actor—so intense, thrilling, surprising, and seemingly filled with a ghoulish glee.
Over and over they would break out clear and distinct above the tintamarre. I
have never been able to find out whether it belongs to the Malay or the Kling or
the Tamil.
The yelling became more distinct. A troop of brown and silver wah-wahs swung
with their long arms out to the very edge of the jungle and then up to the tops of
the highest trees, the while uttering the full, clear note from which they take their
name; followed by a troop of gray little jungle monkeys, whistling and scolding
at the unwonted disturbance. A colony of cicadas on the limbs of a great gutta
tree awoke into life and pierced our ears with buzz-saw strains.
In an instant we were all alert,—the heat was forgotten. At any minute a herd of
pigs might dart out and on to us, or possibly our drivers might rouse a tiger. The
screaming ascended to a delirious pitch—the pigs were discovered! I threw my
cartridge from the magazine into the barrel. It was a 50×95 Express and I had
perfect confidence that one ball to a pig was sufficient.
The yelling grew nearer until, with a sudden deploy, one hundred Klings and
Malays dashed out into the open, close on the heels of a dozen wild pigs. We
could just see their black backs above the grass, as they broke down a little
ravine in single file, led by a big, hoary boar with tusks. They were three
hundred yards off, but I could not resist the temptation. I brought my rifle to my
shoulder and fired twice in rapid succession. Two or three more shots were heard
beyond. I threw out the shells as the herd lunged on me. It was so sudden that I
was dazed, but fortunately so were the pigs, with the exception of a wary old
leader, who made into the jungle behind, almost between my legs. One little
fellow threw himself on his haunches for an instant and stared at me. I came to
my senses first and put a ball into his wondering eyes. My second shot was so
near that it tore away a pound of meat from his shoulder and killed him instantly.