Omaha daily bee., 1885-04-03

rose to his feet as we drew near him and
rushed forward to meet us. The engine
struck him and hurled him fifty feet out
Into the woods. We had finished the
drove.
al found out a good many things about
the peccsry before l left Texas. There
was a time when nothing would kill a
peccary but the poisoned arrows of the
Central American Indians, but that was
before the days of Winchester rifles. A
bullet from q Winchester Is just search
Ing enough to find a peccary's vitals, but
the range don't want to be too long.
When a man goes out hunting peccarles
he doesn't trip lightly through the forest
aud stealing upon the unsuspectlng game
and bring 1t down with his rifle. No, not
when he hunts peccarles. If he did,
nineteen seconds after he fired his shot
he would be apportloned out among the
drove In %two.ounce lots, buttons, boots,
and baggage counted in. The daring
peccsry.hunter shins up a tall tree, near
where the charming creature will more
than likely soon come to feed on scorns
or mast. The peccary has but one vir-
tue-he can't climb q tree. Perched
safely on a limb, the brave
huntsmsn waits for the peccary's
coming, and when the drove
comes trottlng and gruntipg along be-.
peccary's heart. The wounded peccary
lies down at once. He knows just what's
the matter. He turns his glitterlng head
of an eye up to the hunter, and dies
without uttering q sound. One peccary
killed out of a drove, the hunter must
have ammunition enough to kill the rest,
or provisions enough to las. him a year,
for the survivors at once take positions
around the foot of the tree, and there
they sit on their launches, now and then
gnawing furlously at the trunk of the
tree, waiting for the hunter to come
down. If hate, in the fullest sense of
the word, can be expressed by looks and
actions then the peccary can look and
act 1t toward human beings. The hun.
ter shoots n after another OF the walt
ing drove, and each one as 1t Is wounded
lies down without a murmer and dies,
never removing Its eyes from its slayer.
The living pay nc attention to the dead
or dying, but sit there on their launches
hoping for revenge until the last one
dies.
"'No, s-a-a-h! said the native rail-
roader to me oncs. THE pec'ry hain't
got no use f. fear. An as f being tough,
[ never heerd O. nswthin' no as tough
as they be. A hip'otamus is only Just
larnin' to be tough, 'longslde of a pec'ry.
Ii l didn't know noways else that pec'ries
wasn't 'feerd O. nawthin' an was tough,
I'd know it thrum what l see with my
own eyes once. l see a cycloon a tearln'
long over the persiry one day, an light
min was tagging about it like fireworks.
An roar? Great t'rantuly's ghost! how
1t did roar! l was so 'feerd that / jis'
laid down and shuck. The clouds were
kin O. cattycornerin' way thrum me, an
want more than a quarter of a mile off.
1t was cuttin' right along the grass, an
oh! how that lightnin' did jag! 1 had to
keep my eyes on 1t, an what did I see
but a big druv of psc'ries tearin' right
along to get In front of 1t an tackle 1t.
Its roarin' had 'sturbed EN-, I s'pect, an
they jis' resht out to get a lick at 1t.
WAL, now, 1t Jis' swooped Mr.. Peo'ries
up inter it's bowels bout as slick as any.
thin We aver see an then fire begun to
fly In chunks out O. that black cloud
pieces O. lightnin', a foot long, some of
'em.
THAT cycloon's grlndin' ssssiges out
O. them pec'ries, sure, l says, but they're
moran maxim the sparks fly out O. the
mill, Gays l.
"'Seddintly the cycloon turned an
tore back towards whar l was layin',
'feerd O. my life. 1t passed by me 50 nigh
that I had to dig my fingers an toes in
the dirt an hold on to keep thrum jinin'
1t. AS it slid by 1 see what was maxim
the fire fly. 1 could see them pec'ries in
the cloud as plain as 1 kin see you this
minute, an they was nippin' into them
sharp jags o lightn'n' tooth an nall, an
a bittn' off an THROWN out chunks O. the
death.dealin' stuff a foot long, l follered
that cycloon with my eye for ten mile,
an could see them chunks O lIghtnin'
fallin' all the way. Jis fur curiosity !
walked over the track O. that cloud mex
day, an never foun' a dead pec'ry; but 1
come out In sight of a flock of EN- feedin'
jis' whar the cycloon let up, an could
see hat they was slnged a lettle, an
know'd that they was the ones that had
tackled that big ball O. wind an llghtnin'
an tuckered 1t out
"You may think the native draw 1t a
little strong" concluded the engineer;
shut then you've never aeen a peccary.'