“He certainly has his share of them,” said the Professor. “His eyes seem to be swollen shut, and it is little short of a miracle if there is not a quill in them. We’ll do our best for him, but he’ll be a pretty sick dog even if it does not kill him.”
As Professor Mertz talked he slipped several layers of sacking under the dog’s body and wrapped him in it, securely binding his legs to his body. The dog, seeming to realize that someone was trying to help him, submitted quietly.
“Now you fellows wrap a lot of this sacking around your hands so that he cannot bite you and hold him as still as you can while I try to get at those quills. He’ll probably fight pretty hard.”
When the dog was securely pinioned Professor Mertz cautiously fastened the pinchers on a quill in the dog’s nose and pulled. With a yelp of pain the dog snapped wildly and made a desperate struggle to get away. The boys were surprised to see how hard the quills pulled till a careful examination showed the dozens of little barbs turned viciously backward. The operation was repeated again and again. A close examination discovered an almost innumerable number of quills. Some of them pierced the under jaw and protruded into the mouth, some which struck the roof of the mouth poked their vicious points through the skin on top of the nose, still others pierced the lips and tongue, while countless others stuck up in the face and ears like pins in a crowded cushion. Overcome by the pain the dog ceased his struggles and only emitted a plaintive whimper as the venomous little barbs were drawn.
“Don’t you know that hurts?” Scott said, as he watched how the skin was drawn to a point on the extraction of each quill. “I don’t see how he can stand it.”
Price was silently counting the quills. “Ninety-six,” he announced as Professor Mertz drew the last visible barb. “Just think of it. Ninety-six in that little space, and with one slap of that clumsy tail.”
By that time most of the boys had come in and were standing around in a wondering group listening to the oft-repeated story of the encounter, and marveling at the number of quills. The poor dog seemed to have given up completely. He no longer made the slightest move or demonstration. He apparently had no interest in anything. His face was swollen till his eyes were completely shut and the blood trickled freely from the dozens of little punctures. Professor Mertz bathed the fevered head and gently carried the patient over to a quiet corner of the shed.
“Now,” he said, “you boys want to be careful how you touch him for a week or two. I have pulled out all the quills in sight, but there are probably some others in his flesh which will gradually work to the surface and if you should happen to strike one of them in patting him he would probably bite you—for they make a nasty sore.”
For the next week Bobs was a pretty sick dog, and seemed to take very little interest in life. For a while they thought he must die, but he gradually improved and when it was possible to examine him carefully it was found that both his eyes had escaped injury. The boys were very careful of him. As Professor Mertz had predicted, every now and then during the next three weeks a gingerly inspection brought to light the points of quills in locations which showed that they had worked mercilessly through the flesh for some considerable distance. It was at least a month before he became once more his old light-hearted self and even then Bill Price could throw him into a violent fit of trembling by chattering his teeth like a porcupine.