“Well, Laura, when we camped out on the snow and slept on spruce boughs while we were after the moose, the dogs used to be a great comfort to us.  They slept at our feet and kept us warm.  Poor brutes, they mostly had a rough time of it.  They enjoyed the running and chasing as much as we did, but when it came to broken ribs and sore heads, it was another matter, Then the porcupines bothered them.  Our dogs would never learn to let them alone.  If they were going through the woods where there were no 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 had 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, and 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 vengeance against that bear.  He’d be almost sure to come back for more, so for a while after that we always put the sheep in the barn at nights and set a trap by the remains of the one he had eaten.