She cared nothing whatever for the dog's howls or moans of pain. She
had done with him now and had left him several of her quills as
mementoes of the occasion.

In vain Jock tried to get rid of them, but Pero had driven them well
in, and was wise enough to know that where she once drove her quills
there they stayed, until, perhaps, they worked themselves out in the
opposite direction.

For the quills of a porcupine are so peculiarly made that when once
they are driven into the flesh, instead of working their way out, they
go deeper and deeper, often boring right into the vital parts of an
animal, and so killing it.

In days gone by some people believed that the porcupine was a most
dangerous animal, and that whenever it saw an enemy approaching it
just threw some of its little, pointed spears at him and so killed
him. But this belief came from an old fable, for the porcupine cannot
throw its quills, but he can push them in, in the same way that Pero
pushed her's into the terrier, and then leave them to work their
mischief.

Had Jock been a wiser dog, he would have known better than to have had
anything to do with the porcupine. But he was only an ordinary English
terrier, and, as I told you, had not been long in West Africa.

A horse would have known better, for all horses are afraid of
porcupines, and will never face an irritated one if they can possibly
get away. As a rule, the very rustle of a porcupine's quills will make
a horse take to his highest speed in terror.