But no, Unk-Wunk was not ready to give up. Instead, grunting, scrambling, hastening as fast as he was able, the porcupine suddenly and deliberately left the trail; it looked almost as if he were going straight into the track of the fire. He managed to reach a certain flat, shelving ledge, which was just ahead of the fire. Then rolling himself into a round ball, he lay down upon the high ledge and rolled right off into space, landing some distance down below upon another ridge of rock. In between the rocky ledges he crept, where the moisture trickled constantly down from above, making it cold and wet; right close to the great rocky ridge he lay and waited. The next instant down tumbled another round, quilly ball from the ledge above. It was his mate; the faithful thing had followed Unk-Wunk, just as he knew she would do. There in the cool, moist-laden rock they clung tight together and went fast asleep, too weary and scorched and terror-stricken to move; and the great fire raged around them, but when it came to the ridge, it leaped right over the spot where they lay, and they were safe. Most of the more fortunate fleet-footed wild animals managed to reach Balsam Swamp. There the great snowy owl finally settled, and makes her nest there each year. The eagles built their nest above upon a ledge, and the heron tribe located close by. But Moween, the little black bear and her cubs, went back to the forest and made her den right beneath the ridge where Unk-Wunk and his mate found safety, so that the porcupines and the bears have ever since been near neighbours. The spot has for many years been known as Porcupine Ridge. Almost any time, if you stray that way, and care for a stiff climb, you can pick up quantities of loose quills near the spot, and sometimes you may even run across a quilly ball lying right on top of the ledge, or catch one of the numerous porcupine family picking its way leisurely among the rocks. So now you can fully understand why this particular spot has always been called Porcupine Ridge, because it was really settled by none other than old Unk-Wunk and his mate at the time of the great forest fire. CHAPTER VI METHUSELAH, THE TYRANT OF BLACK POND Methuselah, the Tyrant, was very old, so old that none of the inhabitants of the pond could have told you his exact age. Like the knights of old he, too, wore armour, which served very well to protect him and turn aside many a stray bullet or dangerous missile aimed in his direction. In fact, Methuselah, the giant snapping turtle of Black Pond, appeared to have led a sort of charmed life, escaping all kinds of dangers in the most lucky manner, and absolutely ruling over all wild things which came near or made their homes in or about the pond.