“Harry, who had grown much wiser since his adventure with the skunk, was rather shy of approaching the porcupine—particularly as he had heard that this animal possesses the power of shooting his quills to some distance, and sticking them like arrows into his enemies. Frank inquired if this were true.
“‘No,’ I replied; ‘it is only one of those fabulous stories which the ingenious French naturalist, Buffon, so much delighted to recount. The porcupine’s quills may be pulled out easily by anything which presses too rudely against them, such as the mouth of a mastiff; and this because they are very slightly attached by their roots, and have a barb upon their tops that takes hold upon any enemy that may attempt to touch them. This is the only defence the poor animal has got—as it is so slow of foot that any of its enemies can easily come up with it. But, notwithstanding its slowness, most of the fierce creatures find it better to leave the porcupine to himself, and his innocent occupation of “barking” the trees. He generally proves more than a match for any of them; and, in fact, neither wolf, panther, nor wildcat, can kill him—as there is not a spot of his body which they can touch when he prepares himself for their attack. On the other hand, he frequently kills them—only in self-defence, however, as he never attacks any animal, but lives altogether on his simple food, the bark and leaves of trees. The cougar is often found dead in the woods,—his death occasioned by the porcupine’s quills that are seen sticking in his mouth and tongue. So also the lynx has been found, as well as many dogs and wolves.’
“So much of the natural history of this strange animal I related to my companions at the time; but, shortly after, an incident was witnessed by Harry and myself which showed us that the porcupine, notwithstanding his bristling armour, had one enemy, at least, who could master him upon occasions. Although it occurred some months after our fishing excursion, now that we are speaking of the porcupine, I shall relate it.”
Chapter Thirty One.
Battle of the Marten and Porcupine.
“It was in the middle of the winter. A light snow had fallen upon the ground—just enough to enable us to follow the trail of any animal we might light upon. Of course, the snow filled us with the idea of hunting; and Harry and I started out upon the tracks of a brace of elk that had passed through our opening during the night. The tracks were very fresh-looking; and it was evident that the animals had passed in the morning, just before we were up. We concluded, therefore, that they had not gone far off, and we hoped soon to come up with them.
“The trail led us along the side of the lake, and then, up the left bank of the stream. Castor and Pollux were with us; but in our hunting excursions we usually led them in a leash, so that they might not frighten the game by running ahead of us.
“When about half a mile from the house, we found that the elk had crossed to the right bank of the stream. We were about to follow, when, all at once, our eyes fell upon a most singular track or tracks that led off in the direction of the woods. They were the tracks of human feet—the feet of children!