SPECKLED TROUT 



en the threshold of sleep, ready, as it were, to pass 

 through the open door into the land of dreams, when 

 I heard outside somewhere that curious sound, a 

 sound which I had heard every night I spent in 

 these woods, not only on this but on former expe- 

 ditions, and which I had settled in my mind as 

 proceeding from the porcupine, since I knew the 

 sounds our other common animals were likely to 

 make, a sound that might be either a gnawing on 

 some hard, dry substance, or a grating of teeth, or 

 a shrill grunting. 



Orville heard it also, and, raising up on his elbow, 

 asked, " What is that ? " 



" What the hunters call a ' porcupig,' " said I. 



"Sure?" 



" Entirely so." 



" Why does he make that noise ? " 



" It is a way he has of cursing our fire," I replied. 

 " I heard him last night also." 



" Where do you suppose he is ? " inquired my 

 companion, showing a disposition to look him up. 



" Not far off, perhaps fifteen or twenty yards from 

 our fire, where the shadows begin to deepen." 



Orville slipped into his trousers, felt for my gun, 

 and in a moment had disappeared down through the 

 scuttle hole. I had no disposition to follow him, 

 but was rather annoyed than otherwise at the dis- 

 turbance. Getting the direction of the sound, he 

 went picking his way over the rough, uneven ground, 

 205 



