Bob Emmons and I sat on the front porch and had some liquid refreshment. It was our first chance to talk in the five years since Bob moved from Ambergris Caye. His ranch was at the edge of the jungle near Spanish Lookout over by the Guatemalan border.
“This is a beautiful place you have here,” I told him.
“It’s nice living out here in the bush,” Bob said. “Everything is quiet and peaceful.”
“Hey, do you have any paths in the jungle that I could hike on?” I asked, after a while. “I’m feeling adventurous.”
“Sure.”
He pointed at an opening in the bush at the edge of the clearing.
“Be careful, though. Some Maya in the village up the road told me they saw a lot of warries around.”
“Warries? Are you talking about the wild boars?”
“They are actually white-lipped peccaries but the locals call the ones with the big tusks warries. They are as dangerous as a jaguar and can kill you just as quickly.”
About a quarter of a mile into the jungle I encountered a little Maya standing next to a dead warrie. From all of the foot prints and blood it looked like quite a struggle had taken place.
Amazed, I asked, “Did you kill this warrie?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re just a little guy,” I said. “How did you kill it?”
“I killed it with my club.”
“How big is your club?” I asked.
“There’s about forty of us.”
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