After a long day's walking, over the hills and vallies, so beautiful beneath our azure winter-sky, walking which was delightful as an expedition, but unsuccessful as to sport, we crossed the track of a large boar.

We knew he was old by his being alone, and it was therefore very certain that he would show fight if we came up with him.

Patiently we followed the track over a low saddle, through a clump of brushwood menuka, the broken twigs of which showed how large an animal had just passed by.

Here and there a freshly grubbed-up Spaniard showed where he had paused for a snack; but at length we dropped down on the river bed, with its wide expanse of shingle, and there we lost all clue to our game.
After a little hesitation, F---- decided on climbing a high cliff on the right bank of the river, and trying to catch a glimpse of him.

The opposite hill-side was gaunt and bare; a southern aspect shut out the sun in winter, and for all its rich traces of copper ore, "Holkam's Head" found no favour in the eyes of either shepherds or master.