“Look! Look!” cried Bo, very low and fearfully, as she pointed.
“Not so loud,” whispered Dale.
“But I see something!”
“Keep quiet,” he admonished.
Helen, in the direction Bo pointed, could not see anything but moon-blanched bare ground, rising close at hand to a little ridge.
“Lie still,” whispered Dale. “I'm goin' to crawl around to get a look from another angle. I'll be right back.”
He moved noiselessly backward and disappeared. With him gone, Helen felt a palpitating of her heart and a prickling of her skin.
“Oh, my! Nell! Look!” whispered Bo, in fright. “I know I saw something.”
On top of the little ridge a round object moved slowly, getting farther out into the light. Helen watched with suspended breath. It moved out to be silhouetted against the sky—apparently a huge, round, bristling animal, frosty in color. One instant it seemed huge—the next small—then close at hand—and far away. It swerved to come directly toward them. Suddenly Helen realized that the beast was not a dozen yards distant. She was just beginning a new experience—a real and horrifying terror in which her blood curdled, her heart gave a tremendous leap and then stood still, and she wanted to fly, but was rooted to the spot—when Dale returned to her side.
“That's a pesky porcupine,” he whispered. “Almost crawled over you. He sure would have stuck you full of quills.”