The red blood flowed and the porcupine lay still.

Again and again as he uttered chesty growls the pekan ground his teeth into the warm flesh and shook and worried the unconquerable one he had conquered.

He was licking his bloody chops for the twentieth time, gloating in gore, when "crack" went Quonab's gun, and the pekan had an opportunity of resuming the combat with Kahk far away in the Happy Hunting.
"Yap, yap, yap!" and in rushed Skookum, dragging the end of Rolf's sash which he had gnawed through in his determination to be in the fight, no matter what it cost; and it was entirely due to the fact that the porcupine was belly up, that Skookum did not have another hospital experience.
This was Rolf's first sight of a fisher, and he examined it as one does any animal--or man--that one has so long heard described in superlative terms that it has become idealized into a semi-myth.

This was the desperado of the woods; the weird black cat that feared no living thing.
This was the only one that could fight and win against Kahk.
They made a fire at once, and while Rolf got the mid-day meal of tea and venison, Quonab skinned the fisher.

Then he cut out its heart and liver.
When these were cooked he gave the first to Rolf and the second to Skookum, saying to the one, "I give you a pekan heart;" and to the dog, "That will force all of the quills out of you if you play the fool again, as I think you will." In the skin of the fisher's neck and tail they found several quills, some of them new, some of them dating evidently from another fight of the same kind, but none of them had done any damage.