In the meanwhile the porcupine had turned quietly to his own peaceful pursuits, chattering and whimpering up a young pine tree and stopping for a nibble or two at the bark as he went. He had apparently forgotten the existence of the dog and cared not a rap of his prickly tail for anything else alive.
But the dog had by no means forgotten him.
When the boys arrived in camp a half-hour later they discovered a white patch lying beside the pump in a puddle of water.
“Look there,” Scott exclaimed, “there’s the dog. He looks sort of tired.”
“Probably ran a hundred miles,” Bill commented. “Let’s see if he has shaken all those quills.”
The dog, lying in a position of exhausted prostration, paid no attention to them. Tired out as he was he held his head wearily up from the ground.
“Gee, look at those quills,” Scott cried excitedly.
“Has more in his head than the porcupine,” Bill said. He stepped forward and tried to pull out one of the quills. With a yelp of pain the dog snapped at him viciously. “They won’t pull out and they must hurt him worse than tight shoes. I wonder how we can get them out?”
Just then Professor Mertz appeared with an armful of gunny sacks and a pair of pliers. “Do you fellows want to take a hand in a surgical operation?” he asked.
“Sure,” Bill said. “We saw how he got ’em in, and now we’d like to see how you get ’em out.” He told the story of the brief, one-sided battle.