IN THE CATSKILLS 



and, when he got where the light failed him, pok- 

 ing every doubtful object with the end of his gun. 

 Presently he poked a light grayish object, like a 

 large round stone, which surprised him by moving 

 off. On this hint he fired, making an incurable 

 wound in the " porcupig," which, nevertheless, tried 

 harder than ever to escape. I lay listening, when, 

 close on the heels of the report of the gun, came ex- 

 cited shouts for a revolver. Snatching up my Smith 

 and Wesson, I hastened, shoeless and hatless, to the 

 scene of action, wondering what was up. I found 

 my companion struggling to detain, with the end of 

 the gun, an uncertain object that was trying to crawl 

 off into the darkness. "Look out!" said Orville, 

 as he saw my bare feet, " the quills are lying thick 

 around here." 



And so they were; he had blown or beaten them 

 nearly all off the poor creature's back, and was in a 

 fair way completely to disable my gun, the ramrod 

 of which was already broken and splintered club- 

 bing his victim. But a couple of shots from the 

 revolver, sighted by a lighted match, at the head 

 of the animal, quickly settled him. 



He proved to be an unusually large Canada por- 

 cupine, an old patriarch, gray and venerable, with 

 spines three inches long, and weighing, I should say, 

 twenty pounds. The build of this animal is much 

 like that of the woodchuck, that is, heavy and 

 pouchy. The nose is blunter than that of the wood- 

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