BIG GAME.

When a man or a boy goes hunting—­in a book—­he might just as well go after good big game as after these little things that you see about home.  So let us leave chipmunks, rabbits, and tit-birds to those poor fellows who have to shoot with real guns, and are obliged to be home in time for supper, and let us go out into the wide world, to hunt the very largest and most savage beasts we can find.  It is perfectly safe,—­in a book.

As we can go wherever we please, suppose we try our skill in hunting the Wild Boar.  He will be a good beast to begin with, because he is tolerably convenient, being found in Southern Europe, Palestine, and neighboring countries, and also because he is such a destructive rascal, when he comes into the neighborhood of civilization, that every one will be much obliged to us for killing him.  If he chances to get into a vineyard, in company with a set of his reckless fellows, there is small chance for a vintage that year.  He tears down the vines, devours the grapes, green and ripe, and breaks and ruins trellises and everything within his reach.

If we are so fortunate as to get sight of him, we will find that he is no easy game to bag.  Very different is he from his tame brethren with which we are acquainted—­old grunters, who wallow about the mud-puddles and sleep serenely for hours, with their fat sides baking in the sun.  The wild boar is as fast as a horse, and as savage as the crossest bull.  He can run so that you can scarcely catch up to him with your nag at the top of his speed, and when you do reach him he will be very apt, if you are not watchful, to rip up your horse with his tusks and cut some terrible gashes in your own legs, besides.

[Illustration:  WILD BOAR.]

We must shoot this fellow as soon as we can get a good chance, for those sharp tusks will be ready for us, if we come too close, and if he increases the distance between us, he may get among the rocks and hills, where he will surely escape, for our horses cannot go over those rough ascents at the rate the boar would gallop.

When at last he is shot, the boar is capital eating.  His flesh is far superior to common pork, possessing the peculiar delicate flavor which belongs to most wild meat.  If we could shoot a wild boar every few days, we would be sure to fare very well during our hunting expedition.

But we must press on after other game, and we will now try and get a shot at a musk-ox.  We shall have to go somewhat out of our way to find this animal, for he lives in the upper portions of North America, but an ocean and a continent or two are not at all difficult to cross—­in a book.

The musk-ox is about as large as a small cow; he has very short legs, and horns which are very large and heavy.  They extend over his forehead and seem as if they were parted in the middle, like a dandy’s front hair.  It is probable, if we get near enough to one of them, that we shall have no trouble in shooting him; but there is sometimes danger in this sport.  A sailor once went out to hunt musk-oxen, and, to his great surprise, soon found that they intended to hunt him.  A herd got after him, and one big fellow was on the point of crushing him with his great horns, when he dodged behind a rock, against which the furious animal came like a battering-ram.