o
signs of moose and found a porcupine, they'd kill it. The quills would
get in their mouths and necks and chests, and we'd have to gag them
and take bullet molds or nippers, or whatever we had, sometimes our
jack-knives, and pull out the nasty things. If we got hold of the dogs
at once, we could pull out the quills with our fingers. Sometimes the
quills worked in, and the dogs would go home and lie by the fire with
running sores till they worked out. I've seen quills work right through
dogs. Go in on one side and come out on the other."

"Poor brutes," said Mrs. Wood. "I wonder you took them."

"We once lost a valuable hound while moose hunting," said Mr. Wood. "The
moose struck him with his hoof and the dog was terribly injured. He
lay in the woods for days, till a neighbor of ours, who was looking for
timber, found him and brought him home on his shoulders. Wasn't there
rejoicing among us boys to see old Lion coming back. We took care of him
and he got well again.

"It was good sport to see the dogs when we were hunting a bear with
them. Bears are good runners, and when dogs get after them, there is
great skirmishing. They nip the bear behind, and when they turn, the
dogs run like mad, for a hug from a bear means sure death to a dog. If
they got a slap from his paws, over they'd go. Dogs new to the business
were often killed by the bears."

"Were there many bears near your home, Mr. Wood?" asked Mr. Maxwell

"Lots of them. More than we wanted. They used to bother us fearfully
about our sheep and cattle. I've often had to get up in the night, and
run out to the cattle. The bears would come out of the woods, and jump
on to the young heifers and cows, and strike them and beat them down,
and the cattle would roar as if the evil one had them. If the cattle
were too far away from the house for us to hear them, the bears would
worry them till they were dead.

"As for the sheep, they never made any resistance. They'd meekly run
in a corner when they saw a bear coming, and huddle together, and he'd
strike at them, and scratch them with his claws, and perhaps wound a
dozen before he got one firmly. Then he'd seize it in his paws, and walk
off on his hind legs over fences and anything else that came in his way,
till he came to a nice, retired spot, and there he'd sit down and skin
that sheep just like a butcher. He'd gorge himself with the meat, and
in the morning we'd find the other sheep that he'd torn, and we'd vow
ve