When they were again in the canoe, Bill told them that the porcupine would often come boldly into camp and destroy every piece of hide or leather it could find, as well as anything, even wood, on which there chanced to be a bit of grease. He added that few animals in the woods cared to attack the porcupine, unless forced to do so by a scarcity of food-supply and the pangs of hunger.
“You see, the quills get into their mouths and work down into their throats and stomachs. I’ve found lynxes which had starved to death on account of having their throats full of porcupine quills,” explained the trapper.
“Served them right for attacking so peaceful a citizen,” declared Ed, in defense of this abused animal.
“Not so fast, son, not so fast!” laughed Bill. “Now, just suppose you were on some island where you were starving. Then, suppose a miserable little mite of a fish came close to shore and stranded before your famished eyes. You’d be glad enough to grab him and eat him raw. Well, suppose after you’d swallowed him you found a hundred burning, piercing needles in your throat and tongue. Finally, suppose you staggered around for days in agony, trying to get them out, till you dropped and died in torture. Think you’d have deserved such an end just because you tried to keep the breath of life in your body?”
The boys were silent and thoughtful as Bill ceased speaking and paddled them slowly toward the cabin. They had changed their opinions of the starving lynxes.
When they landed at the little log dock, the lads turned and gazed for a long time out across the placid water at the beauty of the sunset scene.
In the west hung a mass of pearl-colored clouds whose ragged edges were tinged with shining gold. The upper rim of the setting sun was barely visible above a ridge of distant pines. The hush of closing day had fallen on the wilderness. Smooth and unruffled, like a mirror, the lake caught and reflected the changing tints of the evening sky. Then a thin, steam-like mist began to rise along its borders.
“Come on; time to go home,” called Bill.
That night the boys expressed a wish to go with the trapper on one of his expeditions. To their great joy Bill promptly agreed to take them before spring. He said he would show them how to set all kinds of traps and how to cure pelts.
Ben reminded them that Sunday was the proper day for letter-writing, and said it would be a fine chance to send word home, as Bill expected to start for town at daylight. The boys wrote enthusiastic accounts of their experiences since coming to the woods. Then they gave the letters to the care of the trapper, to be mailed at the far-off settlement. They thought it a very long walk for Bill to undertake, and told him so. He only laughed and replied that such distances were nothing “when your legs once get tuned to the trail.”