than a trained pugilist.

"Look at that porky," he called to me. "I'm going to ram the canoe into
the tree and knock him off into the water. Just you watch, and you'll
see some fun."

I was somewhat uncertain whether the joke would ultimately be on the
Porcupine or the man, but it was pretty sure to be worth seeing, one way
or the other, so I laid my paddle down and awaited developments. Bang!
went the nose of the dug-out against the tree, and the Porcupine
dropped, but not into the water. He landed in the bow of the canoe, and
the horrified look on my friend's face was a delight to see. The Porky
was wide awake by this time, for I could hear his teeth clacking as he
advanced to the attack.

"Great Scott! He's coming straight at me!"

The Porcupine was certainly game. I saw the paddle rise in the air and
come down with a tremendous whack, but it seemed to have little effect.
The Porky's coat of quills and hair was so thick that a blow on the back
did not trouble him much. If my friend could have hit him across the
nose it would have ended the matter then and there, but the canoe was
too narrow and its sides too high for a crosswise stroke. He tried
thrusting, but that was no better. When a good-sized porcupine has
really made up his mind to go somewhere he may be slow, but it takes
more than a punch with the end of a stick to stop him; and this Porky
had fully determined to go aft and get acquainted with the foreman.

[Illustration: "_He quickly made his way to the beach._"]

My friend couldn't even kick, for he was kneeling on the bottom of the
dug-out, with his feet behind him, and if he tried to stand up he would
probably capsize.

"Say, Hulbert, what am I going to do?"

I didn't give him any advice, for my sympathies were largely with the
Porcupine. Besides, I hadn't any advice to give. Just then the canoe
drifted around so that I could look into it, and I beheld the Porcupine
bearing down on my helpless friend like Birnam Wood on its way to
Dunsinane, his ruffle of quills erect, fire in his little black eyes,
and a thirst for vengeance in his whole aspect. My friend made one or
two final and ineffectual jabs at him, and then gave it up.

"It's no use!" he called; "I'll have to tip over!" and the next second
the canoe was upside down and both belligerents were in the water. The
Porcupine floated high--I suppose his hollow quills helped to keep him
up--and he proved a much better swimmer than I had expected