weapon, its muzzle pointed upward, flashing in the gray half-light of the woods. Then came a spurt of vivid flame and a loud startling report which echoed weirdly, while a thin wisp of bluish smoke floated lazily off among the bushes.
“Hooray! hooray!” yelled Don.
The advance was instantly halted. Frightened squeals and grunts came from the animals, some of which in their wild efforts to escape scrambled over one another’s backs.
“Let ’em hear a few more!” shouted Don. Disregarding Dave’s shake of the head he pulled out his own revolver and, with a newly-awakened enthusiasm for sport, began blazing away. Crack! crack! In rapid succession the shots rang out until every chamber was emptied and a cloud of smoke hovered in the air.
Sam, with a broad smile, for good measure fired a single shot, though it was not at all necessary, for the peccaries in full flight were tearing and crashing through the underbrush, the noise of their passage rapidly becoming fainter.
The boys watched until the last form was lost to view and then burst out into a roar of laughter.