eaching the upper end and here they found another dam, with its
pond. This was at a slightly higher level and contained a single lodge;
after this they found others, a dozen ponds in a dozen successive rises,
the first or largest and the second only having lodges, but all were
evidently part of the thriving colony, for fresh cut trees were seen on
every side. "Ugh, good; we get maybe fifty beaver," said the Indian, and
they knew they had reached the Promised Land.

Rolf would gladly have spent the rest of the day exploring the pond and
trying for a beaver, when the eventide should call them to come forth,
but Quonab said, "Only twenty deadfall; we should have one hundred and
fifty." So making for a fine sugar bush on the dry ground west of the
ponds they blazed a big tree, left a deadfall there, and sought the
easiest way over the rough hills that lay to the east, in hopes of
reaching the next stream leading down to their lake.

Chapter 24. The Porcupine

Skookum was a partly trained little dog; he would stay in camp when
told, if it suited him; and would not hesitate to follow or lead his
master, when he felt that human wisdom was inferior to the ripe product
of canine experience covering more than thirteen moons of recollection.
But he was now living a life in which his previous experience must often
fail him as a guide. A faint rustling on the leafy ground had sent
him ahead at a run, and his sharp, angry bark showed that some hostile
creature of the woods had been discovered. Again and again the angry
yelping was changed into a sort of yowl, half anger, half distress. The
hunters hurried forward to find the little fool charging again and
again a huge porcupine that was crouched with its head under a log, its
hindquarters exposed but bristling with spines; and its tail lashing
about, left a new array of quills in the dog's mouth and face each time
he charged. Skookum was a plucky fighter, but plainly he was nearly sick
of it. The pain of the quills would, of course, increase every minute
and with each movement. Quonab took a stout stick and threw the
porcupine out of its retreat, (Rolf supposed to kill it when the head
was exposed,) but the spiny one, finding a new and stronger enemy,
wasted no time in galloping at its slow lumbering pace to the nearest
small spruce tree and up that it scrambled to a safe place in the high
branches.

Now the hunters called the dog. He was a sorry-looking object, pawing at
his