imself flat on the ground, close by Unk
Wunk, and works his nose cautiously under the terrible bur, searching
for the neck or the underside of the body, where there are no quills.
One grip of the powerful jaws, one taste of blood in the famished throat
of the prowler--and that is the end of both animals. For Unk Wunk has a
weapon that no prowler of the woods ever calculates upon. His broad,
heavy tail is armed with hundreds of barbs, smaller but more deadly than
those on his back; and he swings this weapon with the vicious sweep of
a rattlesnake. It is probably this power of driving his barbs home by a
lightning blow of his tail that has given rise to the curious delusion
that Unk Wunk can shoot his quills at a distance, as if he were filled
with compressed air--which is, of course, a harmless absurdity that
keeps people from meddling with him too closely.

Sometimes, when attacked, Unk Wunk covers his face with this weapon.
More often he sticks his head under a root or into a hollow log, leaving
his tail out ready for action. At the first touch of his enemy the tail
snaps right and left quicker than thought, driving the hostile head and
sides full of the deadly quills, from which there is no escape; for
every effort, every rub and writhe of pain, only drives them deeper and
deeper, till they rest in heart or brain and finish their work.

Mooween the bear is the only one of the wood folk who has learned the
trick of attacking Unk Wunk without injury to himself. If, when very
hungry, he finds a porcupine, he never attacks him directly,--he knows
too well the deadly sting of the barbs for that,--but bothers and
irritates the porcupine by flipping earth at him, until at last Unk Wunk
rolls all his quills outward and lies still. Then Mooween, with immense
caution, slides one paw under him and with a quick flip hurls him
against the nearest tree, and knocks the life out of him.

[Illustration: "BOTHERS AND IRRITATES THE PORCUPINE BY FLIPPING EARTH AT
HIM"]

If he find Unk Wunk in a tree, he will sometimes climb after him and,
standing as near as the upper limbs allow, will push and tug mightily to
shake him off. That is usually a vain attempt; for the creature that
sleeps sound and secure through a gale in the tree-tops has no concern
for the ponderous shakings of a bear. In that case Mooween, if he can
get near enough without risking a fall from too delicate branches, will
wrench off the limb on which Unk Wunk is sleepin