I was just going to remount, when I heard the sound of a herd of peccaries or Mexican swine coming toward me, probably in search of water. As the undergrowth was not very dense on the side of the stream, I was able to see them coming for some distance. There were about twenty old pigs, with a lot of sucklings; they ran very slowly, and I had time to pick out a fat boar. I shot it; sprang on my horse at once, and, as I expected, found the whole herd dash furiously after me. I had room before me, and dashed through them into the forest. They did not follow me, and I granted them time to bid adieu to their fallen comrade, while I led Czar into the wild oats which grew luxuriantly here. In a quarter of an hour I rode back to my game. The herd had retired; and I at once cut away the musk gland which the boar had on its back, of the size of an egg: for if I had allowed it to grow cold it would have been impossible to eat the meat, owing to the powerful musky taste. The boar weighed about fifty pounds; I cut off the best joints, and took one of the tusks as a souvenir, on account of its remarkable length. The peccari is very frequently met in the western mountains of America, and often in herds of a hundred head. It has a handsome, silver-grey, long-haired skin, an enormous head for its size with tremendous tusks, and is remarkable for its extraordinary courage. If disturbed, it will attack a man as soon as a horse or a tiger, and is very dangerous through its agility, strength, and tusks five inches long. I have known a hunter to be attacked by a herd, and forced to take shelter up a tree, where he remained the whole night till the herd retired.