Chapter 16 - The Boy Hunters by Mayne Reid
Jeanette and the Javalies
Next morning they were astir at an early hour; and, after giving the remains of the gobbler a hurried “devilling,” they ate them, and rode off on the back trail. They did not put the dog upon it to guide them—as the scent was now cold, and they feared that Marengo, keen as he was, might get astray upon it. They trusted to find it from their own tracks, and the “blazes” they had made. It was a slow process, and they were obliged to make frequent halts; but it was a sure one, and they preferred it on that account, as they knew the importance of getting back to Jeanette. The tent, with all their provisions and implements, was in her keeping.
They were in high spirits—as most people are who have just escaped from a perilous adventure—and joked each other as they rode along. Lucien was without a shirt—for Marengo had torn it, and it was now draggled, wet, and worthless. This was a staple joke for François. Jeanette came in for a share of their badinage, as Lucien now remembered that he had tied her head within a foot of the tree, and of course she would be all this time without eating a morsel. Moreover, in their hurry, the pack had been left upon her back; and that was not likely to improve her temper.
It was near mid-day when they came within sight of her.
“Hilloa!” exclaimed François, who first caught a glimpse of her round a point of timber. “What’s going on yonder?”
All three halted, and looked across the plain with astonishment depicted in their faces; and no wonder, for a sight it was to astonish anybody. It was Jeanette, to be sure; but Jeanette in most singular attitudes. Her heels were flying in the air—now her fore-feet, now her hind ones—not in single flings, but in constant and rapid kicking. Sometimes the whole set appeared to bounce up at once; and the white canvas of the tent, which had got loosened, was flapping up and down, as her body rose and fell.
The boys looked on for a moment, with feelings of curiosity, not unmingled with fear. “It might be Indians,” thought they.
“No,” said Basil. “It is wolves—she is attacked by wolves! Let us hasten to her rescue!”
All three spurred their horses into a gallop, and soon got within a few hundred yards. They could now see the ground by the mule’s feet, which was covered, not with wolves, but with animals of a far different species. They were hog-shaped, with small, dark bodies, and long pointed snouts. They had no tails—only knobs in their place; and their tapering snouts opened into a pair of long jaws, with white tusks, that could be seen even in the distance.
“Javalies!” cried Lucien, who, although he had never seen the animal, knew them from description. Javalies they were in fact—the wild-hogs of Mexico.
All three had pulled up, as soon as they saw the animals were not wolves. They did not halt long, for Jeanette was in danger. She was still kicking and squealing like a cat; while the javalies, although several of them lay stretched behind her heels, were uttering their shrill grunts, and rushing at her shanks whenever these rested for a moment upon the earth. There were more than a hundred of them around her feet. The ground was literally covered with their dark forms, crowding each other, and springing nimbly about.
Without waiting to consider the danger, Basil dashed into their midst, followed by François and Lucien. It was well they were mounted, else they never would have come out of that crowd again. All three had fired as they rode up. They believed that this would have scattered the drove; but they found their mistake, for although each of them shot down a victim, it had no effect; and the next moment, their three horses were hopping about, plunging and pitching as badly as Jeanette. The javalies surrounded them with shrill gruntings, driving their tusks into the horses’ shanks, and leaping up almost high enough to reach the riders themselves. It was well for them they were good riders. Had any of them been unhorsed at that moment, his fate would have been sealed. They kept their saddles, however, but without being able to reload their pieces. Marengo, who was an old Texas hound, had seen javalies before; and having wisely shied off upon the prairie, stood looking on.
The young hunters soon saw that it was no use keeping their ground, and prepared to retreat. Basil urged his horse forward to the tree, and with his hunting-knife cut the lasso that fastened Jeanette; then, shouting to his brothers to follow, started in a gallop across the prairie.
Perhaps never was a mule more pleased at getting loose from a fastening than was that she-mule Jeanette; and never did a mule make better use of the heels that had been left her. She galloped over the prairie, as if the very deuce had been after her. But if he was not, the javalies were; for on came the whole drove, scores of them, grunting and screaming as they ran.
The horses easily distanced them. So, too, did Marengo—but there was still danger for Jeanette. She had been now nearly two days without either food or water, and was weak in consequence. Her legs, too, were much torn by the tusks of the wild-hogs. Moreover, the tent that had got loose, trailing on one side to the ground, considerably impeded her flight. This last circumstance in the end proved her salvation; for the javalies, overtaking her, seized the hanging canvas in their jaws, and pulled it from the pack. It fell spreading over the grass like a blanket; and the herd, now coming up and mistaking it for their real enemy, commenced stamping upon it with their hoofs, and tearing it with their teeth. This gave Jeanette time; and she was just the mule at that moment to profit by it. Lightened of her load, she struck out into a fleet gallop, and soon overtook the horses; and the whole cavalcade now kept on, until they had placed several miles between themselves and the javalies. Here they halted with the intention of pitching their camps, as their animals were not only wearied, but Jeanette was hardly able to travel at all. The process of “pitching camp” was now considerably simplified, as they had lost not only their tent, but several of their camp utensils.
What had induced the javalies to attack the mule? This was the subject of conversation with our adventurers, as soon as they had fairly cooled from their race. They knew that these creatures rarely make an assault in such a manner without provocation. But it was likely Jeanette had given them this. No doubt they had been wandering about in search of food, and lighted upon the turkeys, that Lucien and Basil in their haste had left lying upon the ground. The wild-hogs are not particular as to their food. They will eat fish, flesh, or fowl, snakes, or vegetables; and, finding the brace of birds, had commenced devouring them. In doing so they had come within reach of Jeanette’s heels; who, at that moment not being in the best temper had no doubt let fly, and kicked one of them over, and this of course had led to a general onslaught from the whole herd.
It was well for Jeanette that her masters arrived when they did, else her old ribs would soon have cracked under the sharp tusks of the enraged animals.
The javalies, or peccaries—as they are more often termed by naturalists—are in general of a harmless disposition; and, if not interfered with, will rarely make an attack upon man. When provoked, however—by one of their number being wounded, or even when their haunt is invaded—they become both fierce and dangerous. Though small creatures, they possess extreme courage; and their powerful jaws and large tusks render them formidable assailants. Like all animals of the hog species when enraged, they seem to be unconscious of danger; and a herd of them will battle with an enemy until every one has fallen. Not unfrequently the Mexican hunter is “treed” by javalies, and compelled to remain on his perch for hours, and sometimes for days, before his besiegers retire, and leave him to descend with safety.