Had Baree remained, he would have been so full of quills that he must surely have died.
In another way the exercise of travel was good for Baree.

It gave his wound no opportunity to "set," as Pierrot would have said, for in reality his hurt was more painful than serious.

For the first hundred yards he hobbled along on three legs, and after that he found that he could use his fourth by humoring it a great deal.

He followed the creek for a half mile.

Whenever a bit of brush touched his wound, he would snap at it viciously, and instead of whimpering when he felt one of the sharp twinges shooting through him, an angry little growl gathered in his throat, and his teeth clicked.