t like a cat's, and yet burrow, uproot, overturn, as if made of
metal. The long legs, thin flanks, pliant hoofs, fit him to run like a
deer and climb like a goat. In courage and sagacity he outranks all
other beasts. A warrior born, he is also a strategist of the first
order. Like man, he lives a communal life, and unites with others of his
kind for purposes of defense.

The pig is the only large mammal I know of, besides man, whose eyes
will not shine by reflected light--they are too bold and crafty, I wit.
The razorback has a mind of his own; not instinct, but _mind_--whatever
psychologists may say. He thinks. Anybody can see that when he is not
rooting or sleeping he is studying devilment. He shows remarkable
understanding of human speech, especially profane speech, and even an
uncanny gift of reading men's thoughts, whenever those thoughts are
directed against the peace and dignity of pigship. He bears grudges,
broods over indignities, and plans redresses for the morrow or the week
after. If he cannot get even with you, he will lay for your unsuspecting
friend. And at the last, when arrested in his crimes and lodged in the
pen, he is liable to attacks of mania from sheer helpless rage.

If you camp out in the mountains, nothing will molest you but razorback
hogs. Bears will flee and wildcats sneak to their dens, but the moment
incense of cooking arises from your camp every pig within two miles will
scent it and hasten to call. You may throw your arm out of joint: they
will laugh in your face. You may curse in five languages: it is music to
their titillating ears.

Throughout summer and autumn I cooked out of doors, on the woodsman's
range of forked stakes and a lug-pole spanning parallel beds of rock.
When the pigs came, I fed them red-pepper pie. Then all said good-bye to
my hospitality save one slab-sided, tusky old boar--and he planned a
campaign. At the first smell of smoke he would start for my premises.
Hiding securely in a nearby thicket, he would spy on the operations
until my stew got to simmering gently and I would retire to the cabin
and get my fists in the dough. Then, charging at speed, he would knock
down a stake, trip the lug-pole, and send my dinner flying. Every day he
would do this. It got so that I had to sit there facing the fire all
through my cooking, or that beast of a hog would ruin me. With this I
thought he was outgeneraled. Idle dream! He would slip off to my
favorite neighbor's, break t