Tale XLIX: Fisher and Porcupine
All Indians are born liars when it comes to getting the better of a white trader. But outside of business, they are strictly truthful, especially when telling stories about animal life. A few years ago, a Chippewayan told me the following yarn, which I believe is true.
One winter, the Indian was on his way to his trapline on snow-shoes when he came across a medium sized fisher and a porcupine. He watched them at a distance without being seen.
The porcupine was huddled in a ball, every quill sticking out. The fisher, mad with hunger, was circling around, unable to find a weak spot in the prickly armor. After a while, the fisher chose a spot a few feet away from the porcupine and began digging a hole or tunnel through the snow, straight for its quarry. Every few minutes, the fisher would stop, go to the porcupine, run around it, and even scratch snow on its back so as to show that he was still there and prevent the other animal from moving away. That went on for a long time. Finally, the tunnel was ended. With unerring instinct the fisher had stopped his digging when he felt that he had reached a spot exactly beneath the porcupine’s neck. With a jerk upwards of his hard little snout, the fisher pierced the crust of snow, and before poor “Porky” could guess what was happening, he had him by the throat, far from the reach of the murderous quills.