Naturally selfish of nature and secretive is the porcupine, and when an inquisitive intruder ventured to cross Unk-Wunk's trail, he would hold his own ground, never stirring from his tracks, but, standing sullenly in the path, force everything to turn out for him. Or, should they presume to show courage enough to face him, he would simply drop right down in his tracks, roll himself into the well-known prickly ball, and let them come on. This they usually decided not to do in the end, for most wanderers along the trails were not deceived; well they knew that out of his small, dull-appearing eyes Unk-Wunk was craftily watching their every movement, waiting for them to come near enough to him to slap them with his barb-laden tail.
Thus Unk-Wunk and his mate grubbed along, not too hurriedly, which would have been a mistake, for some other watcher might have its curiosity aroused and follow them, and they would perhaps be compelled to share their find with another. Finally following devious trails, the porcupines reached the deserted camp. Unk-Wunk was glad there was no one there, because once, when he had gnawed very loudly, a sleeping man had been awakened and fired a gun at him.
Wandering in and out among the blackened embers groped Unk-Wunk, grunting impatiently while nosing over a pile of empty tins cans. But soon, to his joy, he discovered a bone which he rasped and rasped, pushing away his mate when she presumed to touch it. Next, oh, joy, he found a long bacon rind. He actually fought with his mate for this, forcing her to go back to a greasy board which he had been gnawing.
Things began to look more promising and Unk-Wunk and his mate were so busy with their foraging, they utterly failed to hear the soft, velvet, padded footsteps of another, who had been following their trail from the first. They failed also to catch the gleam of a pair of blazing, yellow eyes which peered out at them maliciously from behind the blackened background of a stump, watching, watching their every movement. It was a large tawny wildcat. For some time the cat watched the porcupines, lashing its tail softly against the pliant ferns; each instant the tail seemed to switch a trifle more impatiently; the wildcat was making ready for an attack. Finally, unable to endure their grunts of joy an instant longer, for the cat was gaunt with hunger, it crouched low, then shot right into the very centre of the camp. Spitting, snarling, yelling its horrid wails, which echoed through the woods, it charged upon the porcupines. Regardless of Unk-Wunk's raised, quilly armour it flew straight at him, tussling, scuffling, spitting and snarling, eager to take away the bone.
SPITTING, SNARLING, YELLING ... IT CHARGED UPON THE PORCUPINES.
"Slap." The tail of the porcupine, laden with its most deadly quills, landed right between the blazing, yellow eyes of the wildcat, almost blinding it. Then a terrific battle took place; the whirling wildcat, mad with pain, tore about in a wide circle, scattering blackened firebrands in all directions. It looked, for a time, as if a small cyclone had struck the camp. All the while the cat kept up its uncanny screams which struck sudden terror to many a small wild thing along the trails, sending them cowering back into their dens and hidden coverts. Under the whirling rain of ashes and embers, wise Unk-Wunk and his mate managed to sneak off into the woods unobserved. And at last the wildcat, angry and defeated, slunk away, rubbing its snout, trying to rid itself of the awful quills, spitting and scolding as it went.
But the really tragic part of all this was what followed. Back in the deserted camp had lain one sullen, smouldering firebrand. It might have died out of its own accord in time had it not been disturbed. But the wild scuffle between the wildcat and the porcupine had revived it, tossing it right into a bed of dry leaves and sun-baked ferns.
Out upon the hills the summer drought had been hard; the pastures lay brown and scorched by the hot sun, while in the woods the underbrush was tinder dry. So the fire took courage, kindled, snapped and crackled, then burst into bright flames and started on its travels. Up the tall stems of giant spruces it ran, leaping across from one feathery top into the next. Behind, it left blackened trunks; and below, beds of glowing embers, while all in an instant the forest trails became fairly alive with multitudes of wild things, frenzied animals, great and small, all trying to get away from the raging flames. Wildcats, timid cottontails, the black bear and her cubs, they all travelled together hurrying, hurrying on ahead of the fire. Wild deer left their runs, and, forgetting their lifelong terror of enemies, leaped off and away. Ahead, far in advance, tore one great, brave buck deer, trying to lead his mate and her fawn to safety. The bear shambled close behind, howling as she ran, snapping back at a biting firebrand which scorched her back. Great snakes cut through the fern jungles like black whips, rushing on ahead of the scorching breath of the destroying flames.