The nerveless, almost quilless tail could not harm him
there. The red blood flowed and the porcupine lay still. Again
and again as he uttered chesty growls the pekan ground his teeth
into the warm flesh and shook and worried the unconquerable one
he had conquered. He was licking his bloody chops for the
twentieth time, gloating in gore, when "crack" went Quonab's gun,
and the pekan had an opportunity of resuming the combat with
Kahk far away in the Happy Hunting.
"Yap, yap, yap!" and in rushed Skookum, dragging the end of
Rolf's sash which he had gnawed through in his determination to
be in the fight, no matter what it cost; and it was entirely due
to the fact that the porcupine was belly up, that Skookum did not
have another hospital experience.
This was Rolf's first sight of a fisher, and he examined it as
one does any animal -- or man -- that one has so long heard
described in superlative terms that it has become idealized into
a semi-myth. This was the desperado of the woods; the weird
black cat that feared no living thing. This was the only one that
could fight and win against Kahk.
They made a fire at once, and while Rolf got the mid-day meal of
tea and venison, Quonab skinned the fisher.
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